COMMON MATTERS

Picture Perfect Graduation

When I take pictures, most often the picture has a strand of my hair floating in front of the lens.  Or my arm gets bumped just as I snap the shot.  Or the subject of my picture moves and the whole thing is blurred.  I've never been accused of being a professional photography.  I do manage to snap a few shots that capture the moment and the joy and the perfection of a moment.  But rarely do any of my pictures rival those of professionals.  Then again, I've had some pictures I've taken turn out a whole lot better than those I have paid a ton of money to pose in just the right way, too.  But thus far, I haven't been accused of being a professional.  You'd think one would take that as a compliment, but in some cases it is liablous.

In my daughter's case it all started when she sent her son to Wal-Mart to pick up photos that she had ordered over the internet.  Jordan's sister had taken the pictures of him for his senior-year photos.  She's quite good at photography.  Unfortunately, it's because she is so good that the store would not give the developed pictures to him without a photgrapher's written release.  They told my grandson that they were too good.  "They must be professional."

I didn't know the clerks at Wal-Mart are professionally trained to determine whether a picture is professionally produced, did you?  Now, I do understand there are unprincipled people who have their pictures taken by Sears, or Olan Mills and then take them to a five-and-dime store and try to get duplicates without paying the hefty prices professionals charge.  I get that.  But when a customer tells the developer that the pictures are not professionally done, then they should take their word for it...or simply stop developing anyone's pictures.

The Wal-Mart clerk might just as well have called my daughter a liar when she went in the next day to get the pictures that they wouldn't give to my grandson.  The assisant manager said the pictures looked too professional.  My daughter challenged that assumption.  After all, they didn't have any copyrights on them.  Nothing to say they were professional.  They were just good pictures.  In focus.  The pictures were too good to be taken by a regular, ordinary person, in the clerk's judgment.  So my daughter said to the assistant manager, "So, in other words, if my pictures are "good" then in the future I shouldn't bring them to Wal-Mart for developing?"

"That's right," the assistant manager replied.

Folks, something is wrong with this picture.  They sell fancy dancy cameras in that store.  People are not stupid.  Some actually read the directions.  They have photo-shop on their computers.  They can take a color photo and make it black and white, and even purple and grey if they want.  Just because the average person can make a photo look "good", they aren't allowed to purchase their own pictures?  I suppose the store must be inundated with lawsuits from professional photographers.  Has anyone else experienced this?

I wonder, when my granddaughter comes down for her brother's graduation and we take photos of the family afterwards, will they also be rejected?  Will we have to have her sign a release to get copies?  I suppose we could take them to Walgreens.  Forewarning, friends.  If you are any good at taking pictures you better not take them to Wal-Mart or they'll be shredded.  Or, you could try sticking your thumb in front of the lens.

Downsizing Doesn't Have to be a Downer

Most everyone at one time or another faces downsizing.  I've already downsized at least 3 times in 3 decades:  From 3,000 square-foot home to seminary apartment housing.  From apartment to house, to smaller house, to 1,700 sq. ft. house.  And now?  I'm about to embark on a major downsizing adventure.  572 sq. ft. of total living space!  This may seen extreme to some; to me, it's like squashing two-thirds of my personality into one third.

Less living space doesn't bother me as much as less storage. You see, we have books. Over two thousand.  I have crafts, sewing stuff, art supplies, and office desks.  Most of which, I'm not keen on dumping...nor am I ready to part with memorabilia from my son's and daughter's childhoods.  Add to that my grandchildren's artwork, the bevy of framed family photos, and you can see there is little room for me to bring clothing, Christmas decorations, pots, pans, dishes and cookie sheets, pie pans, and cup-cake tins. I'm exchanging a 25 cu. foot refrigerator/freezer for a 12 cu. foot 24 " x 24 " apartment size fridge.  Don't misinterpret me.  I'm not complaining.  I like this idea...

I'm just having a bit of trouble wrapping my brain around eliminating much of who I am.  I'd rather have two outfits to interchange and wear to church each week, and one suitcase full of clothes, shoes, and accessories, than give up an inch of the creative me that I am.   I've been researching every way to cram more storage into every single inch of space I have.  When I'm done, I will write a book with all my creative ideas.  You'll want one, I'm sure.  Hubby has solved his tool storage situation.  We'll just store them in a box trailer my son once used as his mobile tile-cutting shop.  That leaves me with 3 bedrooms and a garage chocked full of, well...stuff.  I may just pack what I'm going to keep, then have a living estate sale for my cheetah chairs, and boxes upon boxes of antiques which I packed up after I closed my antique booth in a local mall that closed.

Creative juices are pumping through my mind. I'm exchanging my Yardsale Eclectic decor for Country Modern Minimalist decor.  Since I'm entering the winter years of my life, I really don't want to leave my daughter with my junk to deal with.  She wouldn't know an antique from a Dollar-Tree item.  Left to her, most of my absolutely cool stuff would end up in Lawton's Landfill adding about 20-feet to the mountain we are building out there.  Instead, I'll sell the bulk to offset the cost for light and plumbing fixtures, appliances--and to help purchase two sleeper loveseats so my son's girls from Texas will have a place to sleep when they visit me.  One bedroom won't quite accomodate our bed and their bunkbeds, you see.  When I told them about the downsizing, they were a bit mortified.  "Where will we sleep?"  Mortification turned to glee when I told them about the sleeper sofas and future pajama parties.  You know girls and PJ parties...'nuff said. 

My Haylee and Kinsey can hardly wait.  They get to walk out their front door onto our combined porch, tip-toe 10 feet to my door whenever they want a break from playing at home.  That my friends is the ultimate in downsizing trade-offs.  I can hardly wait.  Tea-parties every day.  Hugs every day, several times a day.  Someone to watch cartoons and make paper mache' wall friezes -- explorations of wildflower species, and birdwatching expeditions in the woods behind our home. Now if I can just figure out what to do with all the canned goods, rice bags, and other staples I've been stockpiling in my garage (to avoid inflated prices Glenn Beck's been warning me about for a year), I'll be good to go.  Hey, don't laugh, even Hillary is glooming and dooming inflation's hard-hitting reality.  I'm prepared! In fact, I kinda feel like Granny on the Walton's.  Wonder if we'll be telling one another good-night at the end of each day.

Mother's Day Revisited and a couple of suggestions

For many, yesterday was a day of remembering Moms.  Mother's Day to me takes on another meaning entirely.  It's not about my mothers (one biological, 3 steps). It's more about those I've mothered.  I must confess I wasn't the best of moms.  I wanted to be.  I really did.  But sometimes the past crept into the present and unleashed patterns I struggled to destroy.  Those demons popped up unannounced to crush the life out of who I wanted to be.  It took several years to figure out why my stepmother's words came out of my mouth--why I'd yell--why I became so indulgent and found it easier to say yes than "no".  It took several more years to find patience and wisdom.  Motherhood was one battle after another--some won, some lost.  

I confessed in my blog, SelahV Today, that I wondered how I would feel on this particular Mother's Day.  As some of you know from reading my column, May 8th was the Mother's Day 6 years ago when we were waiting for our appetizer to arrive at Applebee's and my husband got a call on his cell. I expected it to be Chad calling to say he was running late.  Instead, the Texas state police called to say my only son was dead.

Yes, it was that cold.  No one came to meet us.  No one stood before us to answer questions of how, or why, or what.  Just a phone call that ended appetizers and appetites and caused gut-wrenching horror to rise in our throats. Much can be said about the grief we have all experienced from that tragic day when life and death met Mother's Day and exploded like a helium balloon.  In short, it left us with eggshells to walk upon on this day of the year.  No one knows quite what to do or say.  It's not like the day before Mother's Day 2005.

My son's, now, 13 year-old daughter posted on Facebook, "mother's day will never be the same again. I want my daddy back".  She's right; but also, I think our loss gave a deeper meaning to motherhood.  Somehow the horrific nightmare fades into what daybreak brings. In Brooklyn's words I hear how much I had and still have that she never will have.  Though my son crammed decades of life and love into her few 7 years and her sister's 3, they do not have the memories the Lord has blessed me with.  They have stories of memories.

Today I reflect on yesterday with my only living child.  I see my daughter's love illustrated with a yummy brisket dinner to rival any restaurant in town.  She does that every single Sunday; I think how I, and others, sometimes take for granted that she's cooking.  Mother's are often taken for granted.  Yet, we can't stop being mothers.  It's a lifelong assignment.  So rather than savor the taste of brisket, I savored the moments of laughter I witnessed between my daughter and her children, and her daughter's children.  I basked in the joy and blessings of their lives.  I drank the prayers of peace and comfort my friends offered our Heavenly Father on my behalf.  I dined on solace and peace for desert.

I may no longer have children rise up and call me blessed as scripture says, but I have grandchildren who bless me each day I rise up.  I cherish my daughter who never wavers in her desire to love me for herself and her brother.

Mother's be blessed today, the week after Mother's Day 2011.  Store those cards in a treasure chest.  Enjoy those aggravating moments as much as the bubbly ones.  Rejoice in their interruptions.  Remember when you bend over to pick up their socks, and you can't find its match in the laundry basket--only the sock is missing.  Only a sock.  And when the door slams, and grimy fingerprints cover your newly cleaned windows, be thankful you have more prints to clean.  Motherhood is a wonderful thing.