Nana Mama's Joy

As each year winds down to its final month, I try to take the time to look back upon it and assess the good and bad that has happened during it. What milestones did our family note? What improvements did I make in my home, my relationships, and myself? … Where was it that I missed the mark? …. What could (or should) I do differently next year? This has proven an easy task in 1998, because I have only to open a notebook to review the previous three hundred and thirty some odd days… and the things that happened for which I am grateful. On January 1 of this year, I took an eighty page, wide ruled notebook, wrote the date, the numbers one to five, and beside each number, something that had happened that day for which I was grateful. That day wasn’t too difficult… It was a holiday (no work), I located my bank card that I’d lost while shopping, found some good sales and we gave the 30 day notice to end our paper route! Add to this, my hospitalized brother’s condition was improving… ...

This time of year always finds my "to do" list longer than at any other, and I often wonder if I will get everything done by December 24. The shopping, cooking, cards, decorating, and entertaining (to mention a few) usually find me totally exhausted by the time Christmas actually arrives. I think it's a "woman thing." For centuries, since Mary had her first contractions in a Bethlehem stable - Womankind has felt compelled to labor through the holiday season. Now I admit, my guys will climb the ladder to hang the outdoor lights (in exactly the places I tell them.) And my husband has always stayed up with me past midnight Christmas Eve to wrap the gifts (the job I usually put off). But for most moms, the largest share of holiday planning falls onto their shoulders. Our home, as does many of yours, radiates Christmas! Twinkling lights, evergreens, keepsake decorations, delicious smells and wonderful seasonal sounds permeate the premises. My sons thor...

“And why do you worry about clothes?” That phrase was not posed as a question, but a quote from Matthew 6:28. Centuries ago, Jesus asked a crowd gathered on a mountainside, that very question. And it is the question I ask myself from time to time when I look at my own personal wardrobe. Upon sorting to either end of the closet, the clothes of sentimental value or those I’m waiting to get “back into,” I come face to face with the vast number of garments remaining. Realizing there are only seven days in a week and the human body is capable of wearing only one outfit at a time, why do I behold enough clothing as not to repeat an ensemble for possibly a month? Worse than just the sheer number of hangers, is the fact that a common thread (or fabric, if you will) runs through them. One look at the “indigo” indigenous to my closet tells the cold, hard, truth: I am a denim addict. I don’t know when I first fell into its grip. When I was a child, denim was the material worn by cowboys...

This time of year always finds me engaged in battle. Battle against the elements, for winter in Iowa often creates a war zone on streets, sidewalks and even parking lots… And battle against the "bulge" which is created by my own lack of willpower through the holiday season. I haven't wanted to put this column on paper, because I haven't wanted to do anything about my impending battle, except think about it and consider my potential plans of attack. This is the progress I've made in my thought process: A. I have identified the enemy: there are about thirty pounds on my body that should not be there. (Last year, I took a pacifist role… refused to do battle, and consequently gained additional pounds that now need shedding.) B. I have recognized the cause: I have no self-control when it comes to what I put in my mouth to eat. C. I have made myself aware of the multitudes of plans, programs, diets, books, and self-help and help-you programs available to those wi...

"Theoretically speaking… " Now there are two words you won't often hear me say. Although I ponder theories from time to time, I seldom find myself coming up with any. Assimilating facts to support one's point sounds like a highly intelligent prospect, one not nearly worthy of my average mind. Sometimes I wonder if theorists come to their conclusions to prove their view, or confuse someone else's. The extent of my theories is usually: "Miss Scarlet, in the Ballroom, with the rope!" Take the theory of evolution, which has always amused me. Being a creationist, I find humor in those who credit the existence of an entire Universe to anyone or anything less than a Supreme Being. From my own life's experience, I have generally observed, order does not come from disorder, at least without "help." And of course, the basis for my position can be summed up in one sentence (or verse): "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the ...

I left a comment today on some one's blog (something I don't do often - but there was a free drawing at stake, so I sucked it up and did it). The resulting posted comment said it was left by "Nana Mama" - hmmm, how did that happen? So I clicked on the Nana Mama... and arrived at this blog I started exactly a year ago. I started it because one of my daughters-in-law blogs when she has time and I enjoy reading her thoughts and insights. Since I used to do some writing, and had a column in a newspaper about a decade or so ago - it occurred to me that this might be a good place to cut and paste those articles for "safe-cyber-keeping". I could be forever immortalized by technology. I wouldn't tell my children... just leave the name of the blog in my Last Will and Testament (or on a piece of paper in my underwear drawer). After I'm dead - they'll happen onto the blog and be forced to endure my wit and wisdom (if they so choose). You're probably thi...

Choices. We face them everyday. I have always maintained that more than three are a detriment to any decision making power I may possess. What is it that causes one type of person to delight in the realm of possibilities? And another to shudder at the prospect of reaching any conclusion, be it right or wrong? Maybe this stems back to my childhood and having to choose between flavors of ice cream. Or perhaps, as my parents would recall, one of many nightmare visits to the children’s shoe department where I couldn’t decide “which” pair of shoes best suit my fancy. As I grew older, my spirit of indecision did not depart. What outfit to wear? Which record to buy? Who to invite? What was routine for most people was frustration to me. Even at my present stage of life, I struggle with choices. Forced to square off, face to face, with a pound of ground beef - I ponder my alternatives of what to do with it for supper. If that decision is too much for me - there is always...