I Am NOT Competitive!

Sco-crares. That's what our son, Daniel, used to call scarecrows when he was little. He also would call anything resembling a skeleton a "serious man." Why do you call them that, Daniel? Well Mama, have you ever seen one?! So with him in mind, I endeavored to make a scarecrow for Villa Rica's annual contest, for the company I work with, Southern Homes and Land Realty. But what does a real estate agent scarecrow look like? I imagined her holding a phone to her ear, a briefcase in one hand, wearing her professional duds and lookin' spiffy. That just seemed boring. Then I mused about a country real estate girl dressed in overalls. But every scarecrow looks like that. Then it hit me....

Some of my favorite phrases are:
"I'll think about it tomorrow." "After all, tomorrow is another day." "Well fiddle-dee-dee." "Rhett, the Yankees are comin'!" "Whateva shall I do?!" And then I thought about Miss Scarlett and her love of the land (which incidentally, I love too, along with the smell of sawdust and fresh sheetrock)....and her Daddy's admonishment: "Land. It's the only thing that lasts." So that led to remembering about when Scarlett conspired to trick Rhett into paying the taxes on Tara. The Yankees had taken everything valuable from the house....except those gorgeous green drapes hanging in the parlor. Which led to....remembering when Carol Burnett did a Gone With the Wind spoof. She tore down the curtains, ran up the stairs and then descended with them transformed into a dress, complete with a curtain rod sticking out from her shoulders and tassels in her hair. It's one of the times in my life where I nearly got sick from laughing so hard. Hence, my inspiration....

I haunted the thrift stores in Villa Rica and dug through piles of fabric, curtains and bedspreads. I was able to find tassels, green fabric, curtain rods and a black wig to make a semblance of ole' Scarlett. I reincarnated her into a real estate agent, with a big honkin' curtain rod and the proclamation, "Buy land, it's the only thing that lasts!" I had the bright idea to use a pumpkin for her head. Painted it creamy white and put big crazy green eyes on it. With a twist of genius, I plopped it on top of a headless mannequin, dressed her and proceeded to put her in my van. But I forgot about the gravity. The head met the pavement with a sickening splat. I put the whole thing up anyway outside our office: Scarlett O'Scary with the cracked head. I left for Home Depot and bought another pumpkin. Rewind, with no mishaps this time, but her eyes were definitely bigger. We left that day and were gone for a week. We got back and drove by Southern Homes and Land. There in all her glory was Scarlett the Headless. No head, just a body and a wig. While we were away she apparently breezed through another role: Scarlett the Zombie (With the Rotted Head). I surrendered and bought a styrofoam head from the craft store. Painted her up once again (third time's a charm and her eyes are enormous now) and snuck up there after hours with my husband to help me. We rigged her up with enough pins and wire to ground a lightning rod. I got insanely busy these last two weeks and didn't pay any attention to her until I noticed her listing to the east, with her head lolling onto her shoulder.  I told Ken I was done with trying to make that dumb scarecrow work and that they already did the contest judging anyway so why in the sam hill would I care if her head fell clean off at this point?

But then. I read that the contest judging was tomorrow morning. I had already worked and eaten myself into a 10:00 television-watching-stupor when I realized this fact. Ken said to just get up with the sunrise and fix her. I cannot tell you how evil that man can be about the crack of dawn. He jumps up like a squirrel on steroids. Every. Single. Day. Not me. I knew that if I waited 'til morning, it would never happen. So I put on my tackiest pink Crocs and started sloshing out the door. Ken grabbed his hat and said I'm coming too. With a spool of wire, a fistful of hat pins and some twine, we tethered and pinned her poor head back to her body and double-jacked her to the lamp post. 

I never saw my life going this way. Tacky, clandestine, dark-ops missions to downtown Villa Rica in the middle of the night. Weird preoccupations with winning gaudy ribbons. Dreaming about all the different ways I can decorate a mannequin. I'm tellin' ya, I thank God I got a fella that jumps right in the pond with me. But I dang sure better win that contest...

Dangerous Creatures and Thirsty People

My son, the traveling one, read my last article and had lots of questions: "Mom, what do you mean? All the stuff about Disney? You need to write another article explaining yourself." He has always had a quadrillion questions about everything. His first sentence was: "What's that?!" He would pester us until he was satisfied with an answer. God's sense of humor came back around on him, with a 2-year old darling daughter whose first sentence and persistent curiosity are identical to his. So, thanks Jon, for making me think again...

Disney, Disney, Disney. Is my diatribe against them, really? No, I don't hate Disney. Yes, I'll admit I hate a lot of their political agendas and their insistence on making their princesses out of airbrushed Playboy bunnies and how that (now) most of the men in their stories are bumbling idiots or bad guys (I guess they're just mirroring the current attitudes about men in TV and advertising). A normal, healthy family can't be found in their stories and usually parents are as stupid as those leading men. Think about it. I guess I have to admit that's a diatribe. And that would make me a curmudgeon. 

Do I hate Mickey and the Magic Kingdom? No. But it's like so many things in our culture... I think you can enjoy things, like a cute cartoon or a movie or a comic book. We can laugh at something funny or read a fluffy book just for entertainment. What I think is wrong, however, is letting these things lead us. Or define us. That we don't ponder the deeper things in life, that we don't question the message behind the fluff. Are there subtle things that are undermining our basic ideals and morals? Do we care?

We need to be living mindfully, not just moseying along life's river, oblivious to the alligators lurking under the surface. Because they are there. And they have eaten many of us and many of our children. And there's that other creature: lemmings. In my earlier article, I referred to lemmings....little rodents. They occasionally do a strange thing -- they will gather in large groups and then begin running, faster and faster. They move as one, picking up other lemmings along the way. When they are confronted with a cliff or a body of water, they pay no heed and scamper, pell-mell, right off the cliff or into the water, to their deaths. This is what I see happening to our young people. So many of them are running life's races being led by their peers, not by their parents. Our culture is saturated with messages that parents, and men in particular, are weak and stupid and not worth listening to. So where are they getting their wisdom? God? Themselves? Their parents? Their teachers? With the advent of so much technology, media and instant gratification, we are getting farther and farther away from the serenity that comes from the simple act of thinking. We don't even have to reason anymore....our answers are only a few keystrokes away. 

So my beef isn't with Disney, per se. Disney is a corporation made up of some very savvy business people and a boatload of amazingly creative mortals. They've made a whole universe of fantasy that takes us away from reality for awhile and entertains the masses. But even as creative and beautiful a world as they have constructed, there are walls to it. I was sitting on a bench at Disney Downtown (basically a giant outdoor mall with 10,000 reasons to buy overpriced cute stuff and food) in front of a shop that had decorative things for your house. Yes, you can buy Disney things for the kitchen. I was amazed at the lack of creativity in that particular store. Of all places, this should be over the top. Even with all their creativity, it was constrained by the brand and the trademark. 

Now I sound like a gripey old lady who doesn't want to have fun. Quite the contrary. We live in an amazing world, in a basically still-free country, where the possibilities are endless. God made us, and intended us to enjoy and delight in this world. Technology is changing, expanding at an exponential rate, and keeping up with it is challenging. But with all this, there comes a price. It takes us being intentional to move beyond the fireworks and sparkles, to keep our humanness and relationships meaningful. I have recently gone to events where most of the people were immersed in their phones, not talking or reaching out to one another, and certainly not talking to the strangers. Tragic. Because I have found, in my inquisitive years, that everyone has a story, a life, and something they care about. Each individual matters. But if our eyes and minds are immersed in our phones and locked onto only our canned little worlds and peers, we will miss the one passing us by. Or sitting beside us on the bus. Or dying next door.

It really gets down to God. It's becoming fashionable to be an atheist or an agnostic. If there's no God, hey, nothing matters anyway. We're just bags of chemicals trying to survive and get us some. We're so smart, thinking ourselves to be God, we are becoming fools. In the spin I'm hearing all around, it often gets said that no one can prove the existence of God and there's no way to know if he is real. Have you looked at the intricate wings on a ladybug, the sweet eyes of a baby staring back at you, the wind and rain, the moon lining up at just the right gravitational juncture to keep the tides at bay, the exquisite dance of man, beast and nature that keeps the circles of life circling? I can hold up a simple, empty Coca-Cola bottle and no one would ever believe that it just made itself. How much more do the untold fathoms of details and designs that make up this insanely complex world prove that it was planned and that it has a grand purpose? God is here. Our sin is here. We need redemption and He sent it in Christ. Our cracked selves and imperfect world need a Savior. There's no amount of technology and entertainment that can fix that. But there's a Well in the wilderness who can. Cry out to Him while it is still day.

Fairy Dust and Fireflies

We got the luxurious opportunity to visit our son and his wife and baby this last week. He is making the rounds, traveling and doing construction jobs all over the country. This one landed them in Orlando, the land of all things Disney. We had a wonderful time at SeaWorld and strolling through the shops. But I couldn't help but wonder...

Do I dare step in this pile?

I grew up in the 60s and 70s. Disney for our family was that few moments on Sunday night when we saw the show coming on TV. Us kids were hoping Mama and Daddy wouldn't notice that it was time to leave for church and maybe we might get to actually watch it. But alas, usually we headed out the door. I loved to see Tinkerbell waving her wand over the castle and all that fairy dust going everywhere. Our family didn't have the means to actually visit Disney or even see all the movies. Our vacations were more in the mode of visiting relatives and tent camping on Lake Allatoona. 

You might think I would be sad. Or bitter. I never got to visit Mickey. But I'm not. Maybe it was the fact that we saw very little of those Disney shows on Sunday nights. Or that it wasn't advertised as heavily back then. Most probably, it was because we had a relationally-rich childhood full of heavenly-scented, newly-mown grass to run in, fireflies all around in damp, heady romps in the woods, the bittersweet bite of wild, ripe muscadines, truckloads of books from library trips in the summer, trips to Grandmas who thought you hung the moon, and sticky days running barefoot with siblings and cousins. Who needed Disney? Life was simpler, cheaper, with less expectations and more fulfillment. Instant gratification was limited to getting that one little drop of goodie out of a honeysuckle blossom. I'm not (that) old yet, and this wasn't that long ago. I'm afraid our fantastic bouquet of technology is making us into zombies (read: walking dead). 

Our oldest child is 31 years old. When we birthed our four babies, I was already seeing the writing on the wall -- that outside stimulation and technology was beginning to overtake us. What I always hated about even the simplest TV was that hoards of people could all sit in the same room and stare at it, not talking, eating mindlessly, living vicariously through silly sitcoms that were way more exciting than actual life. In one show, you can cram days and weeks into one concentrated 20-minute episode. Real life can seem mighty sluggish in comparison. There have been studies done on what happens to our brains when a TV is on. Basically: nothing. We are entertained and don't have to think or process much. No wonder it's so easy to get hooked on it. And so hard to let go of it. I am just as guilty as anyone. In my dreams, though, I wish we could throw the things away and start over. 

I tried valiantly, however, with my kids. I limited their TV time to when their Dad was home and watching sports or special movies. We didn't buy them video games or high tech toys. I remember being scolded by people because we didn't have a computer or cellphones for many years. We moved out to the country and I shooed them out the door for entertainment. They grew up in the trees and woods, a world similar to my childhood. We homeschooled them, because I wanted them to think for themselves and not be led by their peers like lemmings over the cliff. Did this yield perfect adults or Mayberry in Douglasville? I'd like to think so, but naw....we're all still perfectly cracked humans. Still, I'm thankful that we resisted the onslaught and that they had an old-school upbringing.

There's always ominous reports, no matter what universe you live in, controversies and dire predictions that threaten to destroy the world. Sometimes horrible things happen. Countries get bombed, droughts and plagues and tsunamis hit. We could have an EMP attack (a deliberate burst of energy that could disrupt the electrical grid and cripple NORAD's ability to defend the nation). There are whole websites and fantastic movies dedicated to the notion, where we could be thrown back into the Stone Ages instantly. Fireflies and muscadines wouldn't look so romantic then. Some people say "Prepare!" and others say "Baloney!" 

I think I'm too tired to prepare, so I'd just have to go out with the first wave. 

Either way, better to have lived, really lived, than to exist in a Disney bubble, no matter how cute, fun and entertaining it might be. Please don't hate me.

Halloween and the Zombie in the Basement

I am a big, fluffy gal, and if you didn’t know me well, you might not know that I can whup anybody at painting.  I love paint fumes and the soothing flow of a paint roller.  There is just something about a fresh coat of paint that clears your mind and renews your soul.  I’ve always wondered why it is that many of the painters I run across, both residential and artistic, seem to be alcoholics as well as very “soulish” people.  We gather at the contractor’s desk at Sherwin Williams and ruminate about colors and painting techniques.  Old crusty guys with vaporous breath seem to have a kinship with me.  It must have something to do with the soul of an artist and inhaling deeply. I've been able to avoid the substance abuse, but maybe I'm compensating with food...

An age ago, we lived in a camper (not a trailer) for two years and built a home (ourselves, with our own hands...don't you forget it) on five acres in Douglas County. When it came time to waterproof the basement, I was the gal for the job.  When inspiration hit me, it also happened to be a school day (for normally-schooled children) and Halloween. Waterproofing a basement is no normal paint job. It's sticky tar applied down deep in the bowels of the earth onto the basement walls before you fill in the hole around the foundation. It gets everywhere. I believe it took me a week to recover the notion of clean skin and hair after doing that job. In order for me to get down to the remote parts of the exposed basement, I had to be let down with a rope.  We had a nice sturdy one and I had four kids who got a free pass to play that day, except for the times that Mom had to be hauled up out of the hole.  When I needed a break or to move to another area, I'd holler and the kids would attach the rope to something and pull me up out of purgatory. 

Of course I happened to be in the deepest section of the outside of the basement as well as completely covered in black tar (not to mention the state of my hair or face) when I heard wheels crunching on the gravel driveway.  I was in too deep to see anything or to help myself get out.  The kids started yelling, “It’s a policeman, Mama!”  I was yelling back for them to haul me up, but no, too late….I could hear them all running away to check out the cop.  I also heard them talking to him; meanwhile I’m pulling and yanking myself up the dirt wall to try to get out.  Just about the time I got my carcass to the top (and wrenched my back really bad), he’s pulling slowly back up the driveway.  If he had looked back I am certain that our lives would have taken a drastically different turn.  I was covered in tar, my hair and body had red crusted dirt all over, and by this time I’m a little wild-eyed.  I don’t know why I considered letting that man see me at all.  Thankfully, he didn’t. 

When I asked the children about what had conspired, they said that he told them he was out checking around since it was Halloween. Praise God, he didn't see the zombie painting the basement. For some reason, he also didn’t ask these truant children where their parents were and just told them to be careful.  That night, when we were regaling the story to Ken, he was concerned.  He told me to make sure that everything was buttoned up tight the next day….that we were to have “normal” (whatever) school in the camper and to not let the kids out for any reason, in case DFACS was sent over or something.  I hadn’t thought of that. 

So we were pressed and dressed the next day, camper clean and kids studying and warned not to go outside unless Mom did reconnaissance first.  Mid-morning, I heard gravel crunching again outside.  I walked outside and saw to my horror a white government car crawling down the 400-foot driveway.  The emotions that went through my heart that day were indescribable.  I imagined my kids being hauled away, Fox5news helicopters flying over, me in handcuffs and chains and wailing loudly.  Next, a woman with a clipboard got out of the car and started writing.  It was obvious she did not want to talk to me.  She nodded in my direction and with tight lips continued writing and checking off things on her little list.  She stepped around the house and even talked on her walkie-talkie.  I think this was the day I started having heart palpitations (well, except for that day when I first saw Ken, that).  After quite some time and waiting awkwardly for her to acknowledge me, she walked towards me.  I must have looked like an ashen ghost.  I nearly fainted when she stuck out her hand and said, “I’m _________ from the Tax Assessor’s Office.”  I can't stand taxes or the idea of the government coming onto our land and assessing our property, but all of a sudden she was my new best friend.  We started talking and I found in her a kindred spirit. All the fear and trepidation washed away as she told me about her family, three beautiful kids and a husband that had left her. They had been separated for a time, but he had recently become a Christian and they reconciled and were back together.  By the time she left, we were friends. We hugged and prayed together in the driveway, with tears rolling down our faces. Unbelievable.

God definitely has a sense of humor.  I shudder to think about the peril that we would have been in had someone decided to call the authorities about us living like crazy hippies in a camper and homeschooling our four kids.  People used to live in one-room cabins and mud huts in America, but nowadays that would be considered cruel treatment to children.  I happen to think it was the best thing we ever did for them. All four of them are thinkers and survivors and know how to adapt to lots of situations. Nowadays, whenever we are able to get together around our big round table, one thing's for sure -- there's going to be laughter. Their parents are pretty cracked, but we are really grateful for the mercies of God!