The Owl

Discouragement is a Choice

Patience and obedience are not a part of my make-up.  In fact my favorite T-shirt reads, “Women who behave don’t make history.”  I am not interested in making history unless it is by accident and hopefully history remembers me fondly.  This summer through the height of anxiety at my place of employment, I prayed for “peace.”  I truly believe that God stilled my heart so I could just be “quiet.”  When things fell apart at work and the company made the business decision to “wind things down” as they put it because of the economic crisis in the banking environment, I quietly took charge.  Not with bitterness or anger, but through determination and perseverance.  Even though I live in the state with the highest unemployment which surely only rise further, through patience, obedience, and faith in God I was able to win a new career in a new and fascinating industry in less than six weeks making exactly half of my income than with my current employer.  I am ecstatic!  I had an opportunity to stay with my current employer of eleven years but the writing was on the wall for the company and the industry.  In my new career I have opportunities and with that same determination and perseverance I will be back earning the same or better income than previously.  It will be difficult financially at least for awhile but with God all things are possible.  I lunched with a friend and colleague the other day and she expressed how serene I looked, and how happy she was for me even though I would be greatly missed at the office. (I lost income but I gained serenity and I couldn’t be happier.  How crazy is that?)  It is difficult saying goodbye to colleagues that have become friends and some like family.  Success is not achieved alone.  I appreciated their help along the way and I was honored to work beside them.  I have been fortunate throughout my career and my life that I have been able to stay in contact with many of the people I have worked with over the years.  Although I prayed for peace, I was also able to learn patience and obedience through the process.  Praise God!

Jerry's Place

It was great to see my two middle school sons finally working together as a team rather than the usual competitors.  On vacation at our Lake Michigan cottage, the two boys were busy at work cleaning out the loft in the garage for their own special place.  They worked two days and with my younger son’s ingenuity had rigged a pulley system at the top of the garage to haul furniture, supplies, tools, etc. to their own special hideaway.  Next came their request to claim as their own the coffee table that we had stored in the garage there two years ago.  With their allowance in hand, they begged me take them to Home Depot to buy the necessary paint and supplies to refurbish the table.  Black paint with neon orange, green, yellow, and pink.  The two of them split the costs 50-50.  Now back to the cottage to paint.  They were on a deadline to surprise their grandmother and father who were set to arrive in a few days.  Both boys had agreed to name their special place, Jerry’s Place.  They wanted to create a graffiti design of the name on top of the table, as well as, a sign that they could nail up at the entrance inside the garage.  Two years ago their grandfather, Papa Jerry passed away after an eleven year battle with bone cancer.  Jerry had wanted to see our newly acquired cottage at the time but his health prevented him from making the four hour trip.  Before he had died, he had written a letter to the boys that they received from their grandmother after his death.  In the letter, he expressed his love for them, how much their acceptance of him meant to him, and that he hoped that the boys would never forget him.  So in keeping with their grandfather’s wishes, they dubbed their special garage loft “Jerry’s Place.”  The boys knew that this would also bring joy to grandma’s heart as it did mine too.  It was a wonderfully compassionate and loving sentiment.  When grandma did finally arrive and after much excitement, we were all touched and overwhelmed with the thought that Jerry somehow was now with us.  Jerry would have loved the idea of this special place, and I would imagine, would have loved to have spent time up there in the loft with his two favorite grandsons.  The boys were intent on Grandma climbing the rickety aluminum ladder, thankfully to everyone’s surprise, she made it.  We all sat in the lawn furniture that once sat on Papa Jerry’s porch with other personal touches inherited from him.  The boys, and even I on a few evenings, slept at Jerry’s Place during our entire vacation.  It was wonderful having us all together again even if it was just in our thoughts and hearts.  Special memories forever.

Middle School Hormones

My middle school son was very ill with tracheal bronchitis the last few days of his 7^th grade school year.  He wanted to attend the last two days so he could say goodbye to his friends for the summer.  We live 30 minutes away from his charter school and most of his friends live close to the school.  So I didn’t want to deny him his last hurrah of 7^th grade.  On the last full day of school was track and field day.  I wrote his teacher a note excusing my son from the athletic activities.  That evening my son moaned that he was really stressed out from his day at school.  Surprised, I asked him how he could be so stressed out when they didn’t do any schoolwork and he was excused from all of the track and field activities.  “How could that stress you out?” I exclaimed.  He said is friend Kevin was very “hormonal”.  “You’re 13 too and you can be just as hormonal,” I stated.  “Well, Brie was hormonal too.  She told me that she started her monthly you-know-what today” he said casually.  I wasn’t sure what I had just heard.  I had hoped that I had not heard what I think I just heard.  “Excuse me?” I asked.  “You mean she told that she started her period?  Was it her very first time or just that she had started?” I asked, not quite sure I was hearing my own words.  “For the first time, Mom,” he said without missing a beat “it didn’t gross me out or anything.”  “Hey, it grosses me out and it’s been 35 years! “Oh! My God!  I can’t believe she would tell you something like that!” “Mom, you shouldn’t take God’s name in vain.” “I’m sure Jesus is saying the same thing right now!” I gasped.  “Why would Brie tell you that?”  “We’re friends Mom, why wouldn’t she?” he said with a face that said “Mom, you’re acting way over the top.”  Later I retold the story to my husband again in disbelief.  “It’s a different world we live in now” he calmly responded.  I guess it is.

Resisting Reunions - Part 1

Earlier this spring I received a high school reunion invitation.  It was the oddest postcard invitation.  I graduated high school in 1979 and the invitation was for every class ending in “9”… 1949, 1959 1969, 1979 but when the 80’s came along obviously something happened.  The reunion organizer, postcard designer, the printer, or perhaps 1989 was just uninvited or ignored but the postcard invited the class of 1984 instead of the class of 1989.  Clearly the four is a few key strokes down from the nine so I wonder if it was a misprint or the reunion organizers had something against the class of 1989 or simply liked the class of 1984 better.  I don’t know.  Either way it wasn’t enough for me to attend the reunion to cure my curiosity.  It was also going to be in the high school cafeteria on a Tuesday night and for a fee of $12.50. I am not sure how good the meal would be.  My high school cafeteria memories were not all that appetizing.  I grew up in rural southeast Michigan.  The town is a dumpy little town.  I was president of my senior high school class.  I am sure one of my responsibilities (although I didn’t know it at the time) was to arrange future class reunions which I have resisted.  Others have eagerly or perhaps not so eagerly organized them in the past.  I have only attended one reunion.  It wasn’t the 10^th, 20^th but some odd numbered year.  I don’t remember.  It wasn’t as painful as I had feared.  I gave a “David Letterman”-like monologue of whatever happened to the honor society members.  Since I was never one of them, I took great pleasure in it and I think everyone did too.  A few years ago with my two sons in tow I drove past my high school to show them where mom graduated.  I was mortified.  It certainly was not what I remembered it to be.  It was run down and small, very small.  My boys were quiet and did not say much.  My only hope was that they now appreciated the private school my husband and I were paying for them to attend.  At that point I vowed I would never return to my old high school again.  I was ashamed of it.  I don’t know why and I still cannot explain it.  I must have gotten a half way decent education because I haven’t done too badly for myself.  I guess I cannot reconcile my youth, its faded memories, with the reality that life would somehow be different for me had I made different (should I admit better) choices back then.  Perhaps the high school as it exists today is merely a reflection of a sadness that never seems to go away of my days in that dumpy little town.

A Sign of Spring

A red wing blackbird arrived outside my patio door singing his familiar ‘okalee’ song.  His flitting about lets me and others know he has arrived to signal a new season. His red and yellow shoulder badges worn gloriously on his black uniform like a decorated hero sitting high on his perch.   Like the April showers that will soon hasten the blooming of May’s flowers, I feel misty yet at the same time happy to see my old friend.  It is not only his presence that reminds me of spring but I remember my father too.  Today, May 5^th would have been my father’s 71^st birthday.  My dad was a farmer. I fondly remember lying comfortably on a mound of amber wheat in the wagon he pulled behind his old red Massey Ferguson. My dad exclaiming, “If God returns us to the earth after we die I hope I return as one of them” as he pointed to a nearby red wing blackbird wavering on a stalk of wheat. He told me that on more than one occasion.  Over the years I have wondered why he loved these magnificent looking birds.  My father, being a simple man, a farmer, perhaps had wished for a more handsome care-free life.  I wish for those long, hazy, humid summer days when air conditioning was lying under the old apple tree.  I wish for my father too.  Yet, I know he is here with me.  Perhaps it is him who is perched out there singing his conk-la-ree!  But my ears only hear “Sheri!” and my heart blooms with sweet amber memories. I love you, Dad.

World War II Heroes

A co-worker of mine, John and his wife’s uncle, Louis Shearer took an emotional journey this past March to South Carolina.  Louis Shearer, 91 years old, who had never been on an airplane in his life traveled with John to a reunion of the 30^th Infantry Division  of the 105^th Engineer Combat Battalion (ECB).  The 30th Division, supported by the 105th ECB, was involved in some of the most important battles in the European Theater of Operations.  The Engineer’s duties were to clear mine fields, establish bridgeheads, and rig demolitions, often fighting as infantry.  These Engineers did anything that would speed up the Ally armies and slow down the Germans as the Ally armies advanced across Europe.  Mr. Shearer, with the rank of Corporal, shipped out of Boston Harbor in January of 1944 on the Argentina, a troop transport.  When WWII ended, he sailed back to the United States on The Queen Mary.  In 1994 his unit numbered in the 1,000s.  There were 92 infantry men, who are now in their 80’s and 90’s, in attendance at the reunion with only two men in wheelchairs, Louis Shearer being one of them. 

The reunion was a moving experience for both John and Mr. Shearer.  It was an opportunity for Mr. Shearer to bring closure to his battle experiences by “letting it all out.”  Mr. Shearer was interviewed by archivist of the National Archives of the Smithsonian Institute who interviewed him for 90 minutes so that a permanent record of his experiences could be created for future research by WWII historians. But the most dramatic and emotional experience was yet to come in the reunion program.

The 30^th Division fought through heavily wooded terrain and finally reached the Elbe River on April 13, 1945.  When they reached this point, the 30^th Division came upon a horrific site.  The German SS had abandoned what appeared to be a cattle car train on a side rail. When the infantry men unlocked the car doors, they could not believe what they were seeing.  Packed inside these train cattle cars, like sardines, were approximately 2,500 Jews - men, women and children.  Many of them already deceased, fell to the ground, others and those that languished nearby the train cars were mere skeletons, sickened with typhus and lice infested.  The Nazi’s ultimate destination for them was to have been Bergen-Belsen , a concentration camp known for its’ extermination of the Jews.  Sixty five years later, eight of those Holocaust survivors would be at the reunion to personally thank Mr. Shearer and his unit who had liberated them so long ago.

The reunion and these heroic WWII stories happened as a result of a history teacher in Hudson Falls,New York.  Matthew Rozell and his history class began a class project in 2002.  The first post to the class project website resulted in one of the survivors who now reside in Australia , to connect with the two tank commanders who happened upon this courageous group of survivors.  Not much is written about the 30^th Infantry of the 105^th Engineer Combat Battalion, but you can learn more at Matthew Rozelle’s website at http://www.hfcsd.org/ww2/, and at http://www.105th.org/history.html. 

 

John was honored to make this trip with Mr. Louis Shearer, Corporal of the 30^th Infantry Division of the 105^th Engineer Combat Battalion.  It is important that the sacrifices, scars worn or buried within of all those that served their country with honor, or suffered at the hands of tyranny are commemorated.  Our sincerest appreciation goes out to Mr. Shearer and all those that serve in our military who sacrifice so much to protect the freedom and liberty of all.

Sunday, April 9, 1961

She says she remembers it like yesterday.  I do not doubt that she does.  Thankfully, she smiles as she says it.  She looks away again dreamily reliving but not sharing the intimacy of the memory born 48 years ago.  I know one day I too, will be like her but for now I am content to wait.  Today, she says she cannot believe it has been 48 years ago that I came into her world, the last of three.  Although he said it was unplanned, she confesses it was her plan all along.  Did he ultimately find out her secret plan?  Is this the reason he and I never seemed to agree? Or did she just want me to believe her instead of him?  It does not matter.  I am here.  I have my own plan.  No confessions.  No regrets.  Thankful for my yesterdays, blessed to have today, and a prayer for another tomorrow.  If another tomorrow is not to be, it is okay.  I am happy.

The Owl's Review - 2009 Ford Flex

The poor economy, the tight credit market, and a recent layoff from my company convinced me that I should keep my 2005 Lincoln Mercury Mariner until the wheels fell off.  Still, I found myself finding reasons for trading in my truck.  It was so NOISY.  My husband said all I needed was new tires.  “New tires?!”  I responded incredulously. He had purchased new tires last year. New tires I exclaimed would not cure the problem; and new car passenger tires he suggested we should purchase would only make my truck look… well, weak and stupid.  “Resale,” I stated.  “Car tires on a truck would not help the resale or trade-in value,” I reasoned.  I also pointed out the rust beginning to form around gas cap.  Then it was the two windshield nicks that I never got taken care of so now I would need a whole new windshield.  Soon I would need a tune-up and the miles were racking by the day!  The list just grew and grew as to why it may be a good time to trade-in the old girl for something new.  After all the automotive market is in dire straits and car dealers were certainly offering great deals.  Finally, my husband broke down and made an appointment at a local Ford dealership.  We had planned on looking at a slightly larger SUV/crossover like the Ford Edge or the Ford Explorer.  We test drove a pretty copper two tone Ford Explorer.  Very nice, it was a demo, so right up our alley on price.  And then I said, “What the heck, since we are here, and just for fun let’s test drive a Ford Flex.”

 

When the Ford Flex first came to market my first words to my husband were, “It looks like a refrigerator on its’ side with wheels.”  The two tone floating rooftop was interesting.  I could not decide whether I liked the look or not.  Ford’s urban advertising and marketing campaign swayed me to look at this vehicle in a new light.  The two tone and rich color palettes were beginning to appeal to me too.  Every day when I picked up my children from school I saw more parents driving a Ford Flex.  Gee, did I like the Hershey chocolate bar, the ruby red, or the ice blue with the white floating white roof?  The black ink metallic looked sharp especially with the floating silver roof.  Okay, I admit it.  The Ford Flex was growing on me and when we test drove it, we were hooked.  With the seven passenger seating with extra leg room – the interior was huge!  The Ford Flex drives smoothly and has the comfort of a luxury car.  The Sirius satellite radio, the Sync powered by Microsoft, the ambient lighting, the gorgeous leather, tow-package, roof rails, and rear door convenience package all added up to WOW!

 

After my husband haggled over the trade-in on my Mariner, in the end it only convinced him that the time was right to buy a new vehicle now.  Now, the big question was the color.  I wanted them all.  I loved the Cinnamon metallic ink but I thought in time I would tire of that color.  No, I was convinced it should be the Midnight blue metallic ink but what about the floating roof?  Silver would be cool but I was afraid the two tone color which was similar to Ford’s Detroit Lions might just jinx me.  Hey, listen I am a huge football fan.  I love Ford.  I hate to admit it but I do like the Detroit Lions. I wish desperately for a winning season but I was afraid of the “lemon” effect.  If Ford only had offered the floating roof in Maize!  Now that would be awesome!  A Wolverine Ford Flex!  I finally decided against the two tone floating roof look and went with the midnight blue metallic ink.  I LOVE IT!

 

I highly recommend that you go out today and test drive a Ford Flex.  You may just end up driving one home.  Not only would be great for you but great for the United States too.

Inspiration not found on a TV channel

Jim, my co-worker and I walked into the office together this morning.  As we walked, we chatted about running into each other at lunch the other day.  He had lunch with his mother and his sister.  I was already having lunch with another co-worker and friend.  I asked Jim how his mother was and commented that she looked fabulous.  He told me that she did look good for 89 years old and that she swims every day at the local university pool.  I was surprised by her age and energy.  For the last few days I had been marveling at Tiger Woods unbelievable win at the Arnold Palmer Invitational.  It was his third tournament since returning from a long rehabilitation absence from knee surgery.  He was back on top again after only three tournaments.  I had gone on Amazon.com to see if I could find a book that detailed how Tiger does it.  How does he keep his focus, his determination, his perseverance?  How does an 89 year old woman motivate herself to swim every day?

 

I love sports whether as a spectator or as a participant.  In my younger days (okay, in my much younger days) I was very active.  I was an all star catcher on my softball team, and I earned my varsity letter as a freshman in track.  After school I took up golf.  I am not too bad of a golfer but I could be much better if I played more often.  As a spectator, my favorite sport is football.  I love football, high school, college, or professional it doesn’t matter.  My favorite cable station is the NFL channel.  I like watching the combines as these incredible athletes’ workout and show off for professional football scouts.  On April 25-26^th is the NFL draft.  I will be watching much to the chagrin my husband and kids.  My kids ask me why I love football so much.  I love it because it is such a physical game. I love it because you can be PhD smart or dumb as a rock academically and still play the game.  You can be tall, huge, or have a strong leg or arm, and be a game changer.    

 

I want to be a game changer.  Today, an 89 year old woman swimmer inspired me to become one.  I will never play football or be an all star catcher on a softball team again; but with determination and perseverance like Tiger Woods I can be an athlete again.  After work I went to the bookstore to pick up a book that will get me back into the game, log my progress, and hopefully, I will be active and lucky enough to reach 89 too.

 

When It Is Bad News

Yesterday started out like any other day.  Then the phone rang.

 

The news of a co-worker being diagnosed with leukemia was met with sobs.  “No, not her!  Not Luanne!”  Luanne is one of the most selfless people I know.  Always the caretaker, highly organized, dedicated to excellence, a key employee, always there for us.  Luanne married a few years ago.  Being a mom I asked, “Okay, when can I start crocheting a baby blanket?”  “What?!!”  she exclaimed.  “I don’t need kids.  I have plenty here at the office.  They are called salespeople.”  She was right as usual.  Salespeople are probably the most unorganized, neediest people in the world.  I can say that.  I have been one for over 25 years.  I have never heard Luanne complain.  Not once.  She just gets the job done.

 

Even as a person of faith, I still asked, “Why?  Why, Luanne?”

 

My co-worker friends and I just finished reading the #1 New York Times bestseller book, The Shack – Where Tragedy Confronts Eternity by Wm. Paul Young.  Here is the book’s back cover description:

 

Mackenzie Allen Philips’s youngest daughter, Missy, has been abducted during a family vacation and evidence that she may have been brutally murdered is found in an abandoned shack deep in the Oregon

wilderness.  Four years later, in the midst of his Great Sadness, Mack receives a suspicious note, apparently from God, inviting him back to that shack for a weekend.

Against his better judgment he arrives at the shack on a wintry afternoon and walks back into his darkest nightmare.  What he finds there will change Mack’s world forever.

In a world where religion seems to grow increasingly irrelevant THE SHACK wrestles with the questions:  Where is God in a world so filled with unspeakable pain?  The answers Mack gets will astound you and perhaps transform you as much as it did him.  You will want everyone to read this book!

 

I highly recommend this book to everyone!  For more information go to http://www.theshackbook.com.

 

For those of us at work who read this book, and I might add who are people of faith, God had already prepared us for this sad news of our co-worker and friend, Luanne.  Although we still ask the question “Why”, we also know that there is a greater plan here – God’s Plan.  It is okay to ask why, to be sad, and to even be as every bit angry as we feel right now, but deep down a wonderful blessing is at work beyond what we can see or imagine.  I have every reason and hope that Luanne will approach this disease likes she does with everything else.  No complaints (at least not where anyone can hear).  She will take care of it and just get the job done as usual.  We pray that we see her smiling face back at the office very soon.