The stages of suffixes

When we are young we often see our place in our peer group defined by “ –est.” With a September birthday I was usually the youngest in my class. I was often the shortest and due to a lifelong struggle, among the largest. I had friends who were the opposite. Those extremes are objective and defined by numbers. The subjective “est’s” are trickier. Stereotypically, girls want to be the prettiest, discounting that we are such in our parents’ eyes, and young boys aim for the strongest, not buying in to the brains over brawn theory. Nicest and meanest are slippery slopes that might include elements of wimp vs. standing for one’s rights. We think that smartest means the best grades not understanding it would better to be the wisest, something that Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory might argue.

Add on a couple of years and we shift from “-est” to “-er” as in “I’m taller than…” or “our house is bigger than…” Much of this gets internalized as “I’m better than…” which helps us once again find our spot in the pecking order of things. We adjust to being more in the middle but still compare ourselves to others. We continue to look up to or down on those who remain at the extremes either by perception or fact.

With a few more years comes some self-acceptance and we make the best of what we have and who we are with ‘ly’ descriptions. We call ourselves comely or moderately good-looking. We figure out we can handle things adeptly or quickly. Before we know it we take on more roles and besides being daught-er we are now ‘one who’ such as moth-er, teach-er, manag-er, act-or.

I’ve liked entering the ‘ive’ place in life. This is where I can acknowledge that my looks might be distinctive. I realize there are things I can do to make who I am as a whole be attractive. My outlook and abilities make me creative and, more important, inclusive. Growing disabilities are disruptive and cause me to be reflective.

Now there is no prestigious study behind this musing, just some random thoughts woven together as I do so enjoy flushing out an idea, making pieces fit. Perhaps you’ve got your own suffix thoughts or, allow me to be suggestive, maybe together we can explore prefixes another time.

Marilyn

Overcoming

Today we celebrate the birth of Martin Luther King, Jr. It also happens to mark the 111^th birthday of my father, Ralph Frederick Huebel.  Both men:

• Had dreams, including wanting the world to be better for their children.
• Knew hard physical work. My father had to leave school after 8^th grade to work on the farm and King worked in the fields. 
• Lived through troubling times and overcame obstacles. 
• Married strong women whose career was housewife but who wanted to do more. 
• Enjoyed making connections from one thing to another, making them creative individuals. 
• Left legacies that they might not have envisioned.

There is someone who touched your life and, while he or she may not share today’s birth date, they share some similarities with Dr. King. Let's take a minute and toast all who have done some overcoming and let's not forget you and me!

Marilyn

Movie memories

The first movie that made me cry was Old Yeller and the most recent one that evoked tears was Into the Woods for its superbly crafted words and truths. As a ‘tween I sobbed at the end of Love is a Many Splendored Thing when I realized William Holden was really not returning to Jennifer Jones and during the old black and white version of A Tale of Two Cities. Everyone in the group of 7^th grade friends who went to see West Side Story gasped “No!” when Tony was killed and I remember being confused when we walked out of the theater into afternoon sunshine for the movie ended with a night scene.  

I fidgeted through Fantasia while my mother was enthralled but sat on the edge of my seat in front of the TV and clapped along with Mary Martin to make Tinkerbell well again. What teenage girl didn’t want to be Liesl in the gazebo in The Sound of Music? Operation Petticoat and the original Pink Panther and had me laughing until I cried. Exodus was my first book-to-movie and I was bothered by some of the translation from what I’d read and envisioned to what was on the screen. Today’s younger audiences may be surprised to learn that there used to be news clips and a cartoon that preceded the feature film and that longer movies had intermissions. I remember exploring the theater during the break in the two reels of Ben Hur because we were in New York City and were sitting up in the theater’s balcony.

In college we discovered Ingmar Bergman who taught us that movies can be more than entertainment. I remember feeling sophisticated as I watched and later dissected the acting, the script, and the use of Mozart in the film’s score. I agreed with the lyrics of Simon and Garfunkel and loved The Graduate. Back when there were large screen theaters, 2001: A Space Odyssey was stunning while Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid was a sheer joy, even with the ending.

Then came violence so different from the Westerns we were used to. I had such a visceral reaction to Joe in 1970 that I never wanted to see Peter Boyle again, was appalled at Billy Jack, but enjoyed much of Easy Rider, well, until… My eyes were closed through most of Mean Streets and Day of the Locust so I started to be more selective in what I was willing to see. I made it through Spielberg’s Schlinder’s List and Attenborough’s Gandhi but choose to not see so many other historical dramas because of man’s inhumanity but it’s not always easy to tell what is violence-free. We all might love Finding Nemo and The Lion King, but my four year old grand-niece screamed through parts of Aladdin.

Much of my queasiness at seeing violence on screen has to do with an image that still haunts me and that I’ve never talked about. When I was around eight years old I walked through the living room while my parents were watching a movie on TV. That sounds like a normal everyday thing. Unfortunately, it was at a point when three prisoners of war were being released. They were roped together because one of them had been blinded, another made deaf, and the third’s tongue was cut out. As disturbing as that is to write, it was a terrible image for a child to see and hear about.

That makes me worry about the thousands of images that bombard today’s generation on all fronts. From billboards to downloads on computers and phones, kids, well all of us really, are exposed to so much and I think we all have become jaded to a certain level of violence considered acceptable. I’ve learned there are certain 9pm TV shows I cannot watch right before going to bed because for me they cross that line.

I have no solutions or even suggestions but this is something I’m going to continue to consider. What about you?

Marilyn

Shared laughter at midnight

Some friends and I ended 2014 with a potluck meal and game of Tripoli. It was my turn to host. The weather cooperated so no one called to cancel. Folks found easy parking. Everyone looked festive, duly admired the seasonal decorations, and we settled down to enjoy tasty and lovingly prepared food and one another.

Within this group there are various sets of twos, threes, and fours that enjoy doing different things together. Some worked in the same office decades ago, two are sisters, four cruise companionably every year somewhere warm. Three are part of a pinochle group that has gathered monthly for thirty years.

You may be part of a similar conglomeration of people. There usually are one or two people who are the glue and one or two common elements. Over time there is a shared story, often ways various members have reached out to and been supported by the others throughout the years. Rivalry and disagreements occur and then become part of the group’s history. A chair may be empty for one get together or an extra chair made ready for a guest or potential new candidate.

Such groups, however tight or loosely formed, are important. They bring a sense of continuity and community to each person’s life. Within their confines we can find a safe place to vent or a place where we know we can be challenged to be the best we can be. Together we mourn and salute those who were once around the table. We boost up when needed and celebrate minor and major successes.

Our evening last week included the usual catching up, gossip, and ‘remember when’ stories. It also contained much laughter. We had the brief ‘ha ha’ moments and several of the deep belly laughs that, well, you had to be there to understand why we were laughing so hard while wiping away tears. At midnight we were busy blowing horns – well, some of us were trying to – and toasting one another, but the shared laughter of the night was a lovely way to usher out the old and welcome the new. It set a great tone for the year ahead. May we all find much to smile at and chuckle over – including our own foibles – in 2015, and may each group we are part of experience some laughs that resound throughout the hallways.

Marilyn

Going viral

Chris, the baby boy born on the Philadelphia train on Christmas Day, had his entry into the world well documented and his unusual birth was reported by news organizations around the world. What if the same had been true two thousand years ago?

We would have to accept that baby Jesus was darker skinned than artists have since depicted. As the story went viral, we would really see him as the babe in the manger, squalling face and all. His human-ness would confront us and we would realize that diaper rash, first steps, the terrible twos, and learning the “ABC’s” were ahead of him.

Parts of the well-known story would be filled in. Did that innkeeper call for the local midwife? Did Joseph remain with Mary the whole time and coach her when to pant and when to push? We would all see the terror and joy in the teen parents’ faces, Mary’s exhaustion, Joseph’s frustration at the shoddy surroundings, and their fear at being so far from home just because they were doing what the law required. They both knew that it takes a village to raise a child, and here they were, all alone, with their firstborn.

Perhaps viewers would text and donate to help the family get better accommodations. Shortly, however, they would have some expensive presents to post on EBay to cover the costs of their flight to Egypt, where they would be immigrants, and their return to set up shop and a new household in Nazareth. A shepherd would post a video of the angels on You Tube and we all could see and hear the heavenly host.

OK, you get the idea which I’m sure is not original. But where this musing ultimately led me was to the discovery that I want to have a conversation with those who prayerfully considered what to keep in and what to leave out of what we know as the Bible. By not including material on nearly three decades of Jesus’ life – the Facebook and social media equivalent pieces of the day to day of his childhood, adolescence and through his twenties and which surely existed – we are left to struggle with the concept of God/Human, and, in that struggle, I think the ‘human’ gets the short shrift. In an era when our heroes often dominate headlines because of their human failings, it would be good to have more of a record of the life of the person, our brother, born to be the ultimate hero.

Marilyn

My nose knows holidays

No matter where you are from or what holidays you celebrate, we all learn to associate certain smells with particular festivities. As you read about my fragrance memories, I invite you to recollect what your own nose knows.

Holidays mean a time of year. Growing up Christian in Buffalo, NY, Christmastime meant cold and snow, and unless, you’re around it and are sensitive to such things, you may not realize that there is an odor to winter’s cold. It is a crispness, which, I’m sure has degrees that hunters, farmers, and gatherers identify and have tracked for millennia.

Holidays mean symbols. My dad and I would go tree shopping and bring home a fragrant blue spruce that rested in a bucket of water on the back porch for several days before it was moved into the living room to be decorated. The scent of pine and the outdoors lingered on the porch and adorned the whole house.

Holidays mean special foods. One day in mid-December I would come home from school and, with the scent of anise in the air, know that cookie baking and decorating was the happy activity for the rest of the afternoon. Christmas Eve meant oyster stew before the 11pm church service where candles burned bright. Strong coffee in the percolator to accompany the trays of sweet treats welcomed guests at the house after the celebration. There was always a tangerine in the toe of my stocking and Christmas breakfast included a yeast-based coffeecake that my mother called kugel and grapefruit with a side of a candy cane, for we would sip the citrusy juice through the peppermint stick. Dinner was lamb with all the fixings for a large feast that ended with mincemeat pie which had smelled wonderful while baking the day before. For those who wanted an after dinner drink, crème de menthe was served in small glasses that I still have.

Holidays means relatives. Uncle Bob and Aunt Dorothy spent Christmas Eve and Day with us. He wore Old Spice on special occasions and she liked lavender. My aunt Alice who lived in England would often send something she had knitted and which retained a woolen-y smell even after years of washing.

Holidays mean fun activities. The church youth group would go tobogganing and there would be the smell of wet clothes when we gathered for hot chocolate in the lodge and there would be more hot chocolate after an evening of caroling. When we were sung out and reached our final destination, there would be a fireplace for warming up and roasting marshmallows.

Holidays mean feelings. As I discovered a broader world and was exposed to a variety of sacred and secular holidays, I also came to understand that families have their own traditions and that not everyone’s special days are happy. The smell of liquor often means that over the course of the party some relative gets nasty. In many houses there are no delicious special smells because parents struggle to put basic necessities on the table. Even those with plenty can get stressed with all of the expected specialness and the air around them smells tense and tight. I have also learned that there is a smell to lonely, which is what the holidays can trigger for so many. This is a smell that we have to also sense with our eyes, our ears, and our hearts.

As I enjoy the scents of the season this year, both of my own making and what comes my way, I want to be intentional about seeking out the smell of loneliness in myself and in others. I will hope to do something that provides an alternative fragrance, one that might, at least momentarily, make this holiday time something that can be enjoyed and treasured.

May all the warm scents that mean good things to you be yours through end of this year and into the next.

Marilyn

Wrapping paper and safety pins

For the last decade of his life my brother and I had ongoing fun conversations about things we could invent that would make us rich. Our goal was to create something simple and so obvious that people thought they needed it (wrapping paper) or really did need (safety pins). I don’t remember many ideas that we humorously tossed around, but we would call one another and say things like, “Ear warmers for pet bunnies!”

This came to mind as I was wrapping presents to send to my grand-nieces, granddaughters Ron never knew. In order to begin that project I had to find the plastic bin that houses all the wrapping paper and ribbons. You’ve got a similar something yourself. Well, from my recent move I knew that it was on the top shelf in the closet in the den. I’d forgotten that there were lots of other things piled on top of it, so there was some maneuvering required to get to the 2 different rolls of paper leftover from last year. If Ron was around I would call and say, “A garment bag for wrapping paper.” I’ll bet if I checked out the Container Store’s website they already have that.

Once wrapped, the presents needed to go in a box to send. If Ron was around I would call and say, “Precut packing tape of different sizes.” Someone probably has those in production somewhere.

In the 20 years he has been gone we have not reduced our usage of wrapping paper. One source says that we use two million tons during the holiday season. That’s 30 million trees for a product that is difficult to recycle and that many don’t even try to. If Ron was around I would call and say, “Easily recyclable wrapping paper!”

Ron and I didn’t spend that many Christmases together because of the age difference and locations so it was not holiday memories that made me nostalgic while wrapping the presents but the memory of our game of inventions. Remembering that made me smile. If Ron was around I would call and ask him what he liked on the most recent Shark Tank. He would have loved that show. Whatever makes you nostalgic this season, may it also end up making you smile.

Marilyn