"The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself." Those are the words of Alfred Lord Tennyson, and the words that Tiger Woods should have been pondering before he spewed his verbal hysterics on Sunday, on the golf couse, with hundreds of people around to hear it all.

You know, listening to his tirade sure set a great example for all the kids out there who's parents are trying to teach them concepts like "good sportsmanship" and "graceful loosing." And listening to him drag the name of Jesus through the mud and sling it to the wind in a foot-stomping hissy fit was over the top offensive to me. But all that verbal screeching told me alot more about Mr. Woods.

See, I was one of those people who listened to his "speech of apology" after his multiple of escapades in infidelity. I was one of those people who decided he was sincere and sorry and that he'd "seen the light," and "came to his senses," and realized how very, VERY wrong he had been. I thought, HEY! Joe Public! Give this guy a break. He's turning over a new leaf. How refreshing for a person to come to grips with what they'd done wrong and finally own up to something and decide to live the rest of their life being an upright, honest, good person. (Well, at least TRYING!)

On top of that, he made public promises to never shout or rage or throw his golf clubs ever again on the range. He's got a good handle on all that. It's part of the "new page" in his life. He's going to be a quiet, calm, even sanguine individual that everyone will love.

Then on Sunday he goes to the golf course and cusses up a blue cloud. His "I've changed" speech meant nothing.

When I read all this, it brought to mind the heart-wrenching, forgive-me-I'll-never-do-it-again speech he made to the world about his battle with infidelity. That speech immediately became complete fabrication in my eyes. I can no longer believe this guy. And therein lies the problem.

Not the fact that he didn't keep the promises he made (which we've all been guilty of sometime in our past), but that he made promises he couldn't keep. As a result, no one can believe his word now. If he says he's going to be a different golfer, and it turns out he isn't, he can't be believed. His word is no good. BUT. You have to ask yourself how much of what he says is actually believable. All? Part? What part? Is it easier to try to determine what part of his words are truth or is it easier to chalk all his words up as lies? I suppose you have to determine that yourself. But if you DO decide to try to separate the truth from the lies, you're left with the delemma of HOW to do it. And the CONSEQUENCES of being incorrect.

Here's an analogy for anyone with kids. Which would you say to your child: "I might make cookies for dessert later." OR "I WILL make cookies for dessert later." Now, something comes up and you don't bake the cookies. Watch what happens.

As for me, I find it easier to pepper my conversations liberally with, "maybes," and "perhapes," and a few, "I can't make any promises." That way, anything I DO say, no matter how insignificant, people can believe and take to the bank. After all, George MacDonald said it all..."Few delights can equal the mere presence of one whom we trust utterly."

What will it Matter?

I consider myself a spiritual person.  Not in the "hippie" sort of sense, where everything is flowers and mistique and if-it-feels-good-do-it.  I am a Christian, and therefore follow the teachings, principles and leadership of Jesus Christ.  That being said, I also am a realist, and quite down-to-earth---probably an attitude passed down to me from my grandparents who raised me.  I don't tend to spiritualize every encounter and event in my life, nor do I spiritualize every bit of writing.  I feel sometimes, that this "thinking outside the box" leads to opening up to the beautiful words of someone who may be saying something very noteworthy but not nescessarily spiritual in a religious sort of way.  That being said, ponder these words by Michael Josephson.  Now ponder your life.  I am.

What Will Matter



By Michael Josephson


Ready or not, some day it will all come to an end.


There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days. All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten will pass to someone else.


Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance. It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.


Your grudges, resentments, frustrations and jealousies will finally disappear. So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans and to do lists will expire.


The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.


It won’t matter where you came from or what side of the tracks you lived on at the end.


It won’t matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant. Even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.


So what will matter? How will the value of your days be measured?


What will matter is not what you bought but what you built, not what you got but what you gave.


What will matter is not your success but your significance.


What will matter is not what you learned but what you taught.


What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage, or sacrifice that enriched, empowered or encouraged others to emulate your example.


What will matter is not your competence but your character.


What will matter is not how many people you knew, but how many will feel a lasting loss when you’re gone.


What will matter is not your memories but the memories that live in those who loved you.


What will matter is how long you will be remembered, by whom and for what.


Living a life that matters doesn’t happen by accident. It’s not a matter of circumstance but of choice.


Choose to live a life that matters.

Regretful Relinquishing

Ever own something dear to you---no---VERY dear to you---and need to relinquish it?  Give it up to some "higher cause?"  Some "noble aim?"  Maybe just someone who you think needs it more than you?

I thought this about my youngest son.  Awhile back, I thought my teenaged son "needed" to become more a part of the big world.  At the time, I was happily (and sometimes NOT so happily) homeschooling him, but I thought I needed to give him more of the world...allow him to see what he was missing by sending him to a traditional classroom.

So I did.  I put him into a private Christian school and watched like a mother hen.  Why not?  For the first time in his life, I wasn't the one teaching him.  I wasn't the one deciding how many times he could drop his pencil and what the consequences would be if he did it one more time.  I wasn't the one who decided if this answer was acceptable, or that "q" resembled a "g" too much to make that spelling word correct.  And for the first time, I had to bend to the decisions of someone elses disciplinary methods used on MY child.  I had to let go of the apron strings.  This wasn't my "little boy" any more, right? 
So began my inner mantra, "Let go. Let go. Let go.  It's good for you.  It's good for him."  And the mantra became a prayer.  And the prayer became desperate sometimes, but it was  for the betterment of all.

Then one day, he has a request:
"May I attend public school?" 
"Why?"  I ask,  with a sinking feeling that I'm about to relinquish even more of my child---my baby.
"Because I won't be living in a purely Christian world when I grow up, Mom.  Going to school in a purely Christian environment isn't reality."
Okay.  There's got to be a good arguement here, but for the life of me I can't find it.  So, being the spineless creature that I am, and digging around and failing to find a clever enough arguement, and wishing for my child (as we all do) whatever his heart desires, and with some small, secret desire that he "gets what he deserves for requesting public school," I give in.
There you go, son.  He's enrolled, and the full reality of public school, 7th grade hits him full in the face.  Injustices ("But HE put the gum there, not ME!  What?  I have to do two more laps?"), peer pressure ("No, I DON'T smoke, and NO I don't want to!), abuse ("Oh my gosh!  Did you hear?  They beat him up right under the bleachers!  And the coach was on the field the whole time!"), teacher abuse ( "Mom...if Mr. ____ had yelled in MY face like he yelled in HERS, I would have got up and left!")....I could go on and on. 
After a while, I began feeling ashamed.  I was hearing these stories each night and I found myself smiling, inwardly.  See?  SEE?  I told you so, I thought smugly.
Then it was as if God was tsk-tsking me from Heaven.  Oh, no, Elaine.  You don't get away so cheaply.  Here you go.
 "We'd like to make an appointment with you concerning Andrew's grades."
Now, I know I shouldn't feel responsible for something that's clearly the responsibility of the school, more directly, my son's teachers, but suddenly I'm on the hotseat.  Suddenly, I'm the one who's responsible for his failing grades.
However, within a moment or two, the conversation's topic, namely Andrew's grades, takes a backseat in my heart and mind. 
She sits smug and snug behind her desk in her rust and burgundy "seasonal sweater," sporting a fall pin of three smiling orange pumpkins....her salon-fresh hairdo, and her short, practical, perfectly manicured nails.  She looks down the length of her nose to locate me, sitting there with my faded "house blouse," my worn down nails, and my hair that badly needs a dye bath.  And the conversation goes like this....
"How are you today, Mrs. Strain?"
Like YOU care.
"Fine, thanks."
"Well, we're beginning to think Andrew may have some underlying problems.  He may be acting out and trying to get attention by purposely pulling bad grades."
So, am I to understand, you aren't just a teacher, you're a child physchologist?
"Oh?  Has he discussed anything with you about problems he's having?
"Well, even if he did, Mrs, Strain, we can't discuss with YOU what he says to US."
End of conversation.  His grades ceased to matter at that point.  Straight, RED, Upper Case "Fs" for every subject wouldn't have mattered to me.  The dire threat of failing 7th grade fell onto deaf ears.  All I could hear echoing in my ears was her last statement.  I left her office without a resolution to Andrew's failing grades.
As I walked to my car, I knew one thing as clearly as I knew the face of my child:  I had reliquished to the world the heart, mind and soul of my child.  I was no longer the person who knew what he was thinking, feeling, plotting. Further, those things were not to be my concern any more. 
More subtle messages come from God.....
"Andrew won't be in to school today.  He has a toothache and I'll be taking him to the dentist."
"Of course.  Umm..can you get a note from the dentist...a verification of the appointment?"
Now, how is a parent to translate this?  Here's how I translated it:  You, school-that-owns-my-son, do not believe me, parent, when I tell you something.  Wait!  Aren't I the last word concerning my child?  Doesn't "the buck stop here?"  Why is the dentist suddenly the voice of authority?
And it gets better....
I love late night conversations with Andrew.  The house is quiet...the lights are low...the day is at an end. Andrew and I are the only ones up. He's rolling quietly on the floor with the dog...feeding me little tidbits of his day....prolonging the inevitable bedtime.
"....soooo....you're saying some of the kids don't pay attention in class?"
Oh...naive mother!
"Oh, Mom....you don't know half of it...."
And he continues to play with the dog...quietly....
"So....what goes on instead of listening?"
I'm tired, of course, sleepy.  Just curious.  I know he's trying to prolong bedtime.  Then his casual, quiet words hit me like a glass breaking in slow motion.
"I actually sit between two gang-bangers in my history class."
He chuckles low, like it's an ordinary thing to sit between two gang-banger in a history class. The proverbial glass hits the floor of my heart.
"They pass drugs back and forth and talk about who they're going to "cap" later on."
The glass shatters and so does my heart.  And my resolve.
I'm going to get my child back.
So I do.  Actually, the economy does it for me.  ROP classes begin to drop.  Now there's no summer school, no remedial school, and classes are getting suffled around.  And all the while, my son's grades are consistent "Fs." At least he's consistent.
After a short battle with my husband, I fill out the affidafit and file it with the state, and Andrew doesn't walk out the door and out of my life the next morning. 
And this begins the reclaimation of my precious son.
There are books...standard curriculum, but more, there are conversations.  Long conversations. 
Do you know what The Theory of Environmental Determinism is?  It's an erroneous, evolutionary theory that we are a product of our environment.  This theory teaches, for example, that if a person is surrounded by alcohol all their lives and influenced by it, they too will become an alcoholic. They can't help what they become. This is a direct opposite to what the Bible teaches---that drunkenness is a sin and Jesus is the cure.  The person that stoops to alcoholism had a CHOICE.  He could drink or NOT drink.  No one is a product of their environment.
This is one of the topics covered in his Christian biology book.  We had a long conversation about environmental determinism.  About whether it was true or not (after all, it is in a Christian biology book.  Isn't it supposed to be true??)  And it's interesting to note that we found something we couldn't swallow.
Even though environmental determinism is supposed to be a false theory (and I won't lump it in with the OTHER false theories of evolotion), I beleive it's true to some extent.
Left in a public school environment, my child will (would have) become a product of that environment.  Hard, calculating, selfish.  Thinking only of those things that benefitted him.  Believing that we all climbed out of an ancient pool of ooze as single-celled creatures and evolved to the top of the foodchain and now ponder the things of eternity.  Worse, believing that the earth was not created by a caring, loving God, but began as a swirling, exploding accidental ball of gases and rock.  No God.  Nothing after being lowered into the ground.  The worms go in, the worms go out.  Nothing more.  THAT is the product of a public school education.  And THAT is, in my opinion, perfect proof of envorinmental determinism.  By the way....one of the questions in the book's end-of-section review was, "What is envoronmental determinism."  I crossed ot off.  He didn't have to answer that one.  And because of our lengthy conversation, we didn't get the whole section done.  Thank God!
I did---DID suffer with regretful relinquishing.  I no longer suffer from that.  I feel like a healing is taking place.  Our day begins with an academic subject, and sometimes we accomplish even more than I expected us to accomplish for that subject.  Many times, we don't get through even half  the topic.  A sentence...a thought...a word...brings something to mind.  We pause over that sentence, that thought, that word.  It's no longer important to continue.  What is important is the conversation...the pause....over whatever it is that stopped us.  If we continued for the sake of covering a cetain amount of material, we would loose that pause.  That conversation.  And we would loose the thoughts, opinions, and insight surrounding that pause.
Now, I have to confess something here.  I am the one that benefits from these pauses.  I'm selfish.  I want to hear Andrew's voice.  I want to hear him talk about that thought we paused over.  If it brought to mind a humorous comment, I want to hear him laugh.  If he dissagrees with the thought, the word, the sentence, the idea, I want to hear him tell me why.  I want to ask him questions and get his responses.  I want him to share his heart with me. 
And each day that goes by, he does.  It's been about a month now since he woke and did not go off to "school" in the morning.  And each day, he shares more and more of his heart.  His opinions, his thoughts, his ideals, his dreams.  Each day I learn more and more about my son.  Of course, as with so many times when we waste huge chunks of our life engaged in something that we look back on with regret, I look back with regret on relinquishing Andrew to the world.  But I don't dwell on this wasted time.
No longer can he claim he wrote down the wrong assignment.  No longer can he claim the teacher gave the wrong assignment.  No longer can he claim he lost his assignments.  No longer can he say the teacher was unfair and assigned too much work.  And no longer can he say he didn't have the time for doing his homework....he doesn't have homework.  And he gets "As."
And I can't claim any gaps in communcation between the school and myself.  But that's okay.  I don't need any more excuses for Andrew's grades.  His grades won't need excuses anymore.  But the most important thing is not his grades.  The important lessons are clear....
Does he know who God is?  Does he know he is loved beyond belief and his death is not the end?  Does he know, beyond a doubt, where he's going when he dies?  Does he realize that life has worth and he has purpose?  Does he feel comfortable in his own skin?  Does he feel supported and accepted for who he is?
Then he is educated in all that's important.

Party Conversation

It hits every---and I mean EVERY---late November. The inevitable Christmas Party conversation. 

"Well..." I begin across the table, after he's had at least one  cup of coffee, there's cinammon buns emitting a heady fragrance from the oven and he's in a pretty good mood.
He freezes.  The eyes come up and the brows draw down over the edge of the coffee cup.  Sipping stops. Wary eyes menace me with what he hopes is a good balance of love and warning.  I plunge in because Pandora's box has been opened and the only way I can shut it now is to pretend I want to discuss the price of brocolli or daylight savings time or how to prevent the dog from doing his business in the neighbor's lawn.  So I plunge in.
"Soooo...I'm thinking about my Christmas party these days."
Shucks!  The rolls have another three minutes!
Try the testing lines.  How will he respond to just THINKing about the party? 
"What about it?" he asks, impassively.
I'm in luck!  He's playing the indifferent card.
The conversation puts one tentative foot out on a positive path. 
Oh, I know he's toying with me now.  No growl. A good sign. Go slowly now.  Need those rolls.
"Just making a few plans.  Lists.  You know."  I say with an air of detachment. 
Not very many thoughts.  Not very many plans.  Just a few fuzzy thoughts floating around.  No commitments.  Keep it light, airy. Very airy. Gotta slide things into place before he realizes they've been in place for a WHILE now.
"Well, I have a guest list and a few ideas for food..."
"How many people?"
Easy...easy...this is one of the tricky parts....
"Just family and a few VERY close friends."
"Like how many VERY close friends?"
Okay, this is where it doesn't sound so bad if I name names and not count heads.
"Well, Mom for one," I say vaguely.
Remember to say the word 'one' lots of times, and use the phrase 'of course' profusely.
"....and Missy and her husband and Fran and Mike, of course..."
"Does this mean we have to invite Mike's brother just because he lives with Mike?"
Uh oh...here goes.  Don't drown.
"Well, of course...it wouldn't be polite to do otherwise.  By the way, he has a new girlfriend and I hear they're inseperable."
Here goes the eye rolling.  Yay!  The rolls are done!  Place them DIRECTLY in front of him.
"And can you set up the card table in the breakfast nook for the kids?"
"I guess so..."
Yes...the rolls have him mesmerized.
"...that's...uh...Missy and Dave's 3 boys and Fran and Mike's two...that's five kids.  The card table seats four."  His eyes leave the rolls for a damaging moment.  This quandary called for a coffee refill.
Stay cool.  Solve the problem.  Quick.  
"That's okay...Mitch is older.  I'll put him at the bar."
"Okay."
Was that a small sigh of exasperation?  
"Well, the dining room table seats ten, and it's perfect because we have ten adults!"  Said with a bounce of delight.
"Ten??!!"
Oh no. Eye rolling has launched into deer-in-the-headlights. Plunge in quickly.  Retreat fast.
"I thought you realized.  Sure, Honey. ( 'Honey'...Brilliant touch!) Count em...(Oh no!  I said the word count! To late to retract)....there's Missy, Dave, Fran, Mike, You and I and Mom of course, and don't forget your brother James...."
"Is he going to be here?" 
"Isn't he here every year?"
"Okay..."
Serve up another roll..the one with the big glob of icing.

And then comes the two lines of the conversation that get's repeated just about word for word every year.

"I just don't know how you're going to fit fifteen people into this small house for a party."
"You say that every year, and every year we fit 'em all in."

And he heads for the den and the football game.

Case closed.  That's how you do it.

The Comfortable Frog

Some say that if you put a live frog into boiling water, it will see the danger and jump right out. But if you put it into cold water and gradually increase the water temperature, the frog will become more and more comfortable and remain in the pan until it's too late. It will cook itself. According to experts, this tale isn't true, but it's a good analogy of what's going on today. It's my humble opinion that we are all becoming comfortable frogs and we're sitting in a pot labeled "Socialism." It sits on a burner with Uncle Sam's fingers on the control knob.

Here's why I say this. It's come to my attention that there are a number of new things on the horizon that will better enable the government to babysit us. I hesitate to say who "invented" these great ideas, but with each time-saving, money-saving, green-thinking concept we should all feel the knob turned a bit higher on the proverbial stove where we sit, comfortable frogs, all.

Let's consider the humble light bulb. It seems we can't even choose this little household item correctly, so in the future that issue is taken out of our hands and placed in the hands of the government. Now we can't find anything but mercury-filled CFL bulbs. If you break one, you better open a window, leave the room for 15 minutes, pick up all the particles, place it in a plastic bag and dispose of it by taking it to a recycling center, which could be a bit of a distance from where you live. Now, say you decide to just throw it away in the trash. In the future, you could be fined for doing so. But you'll likely do it anyhow, as will many other people. And then all that mercury goes into the atmosphere....well, you can just imagine.

But all this is beside the point. The government is watching out for us. I feel more comfortable just knowing this.

Now for the color black. It seems that in the future, cars in California can no longer be painted black. Black pulls more heat, so people will use their air conditioners more. Again, Big Brother will take care of all of us. I'm beginning to feel very comfortable.

Soon we won't have to worry about how hot or cold our house is. It's an established fact and in the stimulus plan that Google has been hired to manufacture a gadget that will be installed in all our homes. It will be sort of like a thermostat, but we won't have to worry about regulating it---the government will tell us how hot or cold our house should be. Talk about comfortable!

Can you hear the heat control knobs clicking? Is the flame high enough that you can see it over the edge of the pot?

Why is this happening? I have no answers, but I think lots of things tie in together. There's people who own multi-million dollar homes. They can buy these homes because they work all the time---24/7, 365. They're never home. Maybe there's kids. As those kids grow, they need more and more attention and guidance. They don't get it because no one's home. Literally. Dads and Moms need to work to afford the house, the boat, the cars. There's no time for kids...no time for marriages...no time for reflection...no time for anything. So it stands to reason that there's no time to contemplate how comfortable we're all getting. Comfortable and accepting.

What will we swallow next? The government wants to babysit us. They think they know what's best for us. Car colors, light bulbs, thermostats...what next? Watch for it, the next thing is on it's way.

But consider this. To the tune of well over a trillion dollars, we have had to "babysit," the mistakes of the very government that would like to turn us into a socialist nation. They can't work out their own problems, so we all had to pitch in and hand them our last dollar---for some of us, very literally. And soon, this same government will forgo the little things---bulbs, paint, thermostats---and tell you how much money it thinks you should be making. How nice it will be to know that my doctor, who's spent year of his life in school learning his profession will soon make about as much as my son who flips burgers down the street. That fact alone should inspire my son to become a doctor!

We're getting comfortable. Too comfortable. Light bulbs, paint, thermostats, what's next? I can envision all kinds of mandatory regulations and laws on hundreds of basic, everyday issues. All in the name of green-thinking and money-saving and time-saving and whatever other good "reason" the government can come up with. It all has a label: socialism.

We need a Boston Tea Party. Before we're all dead frogs.

Glass Half Empty...Glass Half Full II

"Have you heard about Bill? He just got laid off!"
"Yeah, another victim of this awful economy. It's terrible, isn't it?"
"Yeah, and they say it's just going to get worse."
Sometime in the last few months or so we've either been part of a conversation like that or overheard a similar one. Like some sadistic fascination for a twisted horror movie, I can't seem to pull myself away from the daily hammering of stock market lows, job cut stats and my favorite station's "Earmark of the Day" segment. My husband refuses to even sit down for the evening news let alone do what I do and have it with my oatmeal and coffee.
People are rioting in the streets. There's "Tea Parties" being reported in some states. People are suffering ulcers and heart attacks. The world is in chaos. Being a Christian, I can easily point out that these are the last days before the return of Jesus, and people should expect what they see. After all, for those who enjoy a good read, the Bible will tell you all about it, down to the last detail.

But I'm also a realist. I'm not complicated, and I like to stay that way. So the practical side of me remembers what my gramma would do when things looked bleak. (No, singing wasn't it.)
She'd tell me to look for the silver lining. Nowadays, you have to really focus to see it, but it's always there. It never really goes away. And the more you look, the bigger and wider that silver lining appears to be.
All kinds of things are happening out there---positive things---that wouldn't have happened if negative things hadn't happened first.
Somewhere there's a man who's lost his job, but his wife with her nursing background picks up a position at a local hospital. Suddenly Dad's around the house more. He begins to see and appreciate everything his wife's been doing to make their house a home. He spends time with his kids and as a result he isn't the stranger that many dads become over time. Now he has time to do those small repairs she's been asking about for months. Maybe he takes a class or two, something he's wanted to do for years.
A couple hundred miles away, another man looses his job. No longer able to pay the rent, he and his wife are forced to move in with the man's brother. It's tight, but temporary. Two women share the workload, but they also share the daily company. And when times are tough, they share support, kind words and encouragment. They aren't alone in this.
Families all over the place are combining to share rent and bills and ease the burden of making ends meet. Is that a bad thing? Not necessarily. Families that love each other can cheerfully share a common environment.
But what about the not-so-loving families that are forced to live together to survive? In that case, extra effort is needed to get along and co-exist peacefully. Is that a bad thing? Not necessarily. It forces people to grow up, curb inclinations, suppress negative reactions and gain control...something they may have never had to do. An exercise in "get-a-grip and grow up."
And then there's the kids. Suddenly there's no money for the extras. The birthdays and maybe even Christmas. There's no more designer jeans and the latest makeup, jewelry or skateboard. Maybe there's not even enough room in the budget for that weekly trip to the pizza shop or the movies. Is that a bad thing? Not really.
For all the kids out there that are already overindulged, it's actually a good thing. Our kids need to learn new concepts like eating at home instead of at Burger King with a passle of friends. They need to find out what it's like to invite friends over for a rented movie instead of going to the matinee at the local theatre. They need to inhale the air of a thrift shop as they search the racks for clothes that will fit. And they need to learn to shop for bargains and use patience and wait for sales.
But more, the ones old enough to understand money and all it's ramifications need to sit down at a table with mom and dad and have the word "budget" explained to them. They need to know how much the rent, the ultilities and the bills are. Yours may be an exception, but most young teens have never had to consider a budget. They have no clue how much Dad and Mom spend to keep their world spinning.
But now that we're out of work and out of money, it's the most beautiful and appropriate time to sit our kids down and explain the facts of financial life to them. It's a great time to take them to the grocery store and make them aware of the cost of food and make them figure out where the better deals are. For those kids who have never held a job, perhaps now is the time to introduce them to the world of work. Even if it's babysitting after school. Then make them contribute to the budget.
Can you see that silver lining?
In these dreadful times, great things are happening. People are drawing together for comfort and support. Families are hunkering down and gathering in tight. They're holding hands more than they ever did. Kneeling to pray more often, and feeling more acutely grateful for living in America, even with all it's flaws. They are reinventing themselves, learning new skills and trades and sometimes finding new meaning in life because they've been forced to slow down. People who've taken their jobs for granted are feeling a new sense of thankfulness that they can still get up, get in their cars, and head for that job. In hundreds of small towns and big cities, people are finding new joy in simpler pastimes that cost little to nothing, and people are learning to make their own bread, wash their own car, sew their own clothes. They're looking for ways to save money instead of spend it and becoming more self-sufficient in the process. Are these things bad?
Not necessarily. They're all part of the silver lining.

Glass Half Empty....Glass Half Full?

I just finished The Glass Castle by Jeannette Wall. The book is a true account of her memories as she grew up. One of four siblings, she was raised by Rex Wall, her alcoholic father who was also a scientific genius, and a mother who was a displaced hippie that didn't believe in rules or boundaries---for herself or her children. Jeannette's memories begin in a rundown trailer in the desert. Her family's situation gradually worsens as her father becomes more of an alcoholic and her mother retreats deeper into an unrealistic life of painting and reading. The entire family "skedaddles" from place to place in midnight escapes from bill collectors and the law, ultimately winding up in a place and in a situation that the reader assumes can't get any worse. But as the kids grow up and realize that their life isn't the norm, they plot to escape it.

Jeannette's writing on the surface simply reveals the story of a sad, poor family that mirrors the life of many families in the early '60's. The story contains situations of blatant, disturbing sadness brought on by self-centered parents with defeating vices. Never-the-less, the brilliance of her novel is not so much in the story as in the telling of it. Setting aside the obviously hideous childhood these children endured, whether or not she realized it, Jeannette gives every reader a new, perhaps helpful slant on life.

In The Glass Castle, these abominable parents are experts at something that we should all practice, especially if we have kids. I'd loosely refer to it as "The-Glass-Half-Full" theory.

Much of the time the Walls lived in tiny, run-down, out-of-the-way places in the desert that could barely be considered towns. They occupied abandoned buildings and sheds, places where the rent was either very nominal or, preferably, non-existent. They were poor to the extreme so the kids usually had no shoes. Can you imagine children running wild in our southwestern deserts without shoes? Between cactus, scorpions, and broken glass, the average parent would be out of their mind to allow such a thing.

But the Walls children did just that because of the philosophy of their parents. "Shoes are for the weak. Go bare-footed and you build up calluses so thick it's like wearing shoes."

Now, the average person would be able to dicern that this philosophy came from simply not having enough money to buy shoes. True, but the kids swallowed it and that was the key.

When birthdays came around, there was never enough money for gifts. The reader knows where the birthday money went. It bought booze for Dad and paint and canvas for Mom. But Dad takes the kids outside, and they all lay on blankets under the Arizona night sky. Millions of stars twinkle above. Dad points to a particularly bright, glittering one and "gives" the star to his favorite daughter. "Pity those other children," he tells her. "All they get are cheap plastic toys that are going to fall apart in a little while. You have a star!"

Again, the reader sneers, grudgingly congratulationg Dad for his imagination, but pitying the child in the end. But was the child really to be pitied? Daddy's little girl was thrilled, and carried that star around in her heart as his gift to her.

As a result of their financial situation, they had no TV, board games, or radios. Their only forms of entertainment were free, and included copious reading. Jeannette was reading like a 5 year old when she was 3. Even with sporatic education, the kids turned into academic prodigies.

All because this disfunctional, destructive family was less than dirt poor.

I feel it's nesseary to point out, again, that the story contains situations that are almost unbearably sad for these four children, things they should not have had to endure under any circumstances, but my core point is: these parents twisted life into a "glass-half-full" viewpoint.

Each time these kids seemed to be deprived of something we would consider a basic life necessity, the parents would unflinchingly respond to the lack of it with a piece of wisdom that successfully led the children to "realize" that they not only didn't need it, they were better off without it. Maybe it's time we practiced a little of that with our own kids.

Now before someone thinks I'm going to try to convince my kids they don't need shoes, or games, or some food, let me say I wouldn't be able to do that if I tried. But all too often our kids successfully convince us they "need" something "vital" to their well-being. That they couldn't possibly go another day without it, or will "just die" if they don't have it.

Last week, on a Sunday evening, our youngest son rambles to the kitchen table, drops onto a chair, and casually points out to his dad and I that he needs a new set of shoes, some socks, and several new T-shirts. The existing ones have holes and are faded. He lists some good brands to buy and the colors he wants. (A new girl just appeared on the horizon, but his father and I wisely didn't bring that factor into the conversation.)

Now, to exercise the "glass-half-full" theory. I respond: "If the piles and piles of laundry in your room were to be washed, you'd find (as you have in the past) t-shirts without holes. T-shirts that are almost as vivid as when first purchased because the ones on the bottom of that pile of dirty clothes are, in fact, probably very new. You'd find socks galore. Maybe even another set of shoes you've forgotten about."

But if all that failed, I could recall how Rex Wall of The Glass Castle would have handled it. I could have said, "You know, you're going to be very thankful for those holes in your t-shirt come summer. Pity your friends with their perfect t-shirts. You're going to have built-in air conditioning whenever you wear them. I bet those t-shirts become your favorite ones!"

Last week, we ran a little low on "breakfast food." We were out of bread, butter, cereal and milk. There were no eggs, or sausage or bacon in the fridge, and little fruit. I had major shopping to do. Again, the youngest wakes up, shuffles to the kitchen, and begins to swing on the kitchen door. Within moments he's whining that there's nothing to eat. Again, perfect time for "glass-half-full" theory.

I point out, "Cold pizza is great for breakfast!" When that receives an "are-you-crazy?" look, I get more practical. "A can of Spaghettios is filling and warm!" Again, the baleful eye-rolling and heavy sigh. I should feel like the neglectful parent, yes?

Something inside me hears the voice of Rex Wall, and I respond.

"You know, you're better off going without a breakfast. You've been trying to drop a few pounds for track, and you'd be more alert---you know---less drowsy without all that fat and protein sloshing around in your stomach. "

We have become a nation of indulgence. And our kids have become the hapless victims. They actually believe they can't live without $50 pants, $100 shoes and designer shirts. They must have the latest video game before it's sold out and *gasp* they don't get one until the next shipment comes in.

They won't eat onion, bell pepper, vegetables, or store-brand cereal. They need a ride to school because it's cold outside. They have to go with friends to the movies. Friends, popcorn, soda, and Netflix in their front room is just not going to cut it.

I could go on and on. The point is, what on earth would happen if, say, the economy took a downturn...one or the other or both their parents lost their job....maybe Dad received a cut in pay...Mom got laid off? Well, all across America it's happening. We need to begin using the "glass-half-full" theory with our kids.

No, we can't buy the $50 pants off the rack. But you have pants. No, I didn't get your shoes at Foot Locker. I got them at Payless. I didn't pay $100 either, but you have shoes. No, we can't buy the video game this month. But you have books. You get them FREE at the library. And there's the great outdoors. Run, jump, bicycle. It's all free.

And when we finish with our kids, we can start on ourselves.