Competition Nation

At church this morning I heard the couple sitting behind me tell another couple it was their 29^th anniversary today.  I turned to congratulate them.  They always sit behind me and we share the sign of peace but hadn’t spoken otherwise.  This is my opportunity, I thought.   The other couple announced they had celebrated their 52^nd anniversary.  I shared that my neighbor was married 65 years.   Afterwards I got to thinking.   Should we just have let them enjoy the glow of their 29 years without sharing other stories with them?   It’s so natural to do so, but was it appropriate?   When does sharing cross that line into competition?

Of course, it is part of our culture to compete.  We compete about everything.  Mommy wars.  Daddy wars.  Grandma wars.  Couple time.  Work.  Cars. Homes.  Interest rates on our investment or savings accounts.  Mortgage rates on our homes.  Who has the smartest child/grandchild?  Whose child has the most activities and excels at them?   What school does the child go to?   Who had the most vacations? Which ones sounded the most exotic on the retell? Who has the best dog or cat?  Who saw the latest movie?  Who read the latest best selling book?  Who tried the new restaurant?  Who shops at more exclusive stores?  Who is the busiest?  Who is the most productive? Who was married the longest?  Who was widowed the longest?  Who works out the most?  Who is the sickest?  Who has the most ailments?  Who attends church more frequently?   It never ends.  And we have all been guilty of it at times to one degree or another.  When does sharing cross that line?

And there is the untold hurtfulness that this behavior can wrought.   The long-term damage to relationships and the eventual alienation it will bring.  A truly competitive person will pitch that zinger at just the right moment in a conversation.   ‘Well this works for you but for me…[fill in the blank as to topic].    ‘This car is so cute but…’  or  ‘I don’t like [blank] but other people do.”   As a relatively new widow, I have even been the recipient of a few conversational lobs of  ‘we’ve been married [blank] years.’   At random, they had to work it into the conversation although marriage or relationships wasn’t being discussed.  It seems that a competitive nature can’t contain itself.  Even when that particular competitive field has been definitively closed to my participation.   

As the comments start flying across conversational streams, I’m always left wondering – why can’t they just express happiness for you and share in your contentment?  Why say anything else at all?  I think people forget the kindergarten basic that everyone gets a turn to be the center of attention.  And for a competitive soul – the fact that you aren’t competing with them makes no difference.    They are still instinctively determined to ‘win this one.’  I tend to grow leery when I am in conversation and someone uses the word ‘but.’

At the heart of all of this stems some good intentions.  People want a good life.  They want the best for their children.  The need to prove it to others is the crux of the issue.  So, I propose that all of the good things are possible without the national game of competition.  Many people have naturally stepped back from the precipice this competitiveness brings.  It is a free fall into an empty and endless battle to still be seen as ‘the one in the know.’  And when you are sitting at the end of your life-  will any of this make a significant difference to you?  I can assure you that it will not.  Your concern will be if your loved ones will be okay after you’re gone.  Your one disappointment will be that you won’t have more time with your loved ones.  

And of course from a Christian perspective, it truly is pointless- for there is room in heaven for every one.   No competition.   No sign up sheets.  No getting ahead in line for a better view.   No early placement needed.  God has already chosen the perfect place for you.  It’s done.  You just have to accept this gift.   And does anything else really matter?   So you see, competition really is a pointless past time.  Just something to ponder.  Maybe our nation can change.   One conversation at a time.

That Abyss

The vastness of it overwhelms.   You try not to approach the edge of the yawning chasm.  It’s darkness makes you feel cold and you shiver.   The unseen bottom and opposite sides gives you pause.   Best not to think of it – that abyss of your future years without your love.  An unplanned future spent on your own.  If dwelled upon it could prove terrifying in its enormity.

In the early days, I would wonder at how I could fill the years ahead of me.   I learned it was best to just focus on each day.  It works most of the time.   It really does.  But there are those occasions when that abyss looms large in the mind.  Sometimes at random moments when least expected.  Sometimes when you are marking a special occasion or other memory pivot point.  A day or week when you remember what once was.   Not that you ever really forget it.  It’s just become easier to be distracted from the pain on more days the further you are out from your loss. 

I think of my future path from a Christian perspective.   And it helps to put my trust in God as I plan each day.   But yet- there are those unexpected moments.  Moments when the abyss startles me with its presence.  I say a little prayer.  I write a little blog.   Comforted by the knowledge gained from experience that in the morrow it will seem less daunting. 

Eggsa Tradition

Easter is such a glorious time of the year, isn’t it?  And the liturgical weeks following the big day allow us to continue the celebration albeit with a continued focus on the cross and what it ultimately means for Christians.

So I was excited to spend the holiday weekend with my family ‘up Maine.’   On Easter morning, after church, my mom and I made a batch of deviled eggs.  It’s the tradition every year to have them.  Many Easters I made them for myself when celebrating with my husband.   So we make a batch and start looking for THE egg plate.  The one that my mom remembers her mama using when she was a little girl.   We search everywhere. When it becomes apparent that this plate is truly missing, both of us search harder.  With increasing anxiety.  I run to my sister’s home next door to see if it was left there from last year.  But no.   We question each other as to where it could have been.  Was it given to another family member? No she insists.    Definitely not at my house I tell her.  The only conclusion reached is that when my mother was jettisoning some excess clutter a few years ago it must have accidentally been set atop a giveaway box when she cleaned off a shelf.  Noooooo!

And slowly we begin to mourn its loss.  I had never bought an egg plate for myself all these years.  I just assumed one day my mom would tire of hers and pass it onto me.  She never did.  She loved that plate and the memories of all those Easters.  It was unique because it was the size of a dinner plate but had spaces for a full dozen eggs or 24 deviled eggs.  In the center was a delicate painted arrangement of small pink roses.  So me.  So her.  So my grandmother.    And so unique I never saw another that tempted me its acquisition. 

Far be it from us to spoil Easter dinner with the family over a lost plate.  We muster our spirits of gratitude and head next door to my sister’s.  She has an old egg coloring plate that we use.   Mom and I share a look as we reach for a deviled egg each.  So not the same and we sigh.   We two may actually be the only ones in the family who love deviled eggs.  The only ones to mourn this latest loss.   Nothing unites two souls like shared grief.   As we know all too well.  By the end of the meal we are feeling better about it.  After all- what can be done now?

A week or two later I decide to do a search on eBay.  And, yes, indeed there are a couple of egg plates.  They only have the standard 12 slots for 6 eggs and the flowers in the center are mixed colors but each one does have a pink flower.  So both are ordered.  One for me and one for my mum.   

It may never be the same as my grandmother’s plate, but we can move forward and enjoy our deviled eggs again.   And these new plates will have a story to tell as well.  A story of mother and daughter united in a traditional plate of memory keeping.   A mother and daughter who have shared grief and then understood each other better for it. 

Fake it till ‘Ya Feel It

When I woke up this morning I could sense that I would have to force myself to get out of the house today.  Last evening was difficult because I was feeling a bit under the weather and missing my love.   My natural nestling instinct kicked in this morning and I so just wanted to stay home.  Curl up on that couch and ignore the world.   Then I recalled my promise that I would work on balance.   I needed to find positive things on the weekends to balance the weight of the workweek.   Sigh.

A recent conversation with my sister came to mind.  She told me that sometimes ‘ya just have to fake it till you feel like it.   This is one of those days I told myself.   I put on a cute top and chose coordinating earrings and headed to the garage with a newspaper clipping in tow.  I told myself that if it was really not fun I could just come home.  

It was chilly and drizzly so I had on my new fuchsia rain jacket.  That ought to perk me up I thought.   I put in the address for a seaside botanical garden that I hadn’t visited in nearly twenty years.  I still remember the garden party I attended at Fuller Gardens.  It is located about a block from the seawall with a walking path.  Today was their annual plant sale said the newspaper and I was looking for herbs. 

The rain stopped and it became quite humid there by the sea.  I found some really great looking plants and decided to become a member there.  This could be one of my new ‘happy places.’  A reason to get out of the house on random Saturday mornings.   In the gift shop I joined a couple ladies in their passionate discussion of the most recent Downton Abbey season.   Of course, I told them.  Garden lovers would enjoy that show!  We reminisced about season one with the tea and garden parties and all those hats.

As I left, I put in the address for a craft fair on the common in Hampton Falls, a neighboring town.  As I drove along the seawall, the sun came out and the sea was sparkling to my left.  I was suddenly hungry and there was the Beach Plum restaurant I ate at last year with my mom.  I pulled in and got a fresh haddock sandwich.  The beach facilities were open across the street.  I got there just before the huge lunch crowd arrived.

When I got to the craft fair I realized I would have to park a ways down the street.  Well I said to self – good exercise and fresh air all together.  The common was covered in newly mowed grass a lovely deep shade of green, soft and comfortable for strolling around the craft tents.  I found many things I liked but was there for the entertainment factor more than the shopping.    Chatted with a few artisans at their booths.  As I was leaving the common, I noticed a sign for a local farm and it was further down the street I was parked on.  Well, I can get home from there quite easily.  I’ll just drive a new road I said to self as I banged a u-turn mid road.  No traffic in either direction, trust me. 

At Applecrest Orchards I picked up some new red potatoes and green onions so I can make potato salad on Sunday.  I actually found a small jar of pickled eggs.  Too funny.  They were featured in a scene in a recent book group read about some Russians and the meal they ordered in a bar.  I had wanted to recreate it at home.   Maybe I will.   Well, except for the herring.  There are limits as to what I am willing to try.   I had a nice chat with the owners at the cashier stand.   I got something to drink in the refreshment shed and admired the rows of perennials they had for sale.  It was less humid and the breeze was lovely.  The sun’s strong rays made it feel warmer than the 67 degrees the thermometer indicated.

As I left I marveled at the circuit I had made in my junket.  It was only twenty miles in total and I didn’t get on the highway once.  Many of the roads I hadn’t driven before.  Lovely discoveries of small town commons, old trees and rock walls.   The entire outing took only three hours.  And somewhere along the way I didn’t have to fake it anymore. 

Softly Arrives the Spring

I sit bathed in gentle early morning sunshine with mug of tea at the ready.   All the grass and trees are quite green in my neighborhood.   Contemplating another neighborhood walk as the morning progresses.  Perhaps that lady in the back will have finished spreading that huge pile of mulch?  Perhaps not just yet.

After all the cool weather and rain, these rays of sun feel particularly sweet.   I hear so many people complaining about the lack of spring this year.  I smile as I point out that this year is more normal than recent years.  Spring should be slow and gentle in its arrival.   Excessive warmth is more suited to late summer days than spring.  

I recall that spring a couple years ago when it was 80 degrees on the first day of spring.  Nothing gentle about that year - in the spring weather or my life.   I hadn't considered before if the weather mirrors the patterns of our lives.   I believe it is coincidence.   Or maybe we notice things with different perspectives depending on our moods.

The gentleness of this spring is a welcome respite for me as I journey on.   The warmth of the sunshine is as welcome as the warmth of my family and friends with whom I have been spending much time of late.  Alas, my blog has been put on the back burner.  Yet today, my creative side is bubbling to the surface.