Itsy bitsy spider

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I have several folders in file drawers hither and yon of letters, notes, cards, and more I saved from my girls throughout the years. Things such as letters to the Easter Bunny and Santa, report cards, love notes to me for being mommy dearest, apology notes to me because of their bad grades or missed curfews.

Scraps of life with daughters, unsystematically tucked away on the spur of the moment on the off chance I'd one day look back on them and smile.

Last night as I rifled through those folders searching for something I plan to soon write about, I came across the following saved scrap. And I did more than smile. In fact, I laughed out loud and soon had tears trickling down my cheeks.

The unexpected source of amusement was this note from teen-aged Megan, explaining why she'd left a book in the middle of the family room floor when she went to bed one night. The note had been, all those years ago, attached to the out-of-place book:

To think the goofy author of this note now lives with the daily threat of scorpions and serves as chief spider-squisher when Preston is away had me chuckling the rest of the night, considering the myriad ways my babies have indeed grown up.

I can only hope, though, that this one's grown up enough to no longer use precious books as her weapon of choice when it comes to squishing spiders ... or scorpions.

Today's question:

What is your weapon of choice when it comes to creepy crawly things?

Playing around

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There were all kinds of awesome things about my visit to see my grandsons in the desert. One of those low on the list of greatness but still quite cool was having the time to play around with my iPhone camera. And the iPhone apps that include cameras. And camera effects.

Here are a few of my favorites taken with my iPhone during the visit:

 

I love my iPhone and the oh-so cool photos it can take.

Of course, without the oh-so cool subjects, those photos wouldn't be nearly as interesting. Or cool. At least not to me.

Today's question:

When was the last time you had photos printed, not just saved as digital files?

Ripple effect

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One of the questions I regularly ask the Grilled Grandmas is "What do you most want to pass along to your grandchildren?". I'm continually impressed by their thoughtful answers because in considering that question myself, I find it difficult to narrow it down, to sum up in a few words what I want the sons and daughters of my daughters to have and to do and to be.

I want to pass along to my grandchildren so many things, some that I have, some that I don't, some that I wish I had mastered.

I want to pass along the traits of faithfulness and thankfulness. I want them to know they’re loved and worthy and important. I want them to have memories of incredible moments and the motivation to create more. I want to pass along a love for themselves as well as a love for others, regardless of how alike or different others may be. I want to pass along the desire — and the ability — to make the most of the gifts they have been given.

I want to pass along to my grandchildren all that and more. Ultimately, though, what I most want to pass along to my grandchildren is life and all the beauty and blessings and potential wrapped up in that. I want them — my extended family — to be and to continue to be. To continue the family line, the family tree. I cringe at the idea that everything Jim and I put into the family we’ve created could have ended with our most immediate progeny. No, I want our family tree to have strong roots and abundant shoots going forward, and for those roots and shoots to make a difference in the world.

I want the lives of my children, my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren and so on to matter and make a difference in the world, partially to better themselves, to better the world around them. But in all honesty — and in all selfish realization — I also want those things partially so my life will have mattered, to know that I made a difference.

I have no illusions that I’ve shaken the world up in any way. I do believe, though, that through my children and their children and their children, my jiggles and jerks from beginning to end have had and will continue to have a ripple effect. My words, my actions, my love have touched my children, who then have gone out into the world and touched others with their words, actions, love. Then the ripples continue as those touched in turn touch others, matter to others, make a difference to others. My ripples grow larger, wider, eternal. That won’t happen if the family doesn’t continue, if life is not passed down, again and again and again.

Yes, I want to pass along love, independence, fortitude, passion, compassion, sympathy, empathy and more. Those are the things of life, of living. For better or for worse, those are intertwined with pain, heartache, fear, longing, loss — life’s unsavory bits that make what's on the other side of the coin all the more sweet and appreciated and worth every utterance of gratitude and thanks.

So, regardless of reason, justification, or explanation, when I truly consider what I want to pass along to my grandchildren, the bottom line is this: I most want to pass down to them life and the gumption to make their fair share of ripples — possibly even a big splash now and then, too — with that life.

Photo: stock.xchng/biewoef

Today's question:

Whose ripples from the past continue to impact your present?

Seagulls and cereal

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When I was nine years old, my parents took us to Disneyworld. They loaded the station wagon to capacity with the family of nine for the trek from our farm in Minnesota to the Happiest Place on Earth.

Other than memories of the photos of our Disneyworld visit, I don't remember much about the Magic Kingdom. I don't recall how long we stayed, what we saw, what we did.

I do, though, recall the beach house my dad rented for much of our stay in Florida. Not the inside of the beach house, but the outside, the beach part of the house.

Specifically, I recall one of our first golden mornings on the beach as my six siblings and I danced along the edge of the water, dodging waves and soaking up the sun we'd been missing back home in the still dark and chilly days of winter. The light, the air, the tranquility so unfamiliar, so inviting.

We exhalted in the sandy expanse of the beach, quite different from our usual playground of soybean fields and dusty dirt roads. We raced in opposite directions. Like colorful kites in our new vacation outfits, we flitted about as the breeze refreshed our skin and our smiles, the sand tickled our toes, the distance between us and the beach house a relished freedom from the angry discourse between Mom and Dad surely taking place inside, a never-ending discourse the change in scenery failed to obliterate.

Seagulls danced merrily above our heads and someone — my mom? my older brother? — suggested we feed them. With our breakfast, our dry cereal. One quick toss of the cereal and we were sold.

My siblings and I took turns throwing cereal pieces into the air then shrieking in delight as one seagull after another swooped down to nab the goodness mid-flight. A magical memory in the making.

Handful after handful we tossed to the seagulls, who never grew tired of our treats. Eventually, though, we grew tired, beckoned by the wonders of the water, an ocean we'd never seen before just waiting to be explored. We tossed the last of our offerings and moved on.

With the cereal consumed, the seagulls moved on as well, their white wings soaring smoothly as they disappeared into the summer haze above the water. A golden moment gone for good.

The other night at dinner, Jim and I had a conversation that took an unexpected turn down memory lane. Not the lane we've traveled together the past 30 years, but his from childhood and teenhood, before I knew him. He shared again stories few outside his family know, stories they're reluctant to share.

Then he shook his head, physically shaking off the memories.

Why do we always remember the bad things? he asked. What about the good things? We have to have good memories, right? I know the stories of your bad memories, but tell me one good memory you have from childhood. You have to have at least one.

Do I have at least one good memory of childhood? I surely must have a few, I thought.

Without hesitation I told Jim the one about the seagulls, the one about the cereal. I told him the one I remember.

Photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What is one of your favorite memories of childhood?

3 magic words

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If any of you are like me -- and I have a feeling there are a few of you -- after reading the title of this post, you're likely scanning the text to discover as quickly as possible the three magic words of which I write. Well, this post doesn't work that way because the three magic words are unique to each person; no generic magic words to be found.

That's right. There's three for me, and there's three for you ... and you ... and you.

Let me explain: Many of you will remember my recent lament about not having epiphanies upon reading articles in MORE and O magazines. Though I've yet to have an epiphany, I did recently read a life-improving article in O, written by Martha Beck, O's goal-achieving guru in residence. The article, loosely translated, describes a new method for achieving one's goals. And since reading it, I've been a little less consumed with epiphanies and more focused on reaching my goals ... with the help of three magic words.

In the article (http://www.oprah.com/spirit/Goal-Setting-Strategies-from-Life-Coach-Martha-Beck), Beck tells the reader to imagine she's achieved an ultimate goal, to actually visualize what achievement of that goal looks like. The ultimate goal for me, the one I visualized in detail, was making my living off my words, through published books and my blog.

Yay for visualization. But that's not the end of the exercise.

Beck says to then think of three adjectives for how you would feel upon reaching such a goal, three words describing your psychological takeaway upon such an achievement. Beck's rationale being, basically, that it's often not the actual achievement we desperately seek, but the feelings and emotional payoff that would accompany the achievement.

In terms of achieving my writing goal, the three adjectives I came up with were creative, empowered and financially secure.

But wait -- that's still not the end of the exercise.

Beck continues by saying that instead of focusing so hard on that specific goal, you should focus on using those three magic words you came up with. She encourages you to engage in actions or tasks that would lead you to feel one or more of those words, even if the tasks aren't directly related to that original goal. Because, again, it's not the goal that soothes the soul, Beck says, it's the feelings we imagine resulting from that goal that we desire. The goals may still be achieved but they're no longer, in and of themselves, the end-all, be-all.

Believe it or not, I think Beck's right. Since doing the exercise, I've focused on tasks and activities that make me feel creative, things that make me feel empowered, things that contribute to being financially secure. Most of the tasks relate to only one of the adjectives at a time, and many of the activities have nothing to do with becoming a well-paid writer. Yet I feel more content about my career goals, my career path.

Because of my improved attitude about my career goals since this little exercise, I thought I'd apply it to another goal/dream of mine to see if it does the same -- the dream of having all my family living nearby ... my children and my grandchildren, all within easy visiting distance.

So I visualized the scenario, the goal, in detail, and I came up with three adjectives related to achieving it. Hence, going forward I will pursue activities that elicit feelings associated with my three new magic words: nurturing, intimate, memorable.

I've just set about putting my new magic words into action, so I'm not sure where they will take me. But I'm crossing my fingers that the three adjectives related to my family goal are as magically effective as those regarding my career goal have been. Even just a smidgen of the magic will be much appreciated if it can ease by the slightest bit the burden of having chunks of my heart living 815 miles away.

It's worth a shot, I believe. I'll share the good news of its effectiveness with you once I see that the magic's in motion.

Abracadabra, here goes!

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

Today's question:

Following Martha Beck's exercise, what is one of your three magic words?