Odometer Oddities

Mama and I have very different driving patterns. She lives in a small Arkansas town and I’m in Houston, the nation’s 4th largest city. We both purchased new vehicles in different years. I average 8,000 miles per year and she drives even fewer annual miles. As we were driving to visit my nephew’s new home, Edgar mentioned Mama’s odometer reading. Though I rarely pay attention to mine, I’d just had my car serviced the day before we headed to Arkansas, and said, “That’s about the mileage I have, too”. On the way to work this morning, I remembered to check my odometer and asked Mama for her current mileage. Our odometer readings differ by only 38 miles.  Unbelievable!

As is indicated by my blog title, I believe that everything's connected, but never factored odometer readings into the equation.  If this is any indication that I'm becoming my mother, contrary to the usual humor associated with the comment, I'm an extremely lucky individual. 

Today's odometer oddities remind me that our connectedness takes many forms.  When we look for similarities we find them.  And we find differences when we expect them.   I choose to think that Mama's and my 38 mile difference is another indication that we are inextricably, positively connected.

Snail Mail

My friend's young daughter is enjoying two weeks at Camp Ozark.  A request from her mother to take a moment and send a note or postcard vividly reminded me how special it is to receive mail at camp.  When our technology leashes are cut, snail mail takes on a new importance for the sender and receiver.  It's always fun to receive an unexpected letter or gift.  What is less obvious are the benefits we reap as a sender. The act of physically preparing 7 days of small offerings, then remembering to send one each day except Sunday and the 4th of July required patience and discipline and provided a fond reminder of the recipient each day. By not being able to simply drop them all in the post office box as soon as they were ready, I was reminded that contrary to my normal approach, fast and efficient is not always best.  And when we do something thoughtful for someone else, it's often we who are the biggest beneficiary.

Games of Life

My family has been playing card games all my life.  We began with Go Fish and War and progressed to  Rook, Hearts and Spades.  When Edgar joined the family, he became part of the ongoing friendly, spirited competitions.  Mama and Edgar perpetually challenge Daddy and me to claim bragging rights for any particular visit.  Selective perception and a bit of psyche colors the reality of winner's records.  It's been fun to have Julia and Gar sub for any given player to keep the team competition alive, but inclusive. 

Just as Edgar and I have forged additional long-standing competitions with friends, it's been fun to see Julia and Gar enthusiastically engage and challenge their friends.

These card games provide fun, laughter, challenge and bragging rights.  Everyone starts the game anticipating victory.  Because it's prime time together, everyone wins the card games of life.

Scars & Stripes

My childhood was inundated with countless wonderful events and memories with Mama, Daddy, my brothers (Mark and Steve) and many multi-generational grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.  "Stripes" definitely prevail with countless positive experiences and memories.  We didn't realize when we were growing up that others didn't have such a robust posse of relatives.  Though my childhood was blessed predominately with positives, a fading scar brought reality and remembrance to my idyllic childhood.

 My cousins and I were playing chase at my grandparent's remote farm.  I vividly remember lots of running and laughs before I slipped on the gravel and badly cut my knee. Though my Mother immediately (realistically) wanted to take me back to civilization to get stitches, I insisted that I'd be okay.   I was playing with the big cousins (including Reggie), and didn't want to acknowledge my vulnerability.  The (unnecessary) scar I've had for so very many years is finally fading.  Had I headed Mama's advice to abandon our adventure and get the required stitches, I wouldn't have retained the daily reminder of Reggie's life, impact and heroic death. 

I don't remember when my accident occurred, but vividly recall when we received the tragic news that my  much older cousin who I'd been playing with that day was killed in Viet Nam.  Reggie was only the second young person I knew who met an untimely death.  Sometimes scars connect us to events that wouldn't otherwise be vivid; remind us to cherish simple pleasures; and allow us to gratefully acknowledge all who have helped us become the person we were intended to be.

Scars and stripes make the stars bright each night.

Miles Away and Ever Present

Edgar, Gar and I just made the 550 mile trek to Arkansas for another delightful visit with my parents.  We've made the trip ever so many times.  This time Julia's summer internship in NYC precluded her inclusion in our annual summer excursion.  While on the road, we called to see what she was doing and let her know how much she was missed.  Last night, as I set the table for dinner, I instinctively filled six glasses.  As Mama reminded me that there were only five of us, we called to let her know dinner was ready.  Though she's not enjoying all the love, laughter, sights, sounds and tastes, precious Julia is very much a part of our latest adventure.  She's miles away, but ever present.

Tastes of Summer

There are so many things to love about summer - more relaxed time with the kids, swimming every day, vacations and food.  The tastes of summer in Arkansas are spectacular - Cave City watermelons, Anna's cucumbers, Daddy's corn, Aunt Irene's okra, and vine-ripened tomatoes and squash from many green thumbs throughout Batesville. 

When asked why the tomatoes in Arkansas are so much better than those we buy in Houston, I answered that the Arkansas produce is infused with love.  Whatever the special bounty, the growers are anxious to share with others who they know will delight in the flavors.  

Though it would be remarkable to capture and enjoy the tastes of summer throughout the year, we might take them for granted if they weren't seasonally available, joyfully anticipated and immediately enjoyed. 

Snowflakes in July

It is the norm to want to group individuals and things by their common characteristics. Snowflakes, fingerprints and individual personalities are unique and special.   They defy neat groupings.  We cherish their individuality.

When we resort to least common denominator to try to put everything and everyone in a neat category, we risk missing the important differentiation.  By trying to ascertain what is uniquely interesting we create memorable, beneficial distinctions. 
I'm going to be looking for snowflake characteristics in those with whom I interact this July.