Author: Bev

A homemaker can be anyone who makes a home. I imagine there are plenty of people who live in some form of a residence but do not make an effort to make that place a home.

Let me be clear that a residence is a physical building. A home is the emotional and psychological experience of living in a place.

Homemakers make their dwelling a home, often through invisible work. Much of a homemakers work in maintaining a home is felt but not always seen or noticed.

For example, while my fellow homemaker was relaxing on the deck, I cleaned the filter in, and filled the cat water fountain with clean, filtered water. I also cleaned the mat and the corner where our cat’s water fountain sits. I’m not sure those gestures will be noticed by my house-mate nor said cat for whom the effort was made.

Are you aware that many a homemaker “processes” groceries? I’m aware that some homemakers simply shove the refrigerated foods into the refrigerator or freezer, job done. But, I’m one who processes food on its way to storage.

For example, I cut raw broccoli heads into florets and store them inside a slide-lock bag with a paper towel inside. Then, I squeeze the air out as much as possible, zip, then store in the refrigerator. I do something similar with raw spinach. This is sous chef behavior, I’ll have you know.

Preparing for visits from my grand-toddler, I buy berries and process them. I wash raspberries, blueberries, and cut up strawberries, put them into a container with a paper towel in the bottom, and they’re ready to grab and include on a “plate” of finger foods that he likes. I also prepare bacon ahead of time, microwaving it in batches, cut it into snack size bites, and “voile,” finger food.

I’m sure my grand-toddler doesn’t notice the work that goes into his meal-prep, but I’m just as sure that he feels it when gammy pulls a plate of his favorite finger foods out of the fridge. Not noticed, but felt.

Did anybody notice that I changed the empty paper towel roll and the tissues, with one left in the box? This homemaker is the one who put “hand soap” on the list because there are no replacements in the bathroom cupboard.

I’m the homemaker who trooped outside, step-stool in hand, to tape some foil temporarily on our front windows to keep that highly annoying male cardinal from beating himself up over his reflection, and from making these home-dwellers completely crazy. I also prepared a box of dirt with mini-excavators and trucks in it, for my grand-toddler to play with even on rainy days on the front porch. Maybe I’ll put flowers in the planter this year or maybe I won’t, but I’ll always have that beautiful soul brightening my days.

This homemaker likes tidiness, order, and nice things as much as the next homemaker. Well, maybe I like these things more or less than other homemakers. But, I totally value the souls who come and go from our home so much more than the structure which welcomes them. So in my list of priorities, I will value the souls over the stuff any day and if tidiness, order and nice things must suffer, suffer they must.

I make the bed. I fold the laundry. These things may not matter to you and good for you if they don’t. But, they matter to me. I appreciate the order that they bring to our home and my house-mate appreciates that they give me peace of mind. I’m not sure he cares about either of those chores, but he appreciates me for doing them. That makes all the difference.

I sort garbage. I know, that seems a little bit obsessive. However, my mom did it and I don’t know if that means something, but I do it too.

We recycle aluminum cans, placed into a designated bin. We re-use our plastic grocery bags and all clean plastic wrapping as packing material for shipping items for our business. We recycle glass, plastic, and steel containers as well as redacted junk mail. We burn paper. We compost vegetable food waste. Once in a while, we send everything else with the trash hauler.

I clean once in a while, not obsessively but not never. I am always sorting stuff. Clothing and household items pop up that are not worn or used and must be donated to someone who wants such things, and which have become clutter to me.

Having a small house, this homemaker is constantly storing and retrieving seasonal items. As everyone in these parts knows, this spring has been a merry-go-round of weather variations. A few weeks ago we had a taste of summer so much so, that I cleaned the fireplace and all of its accoutrements, thinking that winter was done and dusted. Then, we had a week of freezing weather, and this frenzied and cold homemaker pulled all the fireplace gear back out of its hidey-hole, including the todder-safety gate. At least I remembered where I put them this year.

It is not unfair to say that a lot of homemaking involves invisible work. It’s almost like magic that so much gets done around the house, without a thought of the sacrificial effort put into it.

However, many a homemaker has a partner who doesn’t always notice your homemaking magic. But he or she feels it. They know their unconscious comfort and ease, wasn’t provided for by fairies.

My partner, is one who verbalizes his appreciation for my homemaking effort. Sometimes, I remind him of some of the invisible work that I’ve done and he’s quick to thank me and applaud my willingness to do what he didn’t think to do. Would that we would all be so blessed for homemaking partnership.

As wicked as she was, you may feel a bit sorry for the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz, when she cried, “I’m melting,” into a green and black puddle. It’s sad to become nothing, from something.

Melting, shrinking, disappearing, aging, all have a tinge of farewell to them. Sometimes you just don’t want to bid adieu to what was. Then reality hits and the best way to say goodbye to what was is to celebrate what is. This may take the shape of a pity party.

“Pity me, I’m shrinking.” Mind you, I was never tall and that was just a fact that I accepted. For years, as an adult, I measured five foot four inches at the doctor’s office. Then, all of a sudden my height was undoubtedly five foot one. What?

The thing is, I feel shorter, even diminutive, at times. Standing next to my grown daughter who is also not tall, I feel shorter than before. My husband feels taller than he used to, when we stand side-by-side; although he’s shorter as well.

Feeling shorter and feeling older are not exactly synonymous, but me thinks they’re related. Compared to someone younger and taller, I somehow feel less than, rather than equal to, if you get my drift.

Don’t get me started on the BMI index and what that dastardly number makes of my shrinking stature. Oh, and the maddening occasional message from my fitness tracker, “you’ve been at risk of undertraining recently, are you ready to get back on track?”

“It’s called rest,” I scream at that animated device on my wrist! I can’t win with that thing. One day I will do an insane amount of yard work and it yells at me for overtraining So the next day I simply take a long walk and call it a day. It chastises me for not doing enough.

Having studied human development, I’m comforted by the fact that we’re aging from the moment we’re born. However, aging takes on a life of its own when one passes a certain double digit number in age, the exact number which of course differs for individuals.

Some people feel “senior” at 60, others at 70, 80, or not until 90. But I wonder when exactly one feels shorter? Science documents that it may begin at 40 and accelerates at 70.

Many a shrinking spine has bellowed at a toddler’s plea to “play with me on the floor.” When any X-ray interpretation of your torso includes, “degenerative disc,” in your spine, you know you’re shrinking.

I digress, egress or in some way divert my thoughts for a moment, to the concept of sin. Not sins, as in personal shortcomings from a divine standard, but universal sin.

From the Adam and Eve narrative, marking the beginning of time, sin entered the world and it remains our battle for all time. Sin is in the world and we either recognize it and deal with it or we ignore it and deal with it.

However, “love covers sin.” From I Peter, my favorite scripture says we’re covered. We can overcome all that’s amiss in the world if we can but harness love.

So many of the negative aspects of aging are associated with an inherited state of brokenness present in the world. It’s not our fault.

It’s my opinion that it’s not wrong to complain about those aspects of aging that are hard to accept. I mean, people have been complaining about just about every life stage since we emerged from the womb.

Toddlers complain that they want to “do it myself.” Children can’t wait to be teenagers. Teenagers just want to be left alone to do their thing. Young adults have discovered that “adulting” is hard. Middle aged folks have the “spread,” and “midlife crises” to complain about. It’s all part of the human development pity party.

Older adults have aches and pains that seemed to have just started sometime yesterday, we don’t know exactly when. And the disappearing fluid that our joints used to swim in, irritates the heck out of our knees, hips, and spine. Adding insult to injury, our skin, nails and hair are dry, and we’re shorter.

Please don’t rub it in by telling me that you’re the one in a million who is “growing old gracefully.” I concur with you that it’s true and valid that growing old even with all of its challenges is so very much better than the alternative.

Socially, however, we try to counter our natural aging process with hair color, lotions and potions, hip clothes, young-slang, fillers and shots to counter wrinkles and the thickening of our bodies.

So, complain away. But please don’t get bogged down by your complaints or use them as excuses for entitlement or a free pass to whatever you want out of life. We’re conflicted about whether we like or don’t like aging. Maybe it’s just not an either/or situation.

I think it’s okay to have a blooming pity party, celebrating getting older. And please don’t let nary a whisper of the word, “senior” be uttered at my pity party. It seems condescending, like calling a toddler, an infant – “no thank you,” to borrow a phrase from my toddler friends.

I have a pet peeve when a full-fledged older person is treated like a child, talked to like a child, or made to feel childish. We’ve all earned our age. We should be treated with respect for having gotten to this stage, no matter which one it is.

As it turns out, aging is kind of cool when your body, or your fitness tracker, isn’t screaming some sort of new and crazy obscenity at you or accusing you that you’re doing something, or not doing enough, to cause this mess. I guess the mantra of we aged persons, should be to “embrace the mess.” Go ahead and have a fabulous pity party.

We might be living in a world of sin, but we can live in it without living of it. We’re overcomers, each and every one of us who have aged a little bit and been covered again and again, with love.

If I had done this rather than that… If I had moved there instead of here… If I had partnered with that one in place of this one… If I had taken that job in lieu of the other one… What if I had chosen differently? Who would I be today?

Many years ago I remember thinking it might be fun to play a party game called, “If.” It was intended as an icebreaker or getting-to-know-you kind of game for adults. I think the gist was to ask the group open-ended questions, like, “If, blank, then, blank…” encouraging creative, fun answers.

I’ve been pondering the “butterfly effect.” Put in simple terms, the “butterfly effect,” coined by meteorologist, Edward Lorenz in 1972, explains that something seemingly as minor as a butterfly fluttering its wings in Brazil, can inexplicably cause or prevent something large-scale like a tornado in Texas.

I’m not a hard scientist nor particularly sciency-minded, so I apply the “butterfly effect,” from science’s chaos theory to social psychology, where a minor action like a choice made long ago theoretically altered the personal or social consequences we live with today. I’m reminded by the iconic line often uttered by the Steve Urkel character in the early 90s television show, Family Matters, “did I do that?”

Then, of course, since I also float toward Christian spirituality in all things, I thought of how much of today’s effects are designed by God. Is God the ultimate Architect of one’s destiny?

I’ve not always been comfortable with the “let go and let God” philosophy. I like a certain amount of control. I prefer to think that I’ve made some pretty wise life decisions gleaned from having a sound mind and sharp enough intellect to get by without destroying my own life or that of others in my vicinity.

I’m cool with God deciding my overall destiny since it’s my belief that I also have free will in the bulk of the little stuff along the way. God, in His almightiness, allows us to live the “butterfly effect.”

The Bible says we have free will, which sometimes acts to our detriment and perhaps we wish He’d take the wheel, as some vague country song lyric running around in my head, suggests. But most of the time the “butterfly effect,” has worked out okay for me.

I’ve been contentedly married for nearly forty-six years to a man who I’m certain God put in front of me at a certain bank teller window in 1979. I gave birth via c-section to a baby girl in 1990. It wasn’t according to my home-birth plan, but we got the girl we never dreamed of but the one beyond our dreams.

We have lived in parts south and west in the United States. It wasn’t Africa or Germany which were both on the table. However, we were called to specific places filled with people whom we needed to meet and mix with, learn from and teach.

Before the first century AD, Roman Stoic philosopher, Seneca said, “Fate leads the willing and drags along the reluctant.” I’m reminded by the Doris Day 1956 song, “Que Sera, Sera,” whatever will be, will be, which displays a similar philosophy about fate, or destiny. Also, the familiar, “it is what it is,” is a thoroughly modern understanding of Seneca.

I don’t always think life is about cause and effect. I’m more of a correlation kind of girl. Having been trained in social science, I could relate to correlational outcomes rather than the rare but occasional absolute cause and effect proven by multiple experiments.

It’s my educated opinion that tons of stuff in life are correlated or related, but whether one thing has definitively caused the other is questionable, to me. I’m aware in many evangelical Christian communities, the “sow and reap” example is rife with misinterpretation and judgment.

It is my experience lived, that you rarely sow and reap directly. And, most evangelicals will admit that sometimes, you reap a much bigger harvest from a seed sown, than you expected. Weeds, mixed into the soil don’t always explain the wonky harvest you must gather when the time comes for picking the fruit.

Or, your harvest is continually weak even after sowing batches and batches of seeds, watering, fertilizing, facing the sun, and expecting something resembling the seeds sown, from your effort. Is this fate? Or, is it a wait and see moment?

So, back to butterflies. These critters are pretty close to being one of the more magical of nature’s progeny. They start out as lowly caterpillars and transform into something of fleeting beauty that inspire us all.

I think it’s funny, and so utterly human that Lorenz, the “butterfly effect” meteorologist, didn’t use the butterfly metaphor in 1961 when he was first formulating his theory. He used a seagull but was convinced by Philip Merilees to switch his example to the more poetic or romantic butterfly instead.

Interestingly, all kinds of the smallest of things effecting massive changes have been used to explain the “butterfly effect.” Removing a single grain of sand may actually change the immeasurable whole of the ocean bed; a single electron and an avalanche; an altered future from treading on a butterfly in the past; the flap of a housefly’s wings effects atmospheric winds around the world, etc.

What is your “butterfly effect?” I will always rely on the Edward Hale quote, “I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.”

Edward Hale, a nineteenth century American author, minister, and social reformer, also served as Chaplain in the United States Senate from 1903-1909. Poignantly, Hale wrote a, now classic work of fiction, called “The Man Without a Country.” Americans should listen up. Dying in exile after committing treason, the main character in Hale’s book, learned too late, the value of the country he denounced.

I’ve visited a few other countries and dream of visiting some more. But, my conclusion is, they all have positive and negative aspects and are a joy to visit. Home, is, however, home, and home is good.

Wouldn’t it be cool to start a homeland-positive, non-political “butterfly effect,” here in America, and see where that takes us. It couldn’t hurt. I’m reminded of the 1848 Shaker hymn, Simple Gifts, where freedom comes with a humble, simple life of gratitude and finding ourselves in a “place just right.”

When playing a game on my cell phone, an ad came up for another game. The ad claimed that it was an incredibly relaxing game. Then it said that only people with an IQ over 130 can win said game.

I said to myself, “wow, this ad appeals to one’s vanity. The only reason for downloading that game would be to prove to yourself that you’re brilliant enough to win it and be relaxed in doing so. I’m one of the few with a high enough IQ to win it handily.”

I’m reminded of the 1970s Carly Simon hit, “You’re So Vain,”…”you probably think this song is about you, you’re so vain.” Are you singing it with me?

There is a thing in book publishing called a Vanity Press. In a nutshell, an author pays a publisher to publish their book. Why do you suppose it’s specifically called a Vanity Press?

The concept of vanity is associated with personal pride, ego and a desire to be seen for being special in some way. Renowned eighteenth century English novelist, Jane Austen, famously said that pride relates to our opinion of ourselves, vanity speaks to what we would have others think of us.

Austen spoke of vanity a long time before social media took over the subject. Today, we live out our vanity through social media, Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, YouTube, and the like. The entire reason for the existence of these platforms is to be seen by others as admirable in one way or another. They are jealousy-making tools, which back in the day we called, “dig me” avenues for fueling our self-esteem.

Today there is a whole category of humans who rake in billions of dollars making us admire, even reverence, them. “Influencers” make us want to be like them, and we think we can, because of advertising. Advertisers love the idea of appealing to the vanity of consumers. It sells products.

Everybody must naturally want to feel special because advertising keeps the capitalist circle spinning at an enormously rapid and costly pace. We spend, spend and spend some more in order to keep that feeling of being special, fueled.

Has capitalism made us all into “special-craving,” narcissists? We seem to hear a lot these days about narcissists. Just who are these folks?

Is anybody ever officially diagnosed with narcissism? Or is it a pop culture label for the bad guy in a co-dependent relationship?

Narcissists are characterized by grandiosity, exaggerating their achievements and talents; believing they are entitled to favor; using others to achieve their goals; lacking empathy toward others; and consumed by envy, both incoming and outgoing.

I wonder if we’re hearing more about narcissism in these times because we’re creating more narcissists through our culture? Are we making people think too highly of themselves through advertising and other moneymaking (capitalistic) systems?

It used to be standard thinking that you can’t buy love or respect and other such things. But, we can see daily that people try to buy anything and everything and if they’re prevented from doing so they resort to stealing it, cheating to get it, or counterfeiting it.

I’m thinking of another oldie song, “you can’t hurry love, you’ll just have to wait; love don’t come easy, it’s a game of give and take….” (The Supremes, 1966 Motown). Oh, as if waiting for anything is even possible in the internet age, when I can just pay someone to like me, love me, and shout it loudly all over the internet.

The Greek myth of Narcissus tells about a young man who fell in love with his own reflection in a pond. He ultimately dies because he cannot possess his image. It’s no wonder that quite a few more men than women are diagnosed with Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Narcissus being a male and all.

In all fairness, I’m guessing that what with cosmetics being a multi-billion dollar female-dominated industry, women spend more time in front of a vanity mirror than Narcissus’ progeny spends staring into a pond at their reflection. But, I don’t know.

So, if you think this column is about you, or me, or some other Narcissist that you know, perhaps you should contemplate these final cautionary tales, especially the last one. The first quote is from The Old Testament Book of Ecclesiastes, “vanity of vanities; all is vanity,” reflecting on the fleeting and meaningless pursuit of pleasure, possessions, wealth, and intelligence versus laboring toward spiritual wholeness.

“Pride goeth before a fall” (KJV of Proverbs 16:18);

“Vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief,” (Jane Austen);

“Vanity keeps persons in favor with themselves who are out of favor with all others.” (William Shakespeare);

“Where there is emulation, there will be vanity; where there is vanity, there will be folly.” (Samuel Johnson AKA Mark Twain);

“How vain, without the merit, is the name.” (Homer);

“We are so vain that we even care for the opinion of those we don’t care for.” (Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach);

“Even in a time of elephantine vanity and greed, one never has to look far to see the campfires of gentle people.” (Garrison Keillor).

So if we look for it, we’ll see beyond the superficial schemes of advertising and influence, to find simple, gentle, benevolent light in more faces and places than we imagined. Let’s cast our eagle eyes far and wide toward what’s good, admirable, true, just, excellent, pure, lovely, and worthy of praise (Philippians 4:8).

I’ve got questions about the concept of “smart.” First, is it an objective or subjective term, the word, smart? What makes a person smart? Is it always comparative to it’s perceived opposite, dumb, dense, or dull?

Who determines if you’re smart or not smart? How do we perceive smart? Are we jealous and do we think derogatorily of those we perceive of as smart or do we envy them?

A lot of the idioms associated with the word smart are really, very sarcastic or ironic. So, it makes me wonder if the word smart is not all that flattering. Or perhaps it’s a set-up, or stitch-up as the British say.

For example, Maxwell Smart, the title character on the 1960s television show, Get Smart, was a bumbling, oblivious spy. His name was chosen by show creators to ironically highlight his obvious lack of intelligence.

Then again, wise, now there’s a word. That’s a word you’d like to be associated with, unless someone labels you a “wise-guy.”

What makes it so flattering to be thought of as wise? I wonder if the contrast between smart and wise, is that we covet being smart but we aspire to be wise.

Some of those sarcastic colloquialisms about being smart are really put-downs for someone who’s a know-it-all. For example, the title idiom, “smarty pants,” and another one, “smart aleck,” refers to someone who wants to appear intelligent or clever but can’t pull it off naturally.

The origins of the “smart aleck” moniker was a police nickname for a 1840s New York criminal, pimp, and con-artist, Aleck Hoag. He was labeled “too smart for his own good,” or one might say “too smart for his britches.” He was conceited in his folly.

Hoag acted like a “wise-guy,” conceited and irritatingly self-assertive, clever but cocky and outwitting the police at every turn. One could almost describe a smart aleck or wise-guy as someone smart or even wise but in all the wrong ways, using one’s intellect for hurtful, arrogant or narcissistic uses rather than for good, or to uplift others.

That smart and sharp are synonymous, is evident in the phrases: sharp as a tack, not the sharpest tool in the shed, he’s a sharp dresser.

A “smart cookie” is an idiom popularized in the 1940s when food metaphors for individuals were used ubiquitously, like “sweetie,” “sweetheart,” and “tough cookie.”

So the word, smart, is used primarily to describe sharpness, quickness, intelligence, wit, stinging commentary or physical pain, cutting-edge technology, elegance or stylish appearance. If you’re described in any way as smart, you are on it, with it, up to speed, and all about the new and now; and someone noticed.

I wonder, is it desirous to be the smartest person in the room? Do kids want to be the smartest one in class?

Is “dumb-luck” and average intelligence perhaps better to live with than the Mensa, high-IQ kind of smart? What do you do with all that “smartest person in the room,” stuff? I don’t mean to be a smart aleck or a wise-guy, but I’m good with being the unnoticed listener in the room.

I’m happy observing the smart folk. The Dalai Lama said, “When you talk you are only repeating what you already know. But if you listen, you may learn something new.”

Blue sky inspires me. Especially after heavy fog or a deeply overcast atmosphere, there’s nothing like the peek of blue to send encouragement coursing through your soul.

Certain people are inspiring. Specifically, people who succeed through struggle are inspiring. Folks who flourish after they’ve failed; people who get up after falling; folks who have been there, done that; and people who rebound after being beaten down, inspire me.

It’s not inspiring to see winner win or the rich get richer. It’s inspiring to see loser win and the underdog, overcome.

It’s inspiring to see someone who had it rough, get er done. It’s cool to see someone who was up, then down, rise again. A comeback story is inspiring.

Art, music, words, and dance can all be inspiring if they’re delivered with love and spirit. I think the Hebrew people call it hutzpah.

My two-year-old grandson inspires me to do more than I should or even thought I could. He inspires me to get down on the floor and get back up again, to happily settle for second string to his mama’ first string, to engage in creative play, and to “do it again,” and again and again.

Physical intimacy is inspiring, especially hugs. After a hug you’re inspire to push through, move on, and keep it up. Connection is inspiring.

Travel is inspiring. Travel shows you what else, and “I could.” Great vistas, natural or made by humans, inspire. They inspire us to keep looking, in the hope that we will see.

Sometimes when I’m out walking, I get inspired that my body moves. I’m conscious of the movement of my legs, hips, torso, and feet. Awareness inspires me to stay aware and alert, cognizant of what living is. Living, not existing.

Many things inspire, but not much more than Spring, the epitome of inspiring. I mean, who can hate new birth popping out all around you? New beginnings are deeply inspiring Surely, newness is the definition of hope and inspiration.

One of my favorite inspirational songs is Rise Again by Dallas Holmes. Christ is the inspiration for other beautiful things rising again around Easter time. Crocuses come to mind, daffodils and lilies, and other dormant things come back from sleep. That’s inspiring.

Hope, deferred over what seems like a long winter, rises from within us in the Spring. It adds spring to our step and we want to skip and hop and spring back to life like the rest of nature. Like in Rise Again, we feel like “ain’t no power on earth can hold me back,” or “keep me down.”

We just “sprang forward” an hour, how inspiring is that, another hour of daylight? Sometimes you hop on one foot and then squarely with two feet, into Spring. That maneuver reminds me of the childhood game of hopscotch. It’s designed as a pathway with numbered squares. When you win at the end of the path, you hop around and do it all over again.

The Spring Peepers are squawking and birds of every ilk are out in force inspiring us to come outdoors and join the party. Squirrel and turkeys are loosening up and celebrating Spring.

Healing is inspiring. There’s nothing like being healed after suffering from any malady or injury. Medicines and health care workers, when they work for you and not against you, are inspiring. Herbs and whole food are inspiring because you know they’re building you up, not bringing you down; you can almost feel it.

Self-control including weight control, control over all appetites and addictions, is inspiring when you can do it. Whether our weight is up or down on a scale, or we struggle with fitness versus illness, when your appetites are under control, you want to keep going toward better and better wellness.

What do you say we just start hopping into inspiration and become one with the Easter bunnies, chocolate, stuffed, Velvetine, Benjamin, Peter or whatever bunny gets your hippity to hopping? Happy Spring and cheers to glorious inspiration.

You’ve all heard by now that corporate America is coming to town. And, no doubt, you’ve got feelings about this progressive phenomenon.

Not only have the SAC Shell convenience shops come under new ownership (Reliance Oil), but now it’s the Everett Foodliner with its partnered Exxon station as well as the Saxton Foodliner. In our household, we are some of the holdouts who still called our Everett Foodliner, “the IGA.”

The family-owned IGA has been around for generations and we’re used to it; we’re used to them. We appreciate that the Appleby family is aging like the rest of us and they should steer their personal future how they see fit, but we want their stores to miraculously stay the same, aging as they may be.

People are grieving the loss of the familiar, around town. I’m probably not the only one who has committed my feelings of loss and change to my dream life.

Yep, I had a dream about the IGA picking up and leaving town while Giant comes in and changes it all. It was about us running over a relative driving a motorcycle, hit-and-run style, and angry crowds filling the dark streets of Everett, but we all know it was about the IGA changing right under our noses. How dare they?

Just after the news hit the waves, it was turkey dinner day at the deli and guess what, they sold out before the end of the day. It doesn’t take a psychic to predict that the famous countywide doughnut case will also see empty days in the very near future.

As if you could hoard doughnuts, beautiful IGA subs, and their turkey dinners, these and other IGA favorites will grow scarce. Pile a winter storm on and look out for a few empty shelves soon.

One can sense the panic at the changes we anticipate. We see ourselves wandering around the entire store looking for where they put the jarred, minced garlic, or the flour tortillas, or oh my Lord, where are my favorite store brand pickles?!?

We fear the self-checkout and doing our own bagging and carry-out. It’s the home-town feel that we’re already grieving. We want to see familiar faces at the checkout, we want to feel valued, even cherished by the employees, like we value them.

These employees know us and we know them. They’re like the relative we hit and ran from in my dream. We fear that they and what they stand for are melting, melting, melting like the witch in the Wizard of Oz, into corporate nothingness and efficiency.

We fear we will no longer be special to our grocery family. We will be just another customer with cash or credit and they don’t care that we really liked those store-brand pickles.

Oh well, we have no choice but to move on. We have to turn on that same ole dime that we’ve turned on so many times over the years.

When we moved back from parts far and wide, to Bedford County over thirty years ago, the road widening on Route 30 between Everett and Bedford had just occurred and the Bedford Square Plaza, home of Walmart, was built. That was the beginning of our initiation to a changing Bedford County.

Now, after all this time it’s hard to imagine that highway any differently. It’s now the usual and we wouldn’t have it any other way. How about driving 70 miles per hour on I99? That was unheard of way back when.

I married into a family who had been military and my father-in-law stood tall representing the unofficial military slogan, “adapt and overcome.” Military leaders thought back in the early twentieth century, that there was no excuse for failing on a mission, because if you “improvise, adapt, and overcome,” you can accomplish pretty much anything you attempt, in some form or fashion.

I have come to believe that adaptation to change is one key to a fulfilling life. Change happens and we can grieve the old and the familiar having gone away, but just for a moment. Then, we have to be about the business of adapting to the new.

Some of us have grown to be okay with it, if not prefer the self-checkout. It’s usually quicker, if you don’t want to wait in line, and you have control over how your stuff is bagged. And, if your day is over-peopley and you want to run in and run out, voile the self-checkout.

Yes, we loved shopping at the IGA, but we have to let it go. I’ll bet you that Giant will have some things that we will like, maybe some of our favorite cashiers, maybe even their own brand of terrific pickles, wider aisles, something pleasantly surprising, if we give them a chance.

Let’s say we try forward-thinking about the changes to our beloved IGA. Instead of reacting to its loss, and being indignant at the sale of the store, perhaps we could try positively adapting our thinking to what might be, the opportunities that might come along with the changes. I’m guessing that’s what the Appleby’s would want for their community.

We’ll miss what you were to us IGA, since 1964. But we will adapt and overcome and in time, with a little help from our friends, we’ll be strutting up and down those new aisles picking up items with aplomb as if they were always located just there.

We’ve overcome the challenge of change before and we’ll be called upon to do it again. If the baby boom generation can do it, and we’ve done it countless times in our lives, anyone can do it. Let’s go shoppers!