Maybe It's Just the Bangs

So let's get this out of the way first -- yes, I am related to people who raise chickens (and proud of it).  One of those people recently had a chicken-related scare that got me thinking about how to view life's challenges.

It seems that Phyllis (the chicken) suddenly developed problems walking.  Her owner was quite concerned that maybe Phyllis had been accidentally injured by the resident goat. (Yes, related to goat-raising people as well.)  Anyway, Phyllis was stumbling about and there was concern that catastrophic injuries may have occurred.  

But then the owner noticed that Phyllis' bangs had become a bit unruly. After a quick trim, Phyllis was as good as new.  (No, I do not have video of the chicken bang-trimming episode and will lament that fact to the end of my days.)

So in this case, Phyllis had suffered no catastrophic injury; there was no tough end-of-life decision to be made. Phyllis just needed a friend to notice she wasn't seeing straight and to lend her a hand.   And maybe that's what most of us need when we are stumbling about (whether actually or metaphorically): a friend who will notice our distress and who will help us determine if we have been injured by a goat or if we just need to have our bangs trimmed.    

Is It Just Me? When Did We Start Looking at Blessings as Burdens?

Okay, that's rhetorical, I know I'm not the only one that complains about my blessings as if they are burdens.  For example, a woman I was hanging out with (and by hanging out, I mean sitting close to and overhearing), complained that she had to drive the Mercedes again because the Jag was in the shop again. Oh, the horror of it all.

I don't have such high-class complaints and yet . . . 

This weekend, I found myself dreading washing the cars and complaining about having to clean youngest son's room and bathroom again (he somehow manages to visit just long enough to trash the place).  Complaining rather than being grateful for having multiple cars that have transported us many inexpensive and carefree miles. (Full disclosure -- the Jeep and Honda have provided us with inexpensive and carefree miles.  The other car not so much but it is pretty and fast so there's that.)  Complaining rather than being grateful that our son came to visit.  Complaining rather than being grateful for having multiple bathrooms. Complaining because that has become the default setting for the multiple conversations that take place in my head.  

But I believe it is possible to change default settings. To learn to ride the ups and downs of life and recognize which is which.  To understand that I can't always control the direction but can appreciate the highs when they occur and learn from the lows when they come around.  To learn to differentiate between blessings and burdens.

Footnote:  My parents raised five children in a house with one small bathroom.  How small was it?  This bathroom was so small that it was an incentive for  weight control -- if you gained too much weight, you couldn't fit into the area with the toilet.  Now that's something to complain about.

Believing in Ladybugs

Optimism is not my default setting.  If there is a glass and there is water in the glass, I not only see the glass as half empty but believe there is a crack developing and that it is only a matter of time until catastrophe strikes.

But, I am trying to train myself to look for notes of grace rather than impeding disasters.  And I recently found grace in the guise of a ladybug.  In case you don't know, finding a ladybug in your garden is considered good luck.  I have been gardening at our present home for over ten years and last week was the first time I saw one in my garden.  It was also just after I transplanted Daddy's rose bushes.

Granted it was a small sign but I chose to believe that it was a message from Daddy heralding happier, more peaceful times ahead. To some the passing of Mother yesterday might lead to loss of faith in the promise of the ladybug.  However, I know that Mother's suffering is over.  I also know that weathering a year that could best be described as the title of a country western song -- Daddy and Mama Died and We had to Put the Dog Down -- has given us strength.  

Recently, someone asked about me about my religious beliefs.  I told them (with a straight face) that I am a devout agnostic.  I may have questions about God but I am going to maintain my faith in the ladybug and trust that, like Daddy's roses, we will grow new roots, bloom and thrive again.

Growing Up

Part of growing up is discovering that there are few absolutes in life.  It's learning that the hard choices you make today based on the information you have available, can be the choices that with changing circumstances turn out to be horribly wrong.  It's learning that the promises made yesterday with the best of intentions and deepest of love might have to be broken tomorrow.  Not because the intentions or love have changed but because breaking those promises is now the best way to honor the intentions and love. 

And so it has been with caring for Mother. Promises were made to Daddy regarding her care that now must be broken.  The last few weeks have made it obvious that there is no way to keep her safe without putting her in a nursing facility.  Goodness knows Bobbi and Jack (my sister and her husband) have tried.  Jack has spent so many hours tending wounds from Mother's multiple falls that Bobbi noted he would have made a good doctor.  I don't know about that, but I do know that he makes a great role model.  

Choices now have to be made that are not based on what Mother wants or what was promised to Daddy, but rather on what needs to be done to keep Mother as safe and healthy as possible. And while I know what needs to be done and I understand that adults make the hard choices, a part of me really doesn't want to be an adult right now.