L for Look

Look.  It’s one of those words that sounds like what it is commanding.  Pointing at the sky, the clipped syllable could almost be emanating from the projecting finger.  Look.

I’ve been thinking about looking lately as I’ve been struggling to get a good pair of eye glasses.  The last pair was shipped back to the US when, after two weeks of continual headaches and less than adequate vision, I gave up on the really chic frames and asked for a refund.  Which put me back at the beginning.  No glasses except the pair I had made in December 2010.  Vision is great in them, but they were beginning to show some serious signs of wear. 

Off I went in search of a Singapore eye doctor and my good friend, L, (seriously, L is her first initial, so very appropriate for today’s posting) put me onto Dr. Izaac at Paragon. Off I went for my reconnoiter.  I learned this years ago during one of my early moves.  Always visit the office before you make a commitment.  It was more than up to par, so I introduced myself and made an appointment for the following Monday. 

The doctor called me in, I explained my dilemma and the difficulty I’ve had as I get older and my glasses get more complex, and he assured me he could make a pair of spectacles that would work for me. Forty-five minutes later after a battery of tests and options – which is better, 1 or 2, 3 or 4, you know the routine – I went out to select the frames.  The doctor’s mother was visiting from LA (another L) and, with her input and the help of the optician, I found a pair that fit my face and my taste, if not my budget.  Then out came the doctor again – he approved and spent a few more minutes marking the frames.

Five days later, back I go, apprehensive, skeptical, and still a bit in shock over the cost.  Twice as much as I’d paid in the U.S. The doctor comes out to greet me, takes me back to the examining room, puts the new glasses on me, and I can see!  Yes, I can see immediately.  No blurring, no straining.  With the last pair, I had not been able to see when I first tried them on.  The optician assured me they would settle…I tried to convince myself it was true, that my brain would eventually adjust.  It never did.

I was delighted.  How had he done it?  Well, he explained, he had owned the entire process – the exam, the prescription, the frames, the fitting, the delivery.  This wasn’t the case in the U.S.  The process is fragmented – the doctor who examined me there never knows whether his prescription was made correctly or whether it worked for me in the end.  The involvement with the patient and the product from beginning to end over 30 years, Dr. Isaac explained, was a great source of learning about how to do what he does.  Imagine that – it’s about the relationship, not efficiency, not cost, not speed, not pushing product.  Improving vision by talking to the patient, understanding what works and what doesn’t and then being committed to the end product?  What a great idea!

The Industrial Revolution separated our hearts from our hands as work became fragmented, impersonal and mechanized.  How can we recapture the humanness?  Perhaps we cannot change the underlying structures, we probably don’t want to in many cases because the modern world affords us a lot of conveniences, but we can own the part of the work that is ours.  We can take pride in what we do.  We can treat one another as human beings, not customers, clients, fans, followers, headcount, or any other dehumanizing and relationship-choking terms we may put on the people we work with and serve every day. Easier said than done, I know.  But we can start by putting names to faces – the clerk in the grocery store, the teller at the bank, the janitor in the office, the weird guy who never looks up as we pass every day in the corridor on the way to the coffee room. We can start with a greeting and smile for every human being that we encounter today. We can start by looking.  There. Right there. Look.

K for Kitchen

"And, indeed, is there not something holy about a great kitchen?...The scoured gleam of row upon row of metal vessels dangling from hooks or reposing on their shelves till needed with the air of so many chalices waiting for the celebration of the sacrament of food. And the range like an altar, yes, before which my mother bowed in perpetual homage, a fringe of sweat upon her upper lip and the fire glowing in her cheeks.”   Angela Carter

K is for my favorite room in the house.  The kitchen.  The word comes from the Latin “coquere” meaning “to cook” which in noun form becomes “coquina” and then finally, in modern English, to our beloved “kitchen.”

My earliest memories feature this bastion of nourishment, both physical and spiritual.  In the summer time, we’d be called into dinner, sometimes coming reluctantly because the kick ball game was just too much fun, other times, dashing in because our bellies were ready.  Fried chicken and spaghetti were common fare.  Or hamburgers and hotdogs.  Mac and cheese.  Mashed potatoes.  It seemed Mom was always getting ready to cook, cooking, serving or cleaning.  Oh, add canning to that – pickles and tomatoes mostly.  There was no shortage of activity in that kitchen.

Right down the sidewalk was my grandparents’ house – and another kitchen!  If there was nothing readily available for snacking at home, I could head there and look pitiful.  Mary Louise would conjure up something for me. She made the best cinnamon toast – it was the powdered sugar that made it so irresistible. 

At Thanksgiving, we would go to my aunt’s and uncle’s house – four or five of my mom’s siblings, their spouses and kids – a whole house full and then some.  It was a big old farmhouse and the kitchen was roomy enough for all those women.  And that’s where they spent most of the weekend, cooking, drinking coffee, talking, shooing the kids and the men out of their domain.

In my first home, my dad’s constant complaint was the size of the kitchen – too small.  Mom and Dad changed all that when we moved to the house on State Road 9.  The kitchen was gigantic.  It was about that same time that Mom went to work outside the home and Dad took over in the kitchen.  His experience in feeding people was in big quantities – my grandparents owned the Hope Café where he worked as a young man before going off to the Army where he was assigned to the kitchen because of this background.  His specialty dishes were made in a gigantic pot that could feed whoever showed up.  Chili.  Sauerkraut and dumplings.  Vegetable soup.  No one went home hungry from our house. 

When buying a house over the years, the kitchen was always the first consideration for Charlie and me.  The bigger the better.  Than we moved to Geneva and everything got proportionately smaller.  We learned when it comes to kitchens, size doesn’t matter.  We made lots of great memories in that efficient little Swiss kitchen.  Finding the right kitchen was a bit more difficult here in Singapore.  A lot of kitchens are very small and many have no air con.  But we’ve been blessed by a nice kitchen and, just like in the US, it’s the gathering spot whenever we entertain.

How we select our food, prepare our food, consume our food – these are sacred activities easily forgotten in our busy world.  But whenever I’m feeling homesick or low energy or just a little blue, I find an old recipe, or a new one, and start cooking.  And whenever I’m feeling especially happy and blessed, I find an old recipe, or a new one, and start cooking.  Well, full disclosure, I am the sous chef in our family.  Charlie is the chef. I typically plan the menu, do the marketing, and assist – his culinary skills far exceed mine.  But together or with friends, we have our times of fellowship and gratitude in the kitchen as we feed our bodies and souls. 

  

J for Junction

July.  The first month of the second half of the year, the last month of summer for many of us in the Northern Hemisphere before school starts back in August, the heart of winter in the Southern Hemisphere.  July brings us to our J word – junction.

A junction is a place where two things come together, like the first and second half of a year. It’s the end of one thing and the beginning of another, a transition region. It might be external – a physical move from one city or country to another, a job change, marriage, divorce, graduation, parenthood to name a few of the biggies. 

But a junction can also be internal.  You know something is changing, you feel it inside, you have to let go to move forward, but the letting go is difficult and the way forward uncertain. 

Junctions are good – they force us to slow down and take notice of where we’re going. We have to be deliberate, exiting the A train, buying a ticket for the B train, moving into action.  Junctions can also be daunting.  Here are a few ideas for making the most of your next junction.

Prepare as much as possible. With big changes, you know the tracks are ending, get ready.

Look around.  Enjoy the scenery at the junction.  Check out how things work.  Talk to other travelers who’ve been down the track you’re thinking about taking.

Give yourself a break.  Take time to rest and relax. 

Pack wisely.  Once you’ve decided what is next, get what you need to make the adventure a success.

Don’t panic. There’s another junction down the line. You get to choose the route again to get to where it is you want to be.  It’s your journey.

I for Incredible

Incredible!  That’s the right word for the past week.  The root word is credible – think credo – something that is possible to be believed.  Hence, incredible = hard to believe.  And that is much of my experience these past seven days.  Some of it immensely inane so it will not be included in this informative missive on incredulity.  We’ll incorporate only the inspiring incredibles, or at least one of them.

Last Saturday night, spur of the moment because the weather was clear, we set off with our house guest to enjoy the Singapore skyline at Level 33 – a microbrewery on the 33^rd floor of the Marina Bay Financial Centre and a good time on a typical evening.  But this wasn’t typical  This was an incredible evening!

 

We had no reservation, but we were incredibly blessed to get there early and get the best seats in the house.  Inside, air con, near the bar, with an unobstructed view of the National Day dress rehearsal taking place opposite.  Singapore celebrates their National Day on 9 August every year.  Weeks in advance, on Saturday nights, they do dry runs.  Complete and total dress rehearsals of the whole event.  So we got the thrill of jets thundering overhead, a Singapore flag fly-by courtesy of military helicopters, and a spectacular fireworks display.  Home brew, great nibbles, beautiful views – AND National Day festivities?  Truly incredible!   

H for Husband

Wednesday marked our 31^st wedding anniversary.  On 26 June 1982, Charlie and I were married at my home church in Hope, Indiana USA.  We didn’t have a penny or a clue between the two of us.  But we did have hope, faith and love.

And that has made all the difference.

Add to that significant doses of forgiveness, patience, and perseverance and here we are 31 years out having the time of our lives with a whole bank of great memories to last us well into our retirement years.    

Here’s a brief recap of our adventures that I compiled for him last year:

This past weekend, Charlie planned a staycation for us here in Singapore.  A 15-minute cab ride and we were ready to start our holiday.  With early check-in, late check-out, executive floor food and drink, and a suite upgrade, who cared that the haze outside was in the hazardous range?   We implemented Plan B and had a great time.  It helps that we enjoy each other’s company.  There’s no one on planet earth that I’d rather spend time with.

So H is dedicated to husband.  Webster’s defines it as “a woman’s partner in marriage.”  But Charlie has been more than that.  He’s my partner in life.  We fight, (man, can we fight), we laugh, we talk, we cook, we read, we travel, we chill together.  God is great. Life is good. We are blessed.

G for Grace

Back in the 80s, Don Henley asked “how can love survive in such a graceless age?”  Of course, we all know it’s graceless because Grace died 30 years ago – just ask Aunt Bethany.

Can we survive without Grace?  And, if not, can she be revived?

Having just completed another international journey – almost 60 hours of total travel via car, plane, shuttle bus and taxi – it’s pretty certain Grace isn’t making many public appearances these days.  What happens to us when we get in airport queues?  Where is Grace?  Hiding in the toilets?  Stuck in immigration?

Example:  landing in Narita, we deplane and begin the walk to go back through security and reboard to continue our journey.  A middle-aged guy, sporting a rather polished look – pleated trousers, herringbone jacket, loafers – blew his persona by almost knocking an elderly woman over to get in front of her on the moving sidewalk.  No backward look, no “excuse me” – just an air of “I’ve got places to go, out of my way.”
 
Not to say I’m above it.  After ten hours of squealing, my patience for the toddlers and their parents on the flight from LAX to Narita was shot.  Gone.  Non-existent.  Shirtless and shoeless, the twin girls had terrorized the entire cabin – refusing to buckle in or sit still or pipe down.  When I reboarded in Tokyo and realized they would not just be on the same flight with me, but in the row right beside me, well, it wasn’t pretty.  Fortunately, their exhaustion and mine made it a much more peaceful leg.

 

Back to the question.  Can we survive without Grace?  The answer is ‘probably yes.’ But it would be a rather bleak existence.  Life is much richer with Grace around.  So I’m going to double down my efforts to invite her to each and every encounter today and tomorrow and as often as possible.  Who knows?  If she starts to feel welcome around here, she may just put down roots.

F for Feedback

If these walls could talk.

Seems they do.  In today’s UCC devotional, Pastor Talitha Arnold writes about a time when former Secretary of the Interior Stewart Udall spoke at her church.  She expected a political theme to his message, but he started out by talking about his childhood.  Specifically, he reminisced about the walls of his home, adorned with Scripture samplers made by his mother and sisters.  Those words inspired and empowered his life’s work.  See the whole article here.

http://act.ucc.org/site/MessageViewer?em_id=51961.0&dlv_id=69581

It made me think back to my childhood.  The most prominent wall hanging I can remember is the Jesus painting that always had a place of honor. Christ was always present in my home, if not always in my heart.  In my grandparents’ house, there was a painting that was on the wall directly in front of me when I laid on their sofa in the front room to nap.  It was a small village, a cobblestone lane running at an upward slope between the cottages, and a lady with a basket of flowers.  The colors seemed to shimmer in a way that made the painting come to life.  It sparked my curiosity and imagination – where was she going?  Where had she been?  It was a peaceful scene that made me dream of foreign places.  When I moved to Switzerland, I returned to that village in real time. 

On my walls now – a print that we bought in Tennessee – our Ebenezer print – a reminder that God has and will always help us . A collection of ceramic crosses.  Our degrees and professional certificates – a reminder of happy accomplishments.  A flamingo watercolor painted by a 9-year old Kate – the bright yellow sun always makes me smile. And many more…

My walls say a lot to me.  They speak of the past, a life of blessing, overflowing with family and friends.  They sing of the present, each new day a wellspring of joy.  They call forth a future full of hope and promise.  So F is for feedback.  Feedback can be defined as “a process in which information about the past or the present influences the same phenomenon in the present or future.”  Our physical surroundings of today influence our tomorrow.  What feedback are you getting from your living space, personal and professional?  Take a walk around.  You’ll be living this tomorrow.  Choose your feedback wisely.  You’ll get what you create.