Words Are Easy

I’m sure we’ve all heard the advice that words are easy, it’s actions that matter.  But have you really thought about that lately?   Because, as I look around our world, I see a lot of easily uttered words but not so many actions.    Congress is a classic example but….wait, I don’t want to go there. 

You know those social ‘white’ lies?  Like saying we’ll get together to do this or that?   The person making the statement gets to bask in the immediate happiness of the recipient without actually making the effort to follow through. 

Of course, there are the classic words of caring we often share with family and friends.  But if you really think about it – it’s the actions to express that caring that mean so much more.  Actually visiting that relative in the nursing home.  Actually attending that child’s school event.  It’s the time spent together more than the words.   Is it a ten minute ‘duty’ call to mom or dad?  Or are you spending the time for a good, long chat? 

Or what about those polite or even caring words uttered to someone but then the mockery starts once the back is turned?   An action not quite in keeping with those easily spoken words.  But as a society it has become a way of life.  When did mockery and sarcasm become so popular anyway?   I miss  kindness and sincerity. 

Then there is the deeper issues- the dreams vocalized but never acted upon.   No tiny steps taken to actually make that dream come true.  Perhaps it is the hope to do more for your community but then life intervenes and there just wasn’t the time. 

How are all these examples interconnected?  I believe that uttering those easy words on the small daily things leads to us being frozen on the larger, more significant goals, hopes or dreams.  We start to believe the self-talk that we have not the time.  No time to call mom.  No time to make your small piece of the world a better place.  Dreams can wait till later. 

I believe that we should all be more aware of all those words coming our way on a daily basis.   Do they reflect genuine kindness and actual commitment for our well-being?  Are there actions backing up those words?  If not, it may be time to welcome new people into our respective personal worlds. 

We also need to be mindful of the words we put out there-  are we following them up with action?  Do we genuinely mean what we say?  In other words, would new people welcome us into their personal worlds?

At the end of any given day, those words are just too easy to say.  And perhaps are not needed after all.  It really is actions that matter.  Let us strive to be promise keepers.  Let our actions reflect our intentions.

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. 

That Easy Bake Oven

I was relaxing with a television program the other night.  Some sitcom that happened to be on.  Well, two of the characters were middle-aged women who found an old Easy Bake Oven and some mixes in a closet.  They began oohing and ahhing over the thrill of making a cake with a light bulb.  I burst out laughing.   There is a story running through my life about that old easy bake oven. 

When I was a little girl I desperately wanted one of those easy bake ovens.  The commercials made it seem so enticing.  But my parents held firm to their believe that if I wanted to make a cake I could learn how to use the oven in our kitchen.  Don’t get me wrong – I was hardly deprived.  I had MANY other toys.  But that Easy Bake Oven was the one that got away. 

So at age nine my grandmother took me into the kitchen and taught me how to make a cake from scratch.  I was a bit naïve as to what that meant.  It all seemed glamorous at the start.  Until I started beating the batter in that giant bowl for 800 – 1,000 strokes with a wooden spoon.  Just when it became apparent that my little arm may actually fall off my Gram took over the beating process.  But after it was mixed she quickly gave full control back over to me.

It’s funny that I remember spending that time in the kitchen with my grandmother.  I remember how we greased the pans with Crisco, lined the pan with cut out circles of wax paper and finally tapped flour all around inside.   I remember learning how to scrape the batter out with a rubber spatula so none was wasted.  And later scooping up leftover icing from the bowl with our fingers.  But I can’t recall what the finished cake looked like.  Nor serving it to the family or what it tasted like.  It was all about the process and spending time with my Gram.

Many years later my brother-in-law and sister found an Easy Bake Oven at a yard sale and gift-wrapped it at Christmas time as a little joke gift.  When I opened it my inner child was initially excited and asked if it really worked?  Alas, no.  Just a joke.  Hmmm   then it’s less exciting.   A few years after that my sister decided that my niece was old enough for an Easy Bake Oven.   I was so excited to purchase one and make a pan of brownies with her one Christmas.  But they had changed the toy by that point and I didn’t feel it worked as well as ‘the one that got away.’

Then last year, after my husband died, I was making toast one morning and the toaster just stopped working.  Seriously?  Now I’ve got to buy a new one.   I had fond memories of my husband and I picking out that toaster.  It was one of the first things we bought together to use up at our getaway cottage.  It was one of the first things we packed to bring to our new home when we sold the cottage.   After some research I replaced it with a small toaster oven.  As the months went on I found myself using that toaster oven all the time.  I rarely turned on the brand new gas oven across the room.   The little pans were the perfect size for meals for one. 

One day I realized that I had my easy bake oven after all.  It just took a few extra decades to arrive.   I think that God usually provides the things we want.  It just may not be when or how we expected them.   And in the meantime, while waiting, I had some really special moments all surrounding that easy bake oven or the lack thereof.   Moments I wouldn’t trade.  I think perhaps that oven arrived at the perfect time.