From the lady on the Plane Train speaking in her soothing monotone , "Please hold on as our train leaves the station" to country music crooning to me that "I Hold On," I've been thinking that this is really profound advice. It's like the Army's "Few Good Men" or Nike's "Do it", "Hold On" might be my personal theme this summer.
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"Please hold on as our train leaves the station."
Bodies go flying….everytime.
MARTA newcomers are initiated the first time the train pulls out of a concourse stop. There's always at least one person who falls over. "I'm cool," they're thinking…."I've got great balance" Through the air they go! The Plane Train takes no prisioners. I then watch the victims carefully, they always hold on tight when the conductor tells them to after their first free fall.
Last week two goofuses tumbled in front of me. The man squished his own kid and the little girl almost landed in my lap. As a veteran Plane Train rider, I sit on the bench that says seniors and handicapped. No way do I want to fall victim to the acceleration whims of the train…I hold on.
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"Hold on" is what most of us do for a living. I wish I could say that I'm ahead of the game. I wish I could say I know where I'm going. (Folks, I 'm lucky if I can tell you where I've been yesterday!) Frankly, I am ready to draw social security and I'm still thinking about my future career(s). No, I'm not sure what I want to do next. But, I'll hold on.
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Dierks Bentley sings about his old truck and that "it's the miles that make the man". We all need to Hold On-- but maybe with just one hand. The other hand can be used to reach for the stars. As Dr. Wally Askew always wrote, "Whatdoyouthink?"
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Friday, June 6, 2014
Stormy Weather
Life is most definitely a cabaret this time of year in Central Georgia. Our late afternoon thunderstorms move through the pines and the rain comes in buckets. I like the rolling thunder….I still don't like the loud crashes though. I don't like lightening at all….it's not in my make-up. I wish I could say, "I really enjoy a good thunderstorm." However, that would be a big lie.
Bill's on the front porch right now-- he loves a thunderstorm. We talked this afternoon about memories from our childhoods….he thinks of his parents and sisters….sitting on the porch….watching the rains come…warm memories….talking family talk. His family would watch the rains and enjoy the storms together.
I have a different story.
My universal theme for thunderstorms revolves around one night that I spent at my Grandmother Malloy's home. It was quite a storm… I was awakened with a splash of Holy Water right in the face. My Aunt Fannie was running through the house, sprinkling all of us with holy water, and chanting, "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, pray for us." I have never been considered slow on the uptake. I figured out at 5 years old that an retired adult who was trotting around a two story house in the middle of the night administering pseudo Last Rites to all of us probably knew more than I did. My fear of storms took root that night.
When I went to 4-H over night camp in 7th grade, my mother wrote on my application that I was terrified of thunderstorms. I was appalled at my short comings but I thought there should be a stronger word than terrified….I needed my own "thunder shirt"-- My plan: If there was a thunderstorm I would go to the lodge. Someone would have had to come and get me. Thankfully, I did not have to resort to Plan B.
I have vivid memories of going on a girl scout camp out….ANOTHER Big Thunderstorm! The leader said, "Don't touch the tent, it will make it leak." She didn't have to worry about me touching the tent….I was flat to the ground like a piece of sod. I can't recall crying, but I do think my skill in math can be directly related to saying the multiplication facts over and over in my head waiting for the storms to be over. (Look, as a professional, I know it's a little bit on the spectrum but it works!)
So, the moral of this cautionary tale is:
We all bring different things to the table. Our experiences make us who we are-- for better for worse-- we are the sum of our experiences. Bill, he'll be watching the clouds and thinking good thoughts. Me? Pawley and I will be sitting together on the sofa and I'll be quietly reciting multiplication facts in my big dog's ear.
Bill's on the front porch right now-- he loves a thunderstorm. We talked this afternoon about memories from our childhoods….he thinks of his parents and sisters….sitting on the porch….watching the rains come…warm memories….talking family talk. His family would watch the rains and enjoy the storms together.
I have a different story.
My universal theme for thunderstorms revolves around one night that I spent at my Grandmother Malloy's home. It was quite a storm… I was awakened with a splash of Holy Water right in the face. My Aunt Fannie was running through the house, sprinkling all of us with holy water, and chanting, "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, pray for us." I have never been considered slow on the uptake. I figured out at 5 years old that an retired adult who was trotting around a two story house in the middle of the night administering pseudo Last Rites to all of us probably knew more than I did. My fear of storms took root that night.
When I went to 4-H over night camp in 7th grade, my mother wrote on my application that I was terrified of thunderstorms. I was appalled at my short comings but I thought there should be a stronger word than terrified….I needed my own "thunder shirt"-- My plan: If there was a thunderstorm I would go to the lodge. Someone would have had to come and get me. Thankfully, I did not have to resort to Plan B.
I have vivid memories of going on a girl scout camp out….ANOTHER Big Thunderstorm! The leader said, "Don't touch the tent, it will make it leak." She didn't have to worry about me touching the tent….I was flat to the ground like a piece of sod. I can't recall crying, but I do think my skill in math can be directly related to saying the multiplication facts over and over in my head waiting for the storms to be over. (Look, as a professional, I know it's a little bit on the spectrum but it works!)
So, the moral of this cautionary tale is:
We all bring different things to the table. Our experiences make us who we are-- for better for worse-- we are the sum of our experiences. Bill, he'll be watching the clouds and thinking good thoughts. Me? Pawley and I will be sitting together on the sofa and I'll be quietly reciting multiplication facts in my big dog's ear.
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