The Man Cave

I have been working at Amtico almost a year now, and have survived the year of spending my days in a man cave. I have always enjoyed working with men, but this is my first experience of working with nothing BUT men. It has certainly been an adventure.

Our man cave is carved out of the large reception area of the Amtico manufacturing plant. It’s really nothing much more than seven-foot outer walls, and five-foot inner walls that separate our individual working space, otherwise known as cubicles. There is nothing decorative about our space, save for photos of children and grandchildren that have been photocopied and pinned to the cushiony walls separating us. My space is actually not much different. I have photos of my sons and dogs, calendars, and a few pithy sayings gracing my inner sanctum. I sometimes think I’ll bring something in to make it a little more welcoming and homey, but then I don’t want to become too attached to this place.

Dealing with complaints and claims all day long, tempers can become stretched like tight rubber bands, and occasionally colorful language erupts from behind cubicle walls. Since I work with gentlemen, an apology always follows the verbal eruptions. Most of the time I don’t mind, but every now and then I have to escape for a few minutes while the storm roars.

My belief has been reinforced through working with men that there really is a difference between men and women in how we think, act, and process information. These men think differently than I do, and follow different paths of reasoning and working through problems. For example, one day in a meeting, I was asked to create a computer-generated, interactive form – something I’d never done before, or even considered ever having to do. “It’s easy,” one of my co-workers told me, “it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.” When we met again the following week, I was totally frustrated from spending a total of at least ten hours on this project, and still not accomplishing my task. My boss couldn’t understand why I hadn’t finished the form or why I was having difficulty with it. “It’s easy,” was repeated, followed by, “I don’t see what your problem is.” With that, I got up from my chair and exited the conference room where we were meeting. Ten minutes later, my boiling point down to a mild simmer, I returned to the group. The three of them looked at me as if they were gazing at an alien from outer space, but nothing more was said about the form. Three days later - lo and behold - my email inbox had a message from someone I’d never met, with the completed form as an attachment. Why couldn’t they have gotten this mystery person to work on it in the first place, I wondered. However, I didn’t question, but simply accepted this gift.

A few days later, one of the guys I work with was joking about my walking out of the meeting. “We didn’t know what to think,” he said. “None of us understood why you were so upset.” I replied, “Imagine this, if you can. I bring a ball of yarn, a crochet hook, and a page of instructions on how to crochet a scarf, and place it on your desk. ‘It’s easy,’ I tell you. ‘All you need to do is follow the directions. It shouldn’t take you more than twenty minutes to whip this up for me.’ ” He stared at me, the light bulb of understanding beginning to reflect from his eyes. Since then, I haven’t been asked to do something that is outside of my area of familiarity or expertise, without the appropriate training or tools.

I never knew that guys liked to gossip until working here. I swear that they are worse than any women I’ve ever known. They love a good scandal, and relish the details, replaying them over and over, laughing all the time, while at the same time coming up with wild assumptions of what might have really happened. I’ll take a female gossip session over one of these any day! I have to admit that I learn a lot about what goes on behind the scenes, but I really get tired of hearing the same story repeatedly, always with a new twist or angle added for entertainment, followed by gales of masculine laughter.

On the whole, I like working with men better than I did when I worked with an all-woman staff. The testosterone in the air isn’t nearly as objectionable as estrogen overload. However, there have been times when I’d have loved to have another girl close by when I felt the need to escape the man cave. Thankfully, my wish has been answered. Our new office manager, a female, started working here this week. It’s nice to hear the sound of a higher pitched voice drifting over the cubicle walls, and I’m looking forward to having a feminine conversation every now and then.

Yes, I’m getting adjusted to working in the man cave. It’s a pretty good place to spend my days. That is, as long as there’s a clearly marked escape route!

Remembering

One of my best friends phoned me yesterday to tell me that she had read my Christmas letter – not one time, but three. She said that each time she read it, she received a different message from it, which I thought was totally cool. I jokingly responded that while the third time usually is the charm, perhaps she needed to read it one more time, and let me know what she thinks then. We both laughed, but my thoughts continued after our phone call ended.

As I struggled to write my Christmas message this year, a comment that Sister Carol Perry (the Bible Scholar for Marble Collegiate Church) made in a Bible study that I watch online kept creeping up and tapping me on the shoulder. She mentioned the fact that the Hebrew people of Bible times were reminded over and over “to remember.” Remembering was very important to their faith and culture – they remembered the stories of their faith, they remembered the prophets, they remembered the commandments, and they remembered God’s promise to His people. I began to consider “remembering” from a personal perspective, leading me to write my own message in this year’s Christmas letter.

Now that Christmas Cookie Baking Day is over, and it joins my collection of cherished memories of the season, I think about Christmases past, and realize that everything worth remembering is now in my collection of memories. And this is what my Collection of Days is all about – remembering. But memories are not always happy, as my friend reminded me when we were talking about my Christmas message, and many people do not have the warm Christmas memories that I wrote about. But what about the sad times, in addition to the happy? Do we remember them all? Yes, all memories are part of the collection of life, as they merge and mingle together, allowing us to remember and to grow.

As I go back to the reference of the Old Testament Hebrew community, I see that much of their remembering was in the form of lessons learned. In an Old Testament college class I took many years ago, one of the main lessons I retained from the class was that God blessed his people, they strayed from God, God punished them, they repented, and God blessed them with a grace gift, thus beginning the cycle all over again. This became the essence of their remembering, as they told and retold the stories of their faith and their God. If it weren’t for remembering, how could they ever learn?

So, I return in my thoughts to this Christmas. As each day comes and goes, all activities and thoughts move from the present into the realm of memory. Today is a brief moment in my life, but the memories of Christmases past grow with each day that passes. It becomes less important what my frame of mind is as I approach Christmas, or what mood the season may cast upon me, but more importantly how the memory and remembering changes me as I move into my future. Whether I am happy or sad, alone or surrounded by people, busy or contemplative, a gift-giver or a gift-receiver, the important thing for me is to remember, not only my personal Christmases, but also what Christmas really means. It becomes vitally important for me to remember God’s greatest grace gift of all time.

It’s something to ponder, don’t you think?

(Please read my Christmas letter, posted on this blog on December 7).

A Time For Remembering

My Annual Christmas Message to Family and Friends.

I sit at my computer, staring at a blank screen, not knowing what to write. I feel like I am Christmased out with inspiring stories and witty essays to share. Inspiration seems to have gone on vacation, and I sit here wondering what to say. Usually by this time of year, something has touched my heart, and my writing comes effortlessly. This year- I struggle to find a creative thought. So…. what am I going to write about Christmas this year?

I’d like to say how much I am looking forward to Christmas the way I did as a child and as a mother of two little boys, but I’m not. There is so much for a child to look forward to with all of the holiday excitement in the air. I remember childhood Christmases, picturing my family gathered around our dining room table for our family dinner. I see my friends and me racing up and down the Winnona Drive sidewalk on new roller skates or bikes, and cradling our new baby dolls. As we get older, we model sweaters and new outfits for each other, and listen to our LP records on the hi-fi set in our den. I watch my mother’s delight upon opening Daddy’s gift- the one Molly and I were given the assignment on Christmas Eve to go out and buy for him to give to her. I see my own children’s faces light up in glee on Christmas morning as they dump their stockings to find all kinds of treasures, and then tear open their gifts that they had circled in the Sears Christmas catalog. I watch all of this from a distance, and I remember.

Yes, my memories of Christmas Day are warm and fuzzy.

Christmas is certainly different now. While I celebrate Christmas with my annual Christmas Cookie Baking Day early in December, once it is over, our home is quiet for the rest of the season. There’s not much to anticipate. We get together with a small group during the holidays for our annual Christmas lasagna dinner, and some years we travel during the season. But Christmas Day is usually a home-alone, ho-hum kind of day. With my sons living on opposite sides of the country, it’s very rare for them to be with me at Christmas. I miss those family Christmases.

I don’t want to sound negative about Christmas, because I’m not. I know my memories are certainly distorted as I gaze through the mist into my past. As surely as I, along with my boys, have grown up and changed, my celebration of Christmas has also changed. I think about the spiritual nature of Christmas more than I did as a child, and Santa Claus and receiving gifts aren’t important to me the way they were when I was a little girl, or when Wade and Brian were kids. However, Christmas Eve continues to be magical and mystical. It has taken a prominent place in my celebration, as I sit in the sanctuary at church and let the music, candlelight, and scripture of the holy night wash over me. While it is a beautiful narrative, the nativity story doesn’t hold the same appeal to me as it once did, as I understand that the Biblical account of the night of Christ’s birth probably isn’t totally factual, and the event may not have been exactly as it is portrayed in the Bible story. However, the significance of Jesus’ entry into this world and the impact of his life and ministry is overwhelming to me as I celebrate his birth.

I guess what I am saying this year is that being excited about Christmas Day may not be as important as I thought. Childhood Christmases are only a memory, and the reality is that life changes as the years pass. Maybe I’m supposed to approach Christmas Day differently; perhaps it’s more important for me to simply remember Christmases past as I embrace this Christmas. Christmas 2011 has something unique to offer as I open my heart to the possibilities.

My blank sheet of paper is finally filled with my Christmas message for this year. My wish for my readers is a Christmas filled with the love of family and friends, the warmth of peace and joy, the tastes and sounds of yummy food and happy laughter - all wrapped up in wonderful Christmas memories for future Christmases.

Marble Collegiate Church- My Virtual Church

I consider myself a member of Marble Collegiate Church in New York City, even though I live a long way from New York, near Social Circle, Georgia. While I am happy not to live in the city, I wish I could somehow magically transport this wonderful church down South each week.

But, wait! I can do that!

Marble Collegiate Church streams their Sunday services and programs on the Internet each week, right into my home in the Georgia piney woods. I know about this, because my son, Brian, works at Marble, and I always plan my visits to New York to see him to include a Sunday at Marble. I love the people of Marble! Even though I only get to see them once or twice a year, I am always greeted as an old friend by those I’ve met on previous visits. Of course, Brian has opened doors of friendship for me, as I follow him around on Sunday as he makes sure everything is in order for the Sunday children’s educational program. And I try to never miss Sister Carol Perry’s Bible study.

I bought a new laptop computer recently, and was delighted to discover the miracle of HDMI, where I can plug my computer into our big screen television set, and take part in the Marble Sunday services, nearly life-sized! I almost feel like I am there as I listen to Sister Carol educate and challenge me in my faith, and then as my spirit is washed by the vision of the Marble sanctuary and the rich music that fills my personal space in my rural home. As the camera scans the congregation, I occasionally recognize someone I know, and wish that I could be sitting in a pew to say good morning to my friends. It’s not as good as being there in person, but it’s the next best thing. I am not able to attend every Sunday, but I make sure I am “at church” as often as possible. Phil now joins me in Sunday worship, since it is so much easier for both of us to sit comfortably in our living room and watch the services on the television screen, instead of sitting cramped up at my desk.

Yesterday, we were delighted to learn that Brian was going to be online in the afternoon with Liz Testa, talking about their journeys of “leaving the business” of acting and singing into the ministry of the church. As I watched my son on the big screen and listened to his words, my eyes filled with tears as he told about his pathway to Marble and how the church supports him in his calling, that of writing and reaching out to people through the written word. Participating virtually only made me feel that much closer to Brian and to the people of Marble. This church has become Brian’s family and support system, and I feel comforted knowing that he is embraced by people who love him almost as much as I do.

I wish I could say that I have a church here in Georgia that fills my spiritual needs the way Marble Collegiate Church does. Unfortunately, I have not found one within traveling distance of my home in the eight years I’ve been in Social Circle. I sometimes feel like part of my call is to be an ambassador for Marble. I send the website address to friends who are homebound or otherwise unable to attend church. I now know a handful of people who also attend Marble via the internet, and who are now experiencing the warmth and fellowship of this amazing church as I am.

If you ever need a virtual church home, you need to check out Marble Collegiate Church. I promise you will be blessed. Join me any Sunday at www.marblechurch.org.

A Fall Person

The autumn leaves are beautiful in central Georgia this year. My daily drive from Social Circle to Madison is now a myriad of reds, yellows, oranges, and browns. And, until the season peaks, the colors will change with each passing day. I am enjoying the tree-lined roads I travel, as I watch the colors deepen and intensify in the early morning and late afternoon sunshine.

I am not a Winter Person, and Fall reminds me of the bleak, gray days that are looming ahead of me. As I gaze at the rich colors of autumn, I visualize what the scene will be in another month or so, and yearn for springtime. This year, however, I am determined not to dwell on the future too much, but to enjoy what my eyes are seeing today. I tell myself that this is the most beautiful Fall I’ve ever seen, while knowing I’ve lived through many, many seasons in my lifetime that were probably of equal, if not more magnificent, beauty. I try to imagine the same scenes in their winter attire, and remember the breathtaking beauty of last winter’s unexpected snow. I remind myself that the snowy days are also beautiful, but they tend to be in black and white tones, not in Technicolor. I tend to skip past my visions of winter, and go straight to springtime. Like I said, I’m not a Winter Person.


Even with the lovely colors that the leaves are displaying, they remind me of the circle of life, and of death. Now that more of my life is behind me than is still ahead, I watch the leaves fall and think about the end of life. I know that it’s not the tree that is dying, but only the leaves. The trees and bushes are simply shedding their worn-out summer clothes to wait for their new Easter outfits. The leaves will fall to the ground to decay and add nutrients to the soil, as they do their part to nourish the tree to prepare for the next season’s new attire.

I could get theological about this and go into my beliefs about life after death, but I’m not going to in this blog. The intent of this verbal wandering today is to share with whoever reads this my thoughts about Autumn this year, and the effect it is having on my wandering thoughts.

If it weren’t for winter, I think I could become an Autumn Person. At least, until Springtime!

It's a Job

This is a statement I’ve been hearing a lot recently from my peer group. Now that we are approaching retirement age, we are discovering that we’re not ready or prepared to take this giant step into the AARP world.

I never thought I’d be one of those saying, “It’s a job,” when asked about my work. I have always been one to look at my job in terms of contribution, fulfillment, and adding value to my workplace. I’ve spent the past twenty years pursuing a dream, searching for my bliss, and hoping that whatever I was doing was making a difference to someone besides myself. I’ve been guilty of bragging about my accomplishments and at times getting a swelled head over the importance of my job. Not any more.

After being laid off from a dream job in 2009, my attitude toward work and a paycheck has changed. While I was unemployed, I watched from the sidelines as several of my friends, who had retired with comfortable pensions, enjoyed their leisure time and newfound freedom. While I was simplifying my life in adjustment to leaner days, it seemed that they were out there living it up and living the high life. I was envious, and my skin was turning an eerie shade of green.

Recently, things have changed. I was offered a full-time job (finally!), and re-entered the workforce in a job that has little connection to my experience or education. It isn’t fulfilling or challenging, the pay isn’t great, but it’s a job. The company is a good one, and my co-workers are entertaining and fun to work with. I don’t dread going to work, but I daydream of greener pastures out there somewhere in retirement-land one of these days. I like my paycheck, especially now that I am watching my meager retirement fund vanishing before my eyes with the plunging stock market. I am thankful that I have a job.

What I find to be very interesting, however, is that many of my retired friends are now in job search mode. Evidently, their pensions aren’t enough to support their lifestyles, or retirement isn’t what it was cracked up to be, and they are looking for a job – any job. Every time I get together with high school friends, they ask me about my work, and ask me to keep my eyes and ears out for them. They want a job! And those who are either still working, or have been lucky enough to land something, will inevitably say when I ask them about their work, “It’s a job.”

And at this point in life, it’s enough.

Following Your Bliss

At some point when I was growing up, I either read about, or heard a sermon about, “Following Your Bliss.” I didn’t realize what this meant at the time, and it has taken a lifetime (at least, to-date) to understand, at least partially, what bliss really is.

When I was twenty, I was in love, and believed that my bliss resided in my new husband, who was a coach and teacher in a small north Georgia town. Bliss, to me at the time, was being married, looking forward to having a family one day, and being a part of the small community where we began our marriage. I didn’t look farther than the city limits of the little town, and I believed that my life would be one of living happily ever after.

It wasn’t long until life changed drastically for me, and for the next twenty-odd years I didn’t follow my bliss, but that of my husband. I followed him through four years in the Coast Guard, two graduate degrees, one of which was a theology degree, and in and out of seven parsonages and as many churches. During that time we had two sons, who tagged along with us everywhere we went, sometimes willingly, and sometimes not so enthusiastically. The years drifted by as I watched my husband follow his calling into ministry, supported him as he ministered to one congregation and then moved to the next, and did my best to be a good wife and mother.

During this time, I earned my bachelor’s degree in elementary education, not because I wanted to become a teacher, but because my husband thought that it was a good profession for a minister’s wife. I was a good teacher, but it definitely wasn’t my bliss, and after five years, I said goodbye to the public school system for good, knowing that it was not where I wanted to spend the rest of my working life.

When I applied for, and was offered, the position of a public library branch librarian, I felt a twinge of what bliss might be. I was happy in the library, and looked forward to going to work every day. The pay was lousy, though, and I was told that if I wanted to move up in the system, I would need to get my master’s degree in library science. The seed was planted, and I began to investigate some way to accomplish this goal, while at the time didn’t have a clue as to how it could be done. There were no library schools anywhere near our church, and when we moved to a new appointment the next June and I said farewell to yet another job, it still seemed like an insurmountable dream.

Even though becoming a librarian was definitely part of what bliss meant to me, it turned my life upside down for a few years in what I would consider to be the opposite of bliss. My marriage ended over my desire to become a librarian and have a career of my own. I also realized during that time that I really wasn’t a very good minister’s wife, at least not the one my husband wanted me to be. His bliss and mine came to a crossroads, and each of us insisted on following our individual bliss, which appeared to be going in opposite directions.

I became a librarian, which led to a wonderful job that included conference planning and association management. I was happy in my work, and fulfilled in my accomplishments, but still wondered why my life didn’t feel blissful. It even led to a dream come true for me: creating, developing, and managing a virtual library. I remembered that while I was in library school, I told my academic advisor that my dream was to build a library from the ground up. This is exactly what I did, although the “ground” was in cyberspace!

The financial crash of 2009 hit, and one of the victims was my job. My precious online library was suddenly part of my past, and I didn’t have a clue what the future had in store for me. My wonderful husband celebrated the loss of my job instead of encouraging me to feel sorry for myself, even though we weren’t sure how we were going to make it financially without my steady income. We hitched our wagon to God’s constant star, and knew that He would somehow guide us in the direction of bliss, whatever and wherever it might be.

In the past two years, I’ve finally discovered my bliss. My bliss is out in the garden during the spring and summer as we plant, nurture, and harvest. It is in the blue skies of an autumn afternoon and in the lightning strikes of a summer storm. It is in the wagging tails of my dogs and in the purrs of my cats. It is in the voices of my sons when they call me on the phone. It is in my husband’s smile, as he admires my kitchen counter full of fresh vegetables, drying herbs, and freshly canned jellies and preserves. It is the feeling I have when I write, watching my thoughts find their way into print. It is in the way my heart wells up and tears fill my eyes as I am overwhelmed with the blessings in my life.

Life brings struggles, disappointments, sadness and pain. We are not guaranteed an idyllic life with nothing but happiness and well-being. But I truly believe that when we listen to the voice of God in our lives, when we seek the divine in the everyday, and when we open our hearts to whatever comes our way, that is where we find our bliss.

And I’ve discovered that I don’t need to follow my bliss. Instead of being out in front of me, it walks beside me, and holds my hand.