COMMON MATTERS

PERCEPTION IS ALMOST EVERYTHING

Ever say something and have someone disagree with you? Do they ever tell you exactly what you think, and what your motives are?  Mind readers.  The world is full of them.  Unfortunately.

When others attack my viewpoint, or what I believe is true, it seems almost futile to add more opinion and debate.  More words are like clumsy chunks of clay. When another repeatedly hammers me with a spew of disagreement, I can get discouraged--very discouraged. In these situations, I try to be as clear, honest and sincere as I know how to be.  I don't want to alienate anyone.  However, if you vehemently disagree with me about one thing, it's more than likely you'll oppose my view on about everything else.  It's hard to separate a deep-seated negative perception and make room for a positive one, don't you think?

It's kinda like folks who don't go to church because they think it's filled with hypocrites.  Some negative encounter has left such a bad taste in their mouths, they cannot see the good that is done by the folks who attend church in their communities.  They never know about the food-banks, the clothes closets, the love for their children, the emphasis on family, the relief and support offered in times of crisis or grief.  They just know that old Joe-Schmo was meaner than a snake on Monday after attending church on Sunday.  So their perception of "church" is Joe-Schmo, not sincere people with their own personal problems who come together to worship God and gain strength to meet those difficulties throughout the week.  That's just one example of perception gone wild.

Politics is another.  Woe be unto us if we try to get others to hear us if they know we are one of those democrats or republicans.  The ad wars with Romney and Obama have already started.  It's nigh onto impossible to watch another viewpoint or solution when we've already formed our own and are not willing to listen. So what do we do?  Ignore the fact that we have to make a choice next November because we aren't willing to explore the options?

Sometimes we are unintentionally perceived by others as angry or combative--not because we are, but because of the other's own state of mind and emotions.  They are already miserable.  They are already hurt.  They have their own agendas.  They don't trust Joe-Schmo.  So they cannot possibly understand our view because it is viewed through tainted lenses. Their minds are made up, their opinions are unshakeable. When others misrepresent what we say or think, our minds spring into defensive mode.  It's a natural response to an opposing viewpoint.

When writing about people's fears, David Jeremiah, publisher and president of Turning Point Ministries, said: "Perception is reality in most people's minds." Another's perception of us is their reality--no matter what we say, they know we are wrong because they think we are wrong.  Even when we repeat our meaning, define ourselves more clearly, present facts and evidence, the perception that others hold regarding us, cements a reality for them that cannot be blasted from the grips of their settled minds.  Communication is like trying to remove a rubberband from the confines of cement; it breaks every time.  We only get stung by our effort.  If our task or goal is worthy enough, we do whatever needs doing to help others see the danger ahead, and the value in changing their minds.  That said, we still need to be realistic.  Some folks don't want to hear another side; they let their past experience dictate the rest of their life.  After all, to them, perception is reality.

From One Phase to Another

I talked with my mother-in-law on Mother's Day.  She can barely see, hardly hear, and can't get around much at all.  No longer does this feisty independent lady drive a car.  I asked her if friends stopped by to visit and she said, "No, all my friends are dead."  Her failing eyesight keeps her from meeting new friends at her apartment complex rec-center.  "I can't even see to play bingo anymore. Someone else had to read my Mother's Day card to me."  My heart sunk.  No longer does she make her homemade spaghetti sauce, or cakes from scratch.  Her daily meals consist of soup, and sometimes sandwiches--it's about all she can manage.  Depression and discouragement were evident in her voice.  She says she spends most of her hours and days sleeping.  What can we do about her loneliness when we live 1,800 miles away?  Not much of any consequence or significance.

Phases of life.  We each have our own to deal with.  As Mom lives out the last bit of of her life, many struggle to figure out what to do with the bulk of theirs.  This is the time of year we celebrate graduations.  I have one granddaughter who graduates middleschool this year, and begins her first year of high school next fall. (I cringe at the thought.) Her family is moving to a different district so she leaves all her friends behind.  It's just as intimidating and difficult a phase in her life as living alone is for my mother-in-law.  Familiarity gives way to strange and new, to unknowns and anxieties.  Yet, she is  young.  She is able--even in her fears.

Whether it is a new home, new school, new job or simply growing old--change happens.  Life is an endless series of phases.  How well we prepare for each determines how full or empty our life will be during each.  In my case, I am grateful we planned ahead for the latter phase of our lives.  Unlike my mother-in-law, should I live to be 85 or older, I have the luxury of grandchildren stopping in from time to time, a daughter next door to me.  We won't be separated by 1,800 miles--just a few feet.

More and more elderly folks are building onto their chidlren's homes and sharing expenses with their kids like us.  We are fortunate.  We get along well with our daughter, and her husband.  Many elderly do not have this luxury.  They'd rather live in an assisted living complex than live with their children.  And to be quite honest, their children would rather their parents live elsewhere, too.  We are blessed. Sadly, our society has evolved into a society of separation.  It's one of the phases of life I've witnessed in my lifetime.  My grandparents lived with their children till they died; my dad chose to live in assisted living.  Times changed.  Phases of life have not; cycles continue from childhood to adulthood...each presenting their own needs.  Each person must find their own ways to cope, endure and survive.

I wonder sometimes with the country the way it is, if many more elderly will be like us.  More and more young people seem to be looking to government for ways to deal with every-day situations.  Student loans for education, then to the government on ways to pay them off.  Fewer and fewer think about working their way through college--or sacrificing to save and purchase a house.  They want government  assistance for housing, medical care and daycare for their children. They're satisfied to borrow more to have more.  Ever wonder where that phase leads?

ROAD RAGE

I was on my way to pick up my husband from work last Friday.  Traffic was heavy as I drove down Cache Road.  I was in the far left lane and noticed a little Malibu pull out into the lane of traffic ahead of me.  It pulled out from a parking lot on the right and shot out across the lane closest to him and moved into my lane.  No biggie to me, because he was far enough ahead of me that I didn't even have to tap my brakes, much less slam them.  However...when he pulled out of the parking area, the right lane had lots of traffic and he had to cut in front of a big dulley pick-up truck to make his way across the two lanes and in front of me.  The big white dulley pick-up was very unhappy.  He jerked over in front of me to make his way up behind the little Chevy Malibu.  The Malibu must have realized the pick-up was ticked off because he quickly pulled over in front of another car in the right lane to get the pick-up off his tail-end.  I watched in awe as the pick-up continued to veer in and out of traffic to chase the Malibu down the road--he even ran a red light to stay behind him.  The Malibu weaved in and out of traffic.  It was obvious that he was trying to get away from that pickup truck.

I thought to myself.  Wow.  What kinda nut is driving that truck?  It wasn't like the Malibu had been overly intrusive when he pulled out of the parking lot.  I was watching.  That pickup didn't even have to hit his brakes.  Given, he was a bit closer to the Malibu that pulled out than I was.  But still.  He didn't even have to brake to allow the car to pull out.  And after all, folks, it was 4:30 rush-hour traffic on a Friday afternoon.  Aren't we suppose to be aware of other folks needing to get out into the traffic flow?  Especially on a road that has multiple restaurants, businesses and shopping centers?  Come on.  What was that pick-up driver's problem?  As I turned off Cache Road, I thought about the roaring rage within him as he continued chasing the little Malibu.  I wondered if a wreck was in his future.  I wondered if his wrath would continue when he got home to his wife and kids.

That pick-up driver was furious as he drove.  He'd obviously stored up a bunch of anger and irritation and frustration during his day.  Perhaps he got some bad news that afternoon.  Maybe he just lost his job.  Maybe he was tired.  Maybe someone ate his lunch.  Maybe he was sick of everyone in general and no one in particular treating him as if he was not there--as if he was less important than they were.  And when that car pulled out in front of him, he took it personally.  He saw it as the last straw.  He was sick of people acting as if their rights were more important than his.  He was sick of someone "cutting" in line.  Maybe, that was it.  Maybe when he was a kid, folks were always cutting in line.  I don't know; just thought I'd mention it. 

There's a whole lifetime ahead of us, friends.  Folks have all kinds of obstacles and trials and difficulties confront them each day.  We aren't the only ones on the road. I hope they can let go of some of those problems before they climb into their vehicles.  Don't you?

Geronimo and Mud-Pies

Ever wonder why some folks return venom and rejection when others, as a rule, show kindness and concern with most everything they say and do.  The not-knowing why a person does what he does, can drive you crazy with speculation, sometimes.

Momma use to say, "Oh, he just got up on the wrong side of the bed." Or, "He musta had a hair in his biscuit this morning."

I notice when my granddaughters are brimming over and tickled pink, it is usually because they have spent a bunch of time making mud-pies and playing outside in the sun.  Or, their daddy has taken them on one of their museum trips and explained why folks say "Geronimo!"

However, when they are in a sour irritable mood, they are either tired, bored, hungry, or upset that they didn't get their way about something. Sometimes they are simply dealing with the consequences they bring upon themselves--the guilt, the punishment, the isolation, the shunning of their friends and siblings.  I go through the process of elimination with them and figure out exactly what's bugging them.

I do that with lousy waiters and waitresses, too.  I can't ask them nitty gritty specifics, but I ask empathetic questions with, has it been a busy day today?  you look like you've had a rough day today, too.  Usually, a person who is having a rough day says so.  Details.  It's important, I think, to pay attention to details.  A furrowed brow.  A clenched jaw.  A pinched lip. The way they place the food on the table.  Unfortunately, you can't do much observing behind a monitor; can you?

About all you can do is read what others say, study their interchanges with others, check out their blogs to gauge their character, their normal "voice" and tone on issues.  You examine words and phrases, and discourse, to see what you can determine from beneath the microscope of inspections.  You watch, from afar.  You see if others who think like you are treated with disdain or approval. You wait to see if others are given a pass on that which you see another get condemned for doing.  You see if there is a pattern of approval and disapproval--of favoritism and selective rebuke.  You watch for buzz-words that trigger anger or calm folks down. You do as they do.  Then you wait.

You wait to see if what you do is as acceptable as what others do.  You observe how others approach what you do and what you say and try and discern why they are angry, frustrated, irritated, annoyed or plum hunky-dory.  Then you decide if what you do is worth a hassle, the feedback, the insults, the condemnation.  You have stood on this battlefront before.  You know the arrows that will fly:  Sometimes they come in full force.  Sometimes a single one lit with fire.  Sometimes with precision.  Many times they miss the mark entirely.  Other times they glance your cheek but leave you unscathed. You assess the battle ahead.  When you've gathered the information you need and have the data to "prove" a point you believe is worth making, you have a choice to make.  Stand strong, move forward, or retreat.

The choice is yours. You make a decision. Then you do what you always do:

You  go to the museum and spend time with your Father and find out why folks cry, "Geronimo!" before they take a leap of faith. You wonder if you truly have what it takes to be strong and courageous as people try to take away your freedom and force you to live on the controlled reservations of life.  Then you go make mud-pies in the Sunshine. selahV

When I Just Don't Feel Like It

I tend to procrastinate.  How about you?  When I don't want to do something, I look around for a hundred other things to keep me from the task I least desire to tackle.  It can be writing out the bills (though I think that's just a emotional attachment I have to our money), or it can be cleaning out the car.  I find all kinds of excuses.  If I do manage to get started on something I have been postponing, I welcome interruptions.  Ever been like that?

I kinda feel like that about our move from the old house to our new one.  I still have stuff to pack up and put in storage (for the next sale).  I don't want to store anything.  I don't want to have another sale.  But alas, I do not want to toss out perfectly good antiques and glassware either.  So, it is back to the walls of yesterday and the task of wrapping and packing and storing, or I toss it.  Not a viable solution.

My Texas granddaughters spent the weekend with us and they were thrilled over items I'd set aside for them.  They want some of what I have left over, too.  That is good news folks.  Only bad part in that good news is that they can't take it right now.  They don't have a place for it.  They want to wait till they move and get into their new homes.  My older granddaughter wants a particular painting I have.  But she doesn't want it till she has a dorm room.  Uh, that's four more years folks.  But I'm a sap, I will hang it in my house so she can have it when the time arrives for it to have a new home.  We really should have gone over to the old house and let them label the things they wanted to keep.  Didn't do it.  We were having entirely too much fun at the new place.  Procrastination is an art form.  It takes real effort to put things off that would better help me to do today.  Well, not too much effort.

On Saturday, we went for a walk in the woods.  We call it exploring.  Our explorations brought us to a very odd tree.  I'd never seen a tree with 6-inch thorns.  But there it was.  A tree covered in huge thorns.  Not just on its branches, mind you.  Thorns graced the entire trunk.  I wondered how in the world deer managed to walk through the trees unscathed.  It is definitely something I want to avoid if I am on the run--or walk, for that matter.  I pointed it out to the girls and told them to be very careful.  I thought it was the lone tree until we walked further into the woods.  That's when I found more "thorn trees".  Ever seen those things in Oklahoma?  What kind of tree is it?  I've searched but haven't found its name.

We followed the horse path through the smaller saplings to discover a couple of humongous trees which Oklahoma's winds uprooted recently.  They were felled in such a position that it made great fun for the girls to climb up and walk across like a tightrope.  I got the bright idea (much to my hubby's dismay), to clear out the brush beneath them and hang a rope swing on the higher trunk.  The girls and I want to make a secret (not so secret) garden back there.  That is our plan.  When I finish doing what I don't feel like doing...then we'll be able to do what we all feel like doing without a pinch of guilt.  I think it's all a matter of attitude.  Don't you agree?

Leap Year Proposal

We have an extra day of sorts this year.  In "common" years we only have twenty-eight days in February; this year we get 29.  In Scotland, Leap Year gives ladies the opportunity to propose marriage...a turning away from the common practice of men asking a woman to marry.  It kinda reminds me of when I was an adolescent and we had Sadie Hawkins dances at school.  It was the one dance in a year that girls could ask boys on "dates".  I hated that opportunity.  I was entirely too shy (yeah, me), to ask a boy to a dance and risk rejection.  So, I didn't go to the Sadie Hawkins dances.  

I wonder how many Scottish ladies long to pop the proverbial question and don't because of their shyness, or fear of rejection.  Is the tradition still practiced today? In America's current culture, it really doesn't matter whether they have a "Leap Year".  Girls have been asking guys out on dates for years.  I can remember when girls never ever, ever called a guy.  It just wasn't proper.  It broke rules of etiquette.  It opposed the status quo of life.  There was also a time when women weren't allowed to even sit on the front porch and talk with a guy without a chaperone.  They couldn't go out on "dates" without a chaperone.  Things have sure changed, haven't they?  

Seven-year-old Haylee told me that girls got married when they were thirteen in Bible times.  She announced that Mary must have been about that age when she had Jesus.  I thought of my fourteen-year-old granddaughter and shuddered.  I'd like to lock up all my granddaughters till they are about 25 years old.  At least by then, their brains would be mature enough to weigh information they receive and act upon it with a bit more logic and reason.  And hopefully a lot less emotion. 

It's funny when you think about how women are treated in the media.  Shrill, emotional, unreasonable.  It's okay to voice opinions and disagree with the status quo as long as we don't make waves to change it.  Yet politicians court women and write speeches with women in mind.  They appeal to our "emotions", our "whims", our "needs".  Mistakenly, they think we are all the same--that we think as one organism of whining, opining, suppressed gender.  Not so.  Just because some women want to take off their skirts and enter the corporate world, doesn't mean all women do.  Just because some women want to make as much or more than men, doesn't mean all women do.  Just because some women want to ask men on dates and pay their own way, doesn't mean all women do.  Just because some women want to fight on the front lines of war, doesn't mean all women do.  Just because some women are offended by men opening their doors, doesn''t mean all women are.

Some of we women like gentlemen.  We take offense to crude language.  We enjoy being homemakers.  We like baking bread and making beds.  We aren't all dreaming of bringing home the bacon; we like thinking up new ways to fry it.  We aren't interested in strangers raising our children and teaching them morals we want to instill.  We don't want childcare provisions, we want to provide for our own.  We want to pack our own lunches and be assured our children eat as we see best.  We don't all want to make proposals, we simply want to say "yes" when "yes" is our answer.  And we want the liberty to say "no", when "no" is our answer.  So, I propose that men let women be women and stop trying to make us all think alike.  We can't.  And we won't...whether it's Leap Year or not. 

As The New Year Approaches

I'm not about to make any silly resolutions.  Weight loss.  Eating habits.  Exercise commitments.  Why set myself up for failure?  Seriously.  New Year's Resolutions remind me of political promises.  We make them because they sound so good to us.  And in some cases we genuinely intend to keep them.  However, as mama use to say, "circumstances alters cases".  Often we encounter situations that dramatically change the course of our best intentions.

For instance, in November I promised one of my granddaughters I would take her to see the movie adaptation of a book she had read in school.  It wasn't playing in Lawton when she visited so I couldn't take her.  Then it came here, and I'd planned to take her last week.  But she didn't get to come for our usual Christmas celebration, so now it isn't playing in Lawton for me to take her this week.  If I want to follow through on my promise, I have to drive to Oklahoma City.  Therefore, I've decided I'm not going to carelessly make promises like that anymore.  I hate to disappoint folks, (especially my grandchildren).  In a sense, that is a resolution, isn't it?  Resolving to be more careful when making promises?  My daughter has the five-minute rule:  "Don't tell the kids we're going to do anything until five minutes before it happens".  That's not a bad idea, is it?  The only thing wrong with that rule is, it leaves out the joy of expectation.  The fun of hoping, getting excited about the future.  Hope can be a risk.  Risk breeds success as well as disappointment. I've had successes, but I understand that disappointment.  I've had several in my lifetime.  I'm sure you have, too.

Life is like that.  It tends to discourage us at times.  Just when you think everything is going along in a positive direction, "wham, bam", circumstances alters cases.  We get blindsided by rejection, financial crisis, illnesses, deaths, or broken relationships.  Somehow all the resolutions and "rules", five-minute or otherwise, must be revamped, reworked, and negotiated.  Compromises must be made.  Often when our commitments are not met, we feel like the failure.  No matter what the world does to destroy our dreams, hopes and goals, we take it personally.  We view the "pink slip" as our inadequacy.  We see the illness as deserved, or the broken relationship as our fault.  To be honest, sometimes it is our own fault.  But not always.

I'm stepping back and looking at last year and thinking through some of the things that didn't turn out quite the way I had planned.  I'm not going to beat myself up over mistakes or poor choices.  Instead, I am going to use them to make plans and goals for today.  And possibly tomorrow.  The past is the past after all; carrying it forward robs me of today.  What I can do to correct some mistakes, I must do.  What I can reconcile, I must reconcile.  Situational paralysis will destroy me if I let it.  I tend to agree with something I read this week:  I'd rather live life with more "oh, wells" than "what ifs".

Yes, life has a way of changing plans and intentions.  But isn't it better to live with hope than to live without it?  Don't you think it's better to strive for that which is best, and settle for that which is better than to live with regrets of accepting the status quo.  I think so. I can think of several things that need changing in our country, our community, and my life as the new year approaches.  But that's a column for another day.  HAPPY NEW YEAR!  Celebrate safely!

Sometimes I'm Not Too Grateful

I have to confess, there are some things for which I am not grateful. I am not grateful for the Super Committee of 12 which was suppose to meet and fix the deficit problems we face as a nation.  As Newt Gingrich, candidate for President in 2012, said, "That is the dumbest idea they've ever come up with".  I'm not grateful for the argumentative dialogue that's come out of that committee, nor do I have any hope for them coming up with anything which will help America's economy.  Democrats seem to want to take away so they can give away more of what we don't have and never have had.  Republicans seem to want to stop giving away so they can stop taking away.

When you read this, we'll be picking the bones of the turkey, and wondering how in the world we could eat so much and have so many leftovers when the economy is so bad and Americans have so little.  In between saying grace, chowing down on Turkey legs, and watching football, many folks are pouring over ads and shopping their telephones, ipads, and what-nots for the cheapest "thingy" for the lowest price.  Many stores have decided to open on Thursday instead of Black Friday to get a jump on some other stores and grab up all the earlybird shoppers.  Many of those shoppers will be using credit cards to grab up the bargains they cannot afford.

However, many folks who are out shopping for these cheaper "thingys" are buying them up in order to turn them into major profits on eBay when folks can't find the "thingy" that companies under-produced in order to create higher demand.  It's always kinda intrigued me that Thursday is the day for Thanksgiving and the very next day (in fact, within hours of the last bite of pumpkin pie), Friday is for Greed. 

How quickly we exchange gratitude for greed.  For this attitude, I am not grateful.  Have we always been this way?  Have we always wanted more and more and not been satisfied with the abundance we have?  I am ashamed to say that many times this has been true of me.  Today I own no credit cards--for that I am grateful.  Very grateful.  I will not get any credit cards.  I think they have been the downfall of America.  I tell my grandchildren not to get credit cards, to save for what they want.  I learned far too late in my life that "buy-now-and-pay-later" sucks the life out of you. You are a slave to your debt.  It's the very reason America's in the shape she is in today.  We are indebted to China and half of the rest of the world.  If we do not stop borrowing to pay for things we think we have to have, we will never get out of the mess we are in.

Christmas is just around the corner.  Gratitude for all we have gives most of us a heart to share what we have with others.  It is virtuous to share what we have with others--but not what we don't have.  We are downsizing our 3-bedroom home to the space of a garage.  Not everyone has to do this.  I do it because it is time to help others by living with less.  I can't fix America.  I can only fix me.  Contentment comes to those who are satisfied with what they have and are grateful for life, family and the love of God.  In this I rest today.  I hope you do, too.  Happy Thanksgiving!

Expect the Unexpected

Life is filled with unexpected things. We may think we have it all planned out, then a telephone rings, or an email is opened that sends us into a spiral of events that interrupt the rythym of our day-- sometimes our lives. Flat tires. Lay-offs. Health threats. Car accidents. Some are avoidable; some are not. Some we control; some we don't. Some we can thwart, some we can't. Such is life. Missed opportunities never appear twice. Once it is gone, that moment, that space of molecules evaporates. Poof!!

So many folks live trapped in a self-made prison of regret. They're nearly paralyzed by their pasts. They become what they wish they had not, because they are impaled by their own swords of fear and failure. It's like they've nailed their lives to some unseen wall of inadequacy, criticism, and blunders. I think at the end of every day we ought to grab a piece of paper and write down all the regrets we have. All the giants we failed to conquer. All the flubs, failures and mistakes we made in the course of living. Then we need to strike a match and burn that list before we waste any precious time dwelling upon lost moments. And "lost" is what missed opportunities are.

You see; time waits for no one. The clock continues to tick whether we sleep or whether we work, whether we laugh or whether we cry, whether we hate or whether we love. Make every moment count. Remember, you cannot make every moment count if you are sitting around on a stump counting yesterday's mistakes and fretting over things you coulda, woulda, shoulda done.

Had my son lived, he would have been 40 years old this week. He use to quip, "Don't sweat the small stuff, Momma. Stop and smell the roses." He loved life. He chose to see his glass half full and lived as though it was filled to the brim. He didn't go thirsty trying to save what he had. He drank from it and with each gulp, he found the secret of living in today--with all its trials. In his last email to me he wrote, "Everything is coming up roses. I can hardly wait to see what God has in store for me next."

Within days, Chad's "next" became heaven's gate. He entered the glory of God and all its fullness. He stepped from this life of trial and error, into life of unending joy and everlasting peace. He left his dishes in the sink, his bed unmade, his clean shirts in the dryer, unopened bills on the dining-room table, and the 15-pound of potatoes he'd purchased that day on the living room floor. As any good mother and father would do, we cleaned up his messes, tidied up the world he'd left as best we could, then made mashed potatoes.

This hour, this moment-- it's all you have. You don't have yesterday anymore; so stop bringing it into today and crowding out the hours you have to enjoy the splendor of life. We may try to capture each moment with videos, cameras, phones and gadgets, but we cannot bring back time and undo the done. We can only accept it, make the best of it, and forget about it. Don't waste a lot of time thinking about tomorrow--no matter what the song says. Bloom where you are planted; strike while the iron is hot. Be the light, the salt, the fragrance of God to all you come in contact with today. And don't forget to stop and smell the roses along the way. 

I Don't Need a Mom Cave

There's a lot of talk these days about women needing a "Mom Cave".  Seems the push for Mom-caves was sparked because some men are demanding Man Caves.  Man-caves are those special rooms for men within the house that are dedicated to large-screen televisions, surround-sound and satellite television that allows men to watch sports on four screens at one time.  The better Man-caves are filled with several recliners for buddies to join him in viewing Nascar races.  They have refrigerators located next to the man's oversized recliner so he doesn't have to get up when reaching for his favorite beverage.  Nearby are cabinets stocked with chips, popcorn, and Debbie Snack Cakes.  Little people (uh, children), are not allowed in the man-cave.  There are no flowers or room deoderizers stuck in electric outlets. This cave is a room where the man of the house rules everything, the thermostat, the remote control, and the lighting.  Wives with husbands who have man-caves are now very jealous of his sanctuary of manliness and dominion.  So you see, they are demanding equal rights.

Women want a space of their own.  They want a place to indulge in their own interests.  A scrap-booking center for organizing picture albums of family gathering in the kitchen and living-room on holidays.  They want their own tape dispensers, glue-sticks and markers.  They want their own televisions, with their own remote.  They long to Tivo their favorite programs to watch while sipping a cup of tea, and browsing through Better Homes and Gardens.  They want sewing-centers with scissors that actually cut material and are not dulled by endless school projects.  Women want a space to paint, to muse, to relax, to read a book or study their Bibles in peace.  No squabbling over Iron-man, Rapunzel or who ate the last chocolate chip cookie.  The most amazing Mom-cave would be a candlelit room, wafting with the scent of vanilla or cinnamon rather than sweat-socks and leftover pizza crusts.  The ideal room includes a jacuzzi tub and an array of oils and lotions.  A Mom-cave is the quintessential space of feminine persuasions.

I don't need a Mom-cave. I like my man sitting in his recliner next to mine as beef stew simmers on the kitchen stove.  I like hearing him grunt and groan as his favorite football team fails to get a fourth down on the goal-line.  I like hearing his excited "Yes!" when a receiver catches a touchdown pass.  I smile contentedly when he falls asleep during a Nascar race and snores punctuate the fact that he is happy and resting from a long week's work of providing for me.  I like my grandchildren watching Scooby-Doo and Curious George as they color pages of Strawberry-Shortcake coloring books with scented-markers.  I love watching them stack dominoes and giant checkers to make tall towers to demolish as soon as it reaches its peak.  I love pretending to eat playdoh-cookies and feeling the warmth of their love as they cuddle on each side of me in my recliner and play "match-game" on my laptop computer.  Nope.  I don't need a Mom-cave and my hubby doesn't want a Man-cave.  We're pretty happy with a home to share and enjoy together. Caves seem rather selfish and isolating if you ask me.  And life is too short to be alone, don't you think?