Prickly Pooper

It is so good to be reminded that good things - including funny bone-tickling memories - can come out of less-than-ideal situations.

One long-ago Easter, Little E and I took our turn helping out in the church nursery. I was surprised and delighted to find that E's younger half-sister Audrey was among the children to be guarded so her parents could attend the worship service. I'm pretty sure E was not yet aware of her connection to this little girl.

Like E, Audrey must have inherited her bouncy blond curls from the S.D. The mothers, both with poker-straight hair, confided in one another that they wondered what other paternal traits might lurk behind the girls' adorable exteriors. With a shared maternal shudder, they momentarily projected forward to the teenage years and early twenties ... but for now, the innocence of childhood and the chance to instill lessons for a lifetime.

E was a precocious two-year old, but other than jumping off a bed and knocking out two bottom teeth ... hey, wait a minute, maybe there's a pattern here. A genetic link. That's it. I always thought I had contributed the daredevil gene, with my early propensity for climbing and then attempting to fly like a superhero off the neighbor's porch ...

Back to the nursery and the job at hand: Keeping the kids safe and reasonably content so frazzled parents could experience a little sanity and sanctuary for an hour. Audrey obviously did not understand or care about my job requirements. She was determined to ride the little scooty toy down the two-foot slide in the play area. I was able to successfully redirect her a few times, drawing her into story time, doodling with crayons and playing house. But as soon as Audrey felt my attention turn to another child, she was back at the foot of the slide.

On about the third or fourth attempt, I caught her at the top of the slide seated on the scooty toy, her goal so close she could taste it. (Geesh, I'd forgotten how fast little people can move.) The gleeful look of anticipation on little Audrey's face was priceless. But I snatched her away from certain disaster with her little legs furiously wheeling in the air as I once again tried to explain my position and responsibility for her safety. "I no wannabe safe! I wanna go down da slide, you Big Ole Prickly Pooper!"

I'm sure the chuckles were oozing out of my pores while I attempted to keep up appearances of being the adult in charge of maintaining discipline and order. I turned to the other nursery helper, quietly rocking some well-behaved child in the corner while watching our little drama. She issued a little giggle so I knew she heard it too. E was sitting just outside the door, reading a book. She wasn't the slightest bit interested in being around "little kids," but her ears perked up at the insult directed at her mother. Surely, the wheels were turning about how this little tidbit might be used in the future.

Audrey spent the remainder of the service in modified temper-tantrum mode - facedown on the floor, beating her little fists and feet against the carpet, fiercely muttering about the injustice of it all, little "prickly poopers" and other words I couldn't quite catch issuing from her little mouth.

When her parents came to rescue her, Audrey trotted off to her daddy (not the S.D.), probably hoping he would put me in time out for ruining all her fun. Her mommy and I shared a few quiet laughs when I gave her the report. I learned that in those days of Rugrats (aka Babies Without Borders) Audrey had needed some reprogramming lessons about namecalling and "bad" words. She had been learning not to call people "stupid." And her mom had been teaching her that it's OK to be angry, but it's not OK to say some of the words she heard grownups say on TV ... or other places. So they'd practiced making up silly phrases to say when angry - a "safe," secret lexicon to help relieve pent-up frustrations. Prickly Pooper, it seems, was one of the favorites that had come out of their mommy-daughter discussion. Somehow, two-year-old Audrey had missed the part of the lesson about not directing the phrases at anyone.

Remembering this little story today, within the context of the past 20 years, has me thinking just a little about Nature vs. Nurture (among so many other things). Those teenage years I had worried about years ago sped by and E is now in college. She's soaking up the experience in a way that's uniquely hers. And Audrey? We lost track of her not long after the Prickly Pooper incident. I hope she and her mom are enjoying those teenage years ... and that Audrey still has that same spunk. Maybe she's taken up skydiving or bungie jumping. Or maybe we'll discover someday that she shares quieter interests with her big sister E ... similarly nurturing a passion to change the world for the better.

Isn't it interesting to see what happens when those Xs and Ys collide and then are put out into the world? Anything is possible.

Eating Elephants and Other Things

Just for the record, others thought the pronouncer in the first year of the Bee for Literacy pronounced Polonaise a lot like Mayonnaise (making me wonder, just long enough, if it was some Mayo-like sauce) ... and some really brilliant people I know also thought mastodon might just be spelled mastadon. It's not like these things are part of our everyday lexicon. This is why we have dictionaries, after all. Which we can't use during spelling bees.

Mike was too modest to sign the incredible sketches above with the mastodons dancing the Polonaise (both in traditional dress and blissfully naked, thank you very much). But after the Writers' Block mis-spelled Polonaise and Mastodon in the first two years of the Bee for Literacy, I knew only one artist who could bring those two seemingly disparate words together in the way I envisioned. The sketches had been laid aside almost two years ago, but Mike knew right where to find them.

It's fun - and sort of important - to be able to laugh at flops and foibles. The laughter and good memories buoy you up when life gets you down.

I could easily be overwhelmed and squashed down by what's happening with the economy right now -- and in my personal corner of it. And by the knowledge that I have some huge responsibilities (those tasty elephants that I'm trying to eat) looming over my head, nipping at my heels, taunting me, trying to stomp on my nose. I know the only way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. (And I'll never forget Ann's advice to start with the crispy, crunchy tail.)

I know some really amazing artists who can help tackle those elephants - and other things. Just ask me.

LTMOD Part II

As soon as I clicked “Publish Post” on Left to My Own Devices (LTMOD) I began writing corrections and addendums in my head and on little scraps of paper and in e-mails to friends.

Part of that reads: The direction I ended up taking was not really where I meant to go. Or where I thought I meant to go. I thought all of those things at different times; the collection just didn't come together as I'd imagined.

I'm a huge procrastinator. I know I have a huge list of "shoulds" that I'm avoiding. Eventually, they're going to bite me in the backside and I'll have to confront them. That seems to be the story of my life. At least I'm seeing a pattern. And usually, while I'm “frittering away” my time reading, blogging, joyriding around Facebook, watching YouTube or whatever ... I'm thinking about how I'm going to do what I have to do. And I do it eventually.

Perhaps it's the baby sister/practically-an-only-child mentality I've grown up with. I'm selfish. I want to use "my" time my way. (I generally don't like being told what to do. I say "generally" since there are times I very much do want someone else to make the decisions!)

This past year has been a rocky one. With my dad passing away February 18 and my daughter going off to college in the fall. At the same time, work demands were out of control, off-the-scale nuts. So not only did I have huge stressors in my life, I didn’t have (or take) the time to really deal with them. Now, with economic slowdown I have more time to think. Or I'm taking more time to think.

I’ve suffered from information overload. And analysis paralysis. And have a lot of elephants to eat. I’m still only snacking on the appetizers, but I’m munching away, bit by bit.

About 5-1/2 years ago, I made a conscious decision to work on my spiritual life. This is part of another story, but let's see if I can stick to my point. E and I were visiting Aunt Linda. At this time, E had just finished confirmation and was heavily into the "God thing." We were in a good place - literally - to be into the "God thing" as God and Jesus are huge in Aunt Linda's life and in the lives of her family and friends. So we were immersed. But more important than that immersion and being surrounded by believers - I think - is that we were both beginning to look very carefully at our own personal relationships with God.

We did a lot of reading about prayer and faith. And did a lot of introspection.

And I thought about the things that bring me joy. Not just a little bit of contentment (even though that's OK too) but real joy. Soul-filling, chest-bursting, cartwheel-turning, jump-up-and-down JOY. And I also thought about and made a personal commitment to seek out, pay attention to and appreciate the simple joys of things like hanging out with kids and being completely silly or hearing a joke that brings about giant belly laughs. Of seeing all the miraculous detail in a beautiful flower. Or feeling the delicious warmth of the sun on the top of my head. Of losing myself in something for a little while and then emerging with a new awareness of the world around me.

And I realized that's what I need to fill my life with. Because when I'm filled up, it spills over and I have to share. Sometimes life fills up with stuff we have to do and there doesn’t seem to be room for joy. Some people have that wonderful gift to bloom where they’re planted and find joy in everything they do. That is a truly amazing gift. I know I don’t have it exactly right, but I’m working away at filling the spaces – and at using the devices I alone was gifted with – to make room for all the joy I can contain so the chances of it spilling over increase every day.

I Said a Bad Word Once

Um, well, maybe more than once.

The point is, I'm not in the habit of saying bad words - to people's faces. Yet because of this one instance, I have a reputation.

And the worst part is: It happened at church.

You know, the place where we're supposed to go and be holy and be really nice to one another? Even when we don't feel very nice?
I can't believe I'm admitting this here, but ...

Once upon a time, I volunteered to be a kitchen helper during Vacation Bible School. VBS is a huge event at our church. This particular year, I knew my work schedule was especially unpredictable, so I volunteered to "just help" rather than be "in charge."

On the first day of VBS I showed up in the kitchen after a really terrible horrible no good very bad day. A fellow mom was there already and I asked her what I could do to help. The response: "I don't know, I'm not in charge."

I know my way around a kitchen, so I surveyed the groceries and goodies to see if there were any clues about prep work and made a few guesses aloud. Again (and even more exasperated): "I don't know. I'm not in charge." It seemed to offend her when I tried to engage her in the guessing game ... we had volunteered, after all - and not to just stand there waiting for whoever was in charge to arrive and tell us what needed doing.

After the third - what I considered to be unnecessarily snotty - remark, words I'm pretty sure I had never before said directly to anyone bubbled up and out of my mouth.

"Why are you being such a b...ch?!"

We both gasped. I immediately tried to stuff the word back into my mouth with both hands, apologizing at the same time. Visibly horrified and shaking her head, she said, "What. You. Did. Is. Totally. Unforgivable."

I was incredulous. Unforgivable? I said a bad word. True, I applied the word to her, but ... Okay. Okay. Be contrite, I told myself.

I tried again to apologize, but was accused of being insincere. I may then have said something about um, her self-righteousness, and forgiveness being at the very core of Christianity ... before I slapped my hand over my mouth and scurried out of the kitchen. I took myself off to the adult class, skooched in next to my former fifth grade teacher (now a dear friend) and confessed my sin. And told her I obviously needed a remedial class right away.


Over the next weeks and months, I didn't stop apologizing. I confessed to our pastor. I sent what I was sure was a heartfelt letter to this woman, filled with biblical references I'd found about forgiveness. In retrospect, my letter very likely focused too much on what I saw as her duty to forgive rather than on my need to be forgiven. But I did try. Or thought I did. I prayed about it, asking God to show me a way to fix this situation and to soften her heart and accept my apology. Eventually, a peace of sorts grew between us. Still, more than 10 years later, it is still fresh in my memory - and I suspect is not too stale in hers.

As stories have a tendency of doing, this one made its way into the legend and lore of our office. "Ah, watch out or Nancy will call you a b...ch."


The lesson that I continue to learn is that church-goers are not perfect. Christians and other people of faith are not perfect. In fact, achieving perfection on Earth is not the point. Going on to perfection is an intentional process, a daily journey. I'm fond of saying that every day is another chance to do it right. And I know I can't do it by myself.


One of my favorite descriptions of Jesus is that he loves us and accepts us just the way we are but he also loves us too much to let us stay that way. What a relief.

Left to My Own Devices

Thoughts on the idea that the true measure of a person is known only by what they do when left to their own devices. (Is that the lesson - or is it something else entirely?)

I've been tossing this idea around for a while.

Sharing that honestly is a bit of a scary thought, isn’t it?

I’m talking “free time.” What do you do (or would you do) when you don’t have to do anything?

Sure, some might say there’s no such thing. There are always responsibilities. Always the need to plan, to do. No time to just be. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, right?

Well, of course, if I didn't have to ... go to work, mow the lawn, shovel the snow, pay the bills, do mountains of laundry, chauffeur kids around, attend meetings, make dinner, study, clean up dog poop and cat barf, fix the bathroom sink, go to the gym, get the oil changed, finish the Christmas shopping, plan events, ... do all this stuff ... I'd:

• Spend all day helping people. Visit the elderly, the sick, the poor, the hungry and homeless, the addicted, the imprisoned.
• Help build a house.
• Fight for justice and peace.
• Walk on the beach and enjoy the feel of sand crunching between my toes. Or take a hike. Or scale a mountain.
• Take a nap.
• Read a book and eat bon-bons.
• Follow all of the recent election coverage on YouTube and, um, SNL.
• Sit. And think.
• Make snow angels.
• Sink into the arms of my family and relive events of the past through their stories.
• Hold a friend's hand and let her know I hurt when she hurts.
• Make silly faces. Or guacamole.
• Chop vegetables into little bitty pieces. And make huge vats of soup. Then try to find unsuspecting souls to eat said vats of soup.
• Bake up a batch of bug pancakes (imaginary, of course!) with my favorite small people. And play hockey, of course. (I get to be goalie. Or the announcer. Or the fans.)
• Praise God and thank Her for this beautiful world and the people in it.

If only I didn't have so many other things to do!

A few years back, I dated a man in whom I saw tremendous potential. Others know this too about this man. He was - and is - one of the most talented musicians I have had the pleasure of knowing. He was incredibly funny - even when life was incredibly hard. He has a good heart. I just know that. He loves his children. But the challenges they face individually and as a family were (and probably still are) extreme, almost to the point of absurdity. Even so, I knew that if God blessed our relationship, the impossible could and would happen.

I was so disappointed when the man I loved chose to do certain things with his time when it was so obvious to me what he "should" have been doing! What I (self-righteously chest beating here) would have been doing if it were me.

There were times that I wondered if the choices he made - when left to his own devices - were a measure of his character - or something else entirely. To this day, I don't know the answer to that particular question, but somehow, I just don't think that was the lesson I was supposed to learn.

Sometimes things just don't work out the way we hope or plan. So we take the experience and make it a part of who we are and move on to the next adventure in store.

Every day presents another chance - to make a different choice, take another path, try a new thing. And it's all up to us. God gave us the blessing of free will. How do we choose to use it?

Mother Teresa said we can do no great things, only small things with great love.

Something to ponder: What would you do in the name of great love ... if left to your own devices?

A Peace of Burnt Toast

Visiting the Amazing E is always a good fillerup for the soul, but this past weekend I made it an overnight - a mid-winter treat.

Clearly, only a Bed & Breakfast would do. And ever since I found the Burnt Toast Inn (http://www.burnttoastinn.com/) in the list of Ann Arbor B&Bs, I heard the name calling to me. In the name of mini vacation I splurged on the attic suite, which features a mama bed and a Lizzie bed, and a large tiled bathroom with heated floor and meditation area. Ooohhhh. And bathrobes and slippers. No TV. Bliss.

We had an exciting Saturday evening walking to Main Street for dinner and a little shopping, then back to the room for a first-timer tax prep lesson. We took advantage of the free wireless Internet to file the taxes and watch an old Friends episode on YouTube. Necessary stuff, plus quality togetherness time ... then sleep, blessed sleep, in our cozy beds.

Morning arrived way too soon for me. (In truth, it always does.) But after savoring several cups of great coffee, a sampling of fresh fruit and organic yogurt, various Zingerman's breads and brioches (plus just a tiny taste of the thick-cut peppered bacon our hostess offered), I joined my daughter in her Sunday-morning routine. We went to church. And in true Ann Arbor style - we walked.

A rather heavenly one-mile walk - bright blue skies and surprisingly warm after recent bitterly cold temps. Then a tall building booming with life - spirit and song. There is no hiding out anonymously in the back row in this church. Each worshiper is guided into the next available open space, filling up the sanctuary from front to back.

My heart swelled - first with the realization that this is what my daughter chooses to do with her Sunday mornings. Feeling privileged and proud that she invited me to participate in her life away from home. Next, with a tremendous feeling of hope for our world as I surveyed this representative gathering of the next generation.

Scanning the room, I was struck by row after row of glossy black-haired Asian and Asian-American students, with a dozen or so blond, brown and bald heads scattered among them. I looked up and saw the flags of at least 30 countries displayed around the sanctuary.

When it was time to pass the peace, we introduced ourselves to one another. "Hi, I'm Peter. God bless you." "My name is Adam, and you are ...?" "So nice to see you. I'm Pak." Over and over.

Throughout the service, I couldn't get over the fact that about 300 college students (my quick estimate) chose to be in this place every Sunday at 9:30 a.m. What drew them here? The praise band was loud but good, and included an impressive young violinist. The message was long, but packed with power and meaning. And the students took notes. True, I saw a few squirmy ones and maybe one or two nodding off. But this was the most attentive crowd I have ever seen at a church service. These kids were engaged. And English was clearly not the first language of most. In evidence were digital translators, dictionaries and various translations of the Bible.

I didn't observe any text-messaging or playing of video games or listening to iPods. How ... interesting.

After a full two hours of worship and a benediction/sending forth that included giving each other Holy High Fives and hugs, we filed out for fellowship time in a place devoid of donuts. Nor did I smell overcooked church-basement coffee. The hospitality crew passed through the clusters of noisy (phew, that's a little more "normal") late-teen and twenty-somethings, offering trays of Triscuits with a bruschetta-like topping. Gourmet homemade macaroni and cheese was dished out onto little plates at stations around the room. Even though our next stop was lunch in Hill Dining Center, I had to have a little taste of the primo hors d'oeuvres. Oh my. I can't wait to share this with our church ladies at home.

Brioche and bruschetta. Peace and promise. This is only the beginning.