The Patience of a Saint?

The dictionary defines patience as:

1. the quality of being patient, as the bearing of provocation, annoyance, misfortune, or pain, without complaint, loss of temper, irritation, or the like.
2. an ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay: to have patience with a slow learner.
3. quiet, steady perseverance; even-tempered care; diligence: to work with patience.

Everyone praises patience as a great and admirable quality, but few possess it. In fact it has been said to be the quality of a saint. One of the most difficult aspects of our time here in Los Angeles awaiting Ed’s lung transplant has been our lack of patience. We expected the wait for a new lung to be two weeks to a month and we have been here over three months.

Therefore after the priesthood session of general conference a few weeks ago, I laughed when Ed called me and said, “President Uchdorf spoke directly to me in his address on patience!(see talk at http://www.lds.org/conference/talk/display/0,5232,23-1-1207-20,00.html ) Everything he said I needed to hear.” However, when I read President Uchdorf’s talk about patience, it really hit home and I began to think about our stay here in Los Angeles and what we have gained from our wait.

When we arrived here the 4th of January, Ed had gained some of the weight he’d lost last fall but he was still 20 pounds underweight; the doctors told him he must gain weight. They said that people who undergo lung transplant surgery who are underweight have far more complications than anyone, even those who are overweight. He was given dietary guidelines and diaries to chart his food intake.

Ed started on a respiratory therapy program at the hospital gym three times a week and a yoga therapy two days a week. He had been doing respiratory therapy at the University of Utah in Utah, but this was a better program with other respiratory patients that he grew to know and to relate to. Some patients had had lung transplants, some had had lung reduction surgery, some like Ed were waiting for surgery, and some were not planning on surgery. So Ed had the chance to find out what to look forward to when he had surgery, and the other alternatives. They also discussed places to eat in Los Angeles and things to do, which Ed shared with me.

At the conclusion of the program, Ed and I were invited to join a respiratory patient support group of those with respiratory problems, including past transplant patients, and other respiratory surgical patients.

His improvement during this three-month waiting period was also evaluated: Ed has gained 17 pounds since we arrived here and his respiratory improvement has been 30%. He can now walk 45 minutes on the treadmill at 1.4 miles per hour. Physically, Ed is far more ready for surgery NOW, than he was when we arrived in January (when he wanted surgery IMMEDIATELY). He will recovery from surgery better now, than he would have in January. Meanwhile, he is enjoying life more now. He still needs the surgery, but he is compensating better without it at least temporarily.

We have made many friends here in the ward and the area—even the friends he has made at therapy are unique and have enriched his life. We have learned a lot about Los Angeles, its history and culture, and its wonderful food by eating at a different ethnic restaurant each week (strictly to help him gain weight, you know—for no other reason!).

Helen Keller said it better than I could, “Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.”

Bring on the surgery—we are ready NOW!

Don’t ever leave your husband home alone!

You would think a 69-year-old man could take care of himself while his wife goes away for a few days to help her daughter wouldn’t you? Well don’t plan on it—you don’t know what will happen!

As you all know, Ed and I are living in Los Angeles waiting for Ed to get a lung transplant at Cedar Sinai Hospital. Ed is far from an invalid, although he is on oxygen. He goes to respiratory and yoga therapy five days a week and takes care of himself better than I could. So when our daughter, Diana was notified that there was a baby girl for them to adopt, I decided to fly out to help her. Diana and Jason had known for three weeks that the baby would be born on March 30, and had baby showers, bought everything for the baby, gotten the room ready, and were planning on meeting with the mother on the day I flew into Chicago.

I was changing planes in Dallas—the worst airport in the world—when I got a call from Diana. “Cancel the rest of your flight; go back to Los Angeles, Mom,” she told me. My heart dropped! Had Ed gotten a call from the hospital that they had a lung for him? We’d talked about what might happen if that occurred and planned that I would turn around and go right back to be with him.

“Okay, Diana,” I said, trying to hear over the noise of the airport, “what is going on?”

“Mom,” her voice broke and she began to cry, “The birth mother decided to keep the baby. We don’t have a baby for you to help with. You can turn around and go back to L. A. to be with Dad.”

“Diana,” I said, taking a deep breath. “It will be okay. I’m going to come anyway. I will be there at 4:05. Can you pick me up? Or do I need to make other arrangements?”

She explained that now they weren’t going to the hospital or getting a baby, they had plenty of time to get me at the airport. My visit to help with a new baby became a visit to help my daughter deal with her loss.

Ed called me several times a day teasing how I had abandoned him, and he wasn’t eating enough. Once he texted me, “This is to notify you that we have admitted your husband to the hospital for lack of nourishment. He was found lying in the street begging for food.” HA! I had left him a freezer full of frozen dinners (not homemade but still he had picked them out), a fridge full of food, and a city with more restaurants than there are cockroaches. This is a man who had survived two tours of Vietnam and 46 ½ years of my cooking. We I both knew he could take care of himself for a few days. He was just trying to make me feel guilty for being with Diana. I refused to take his joking seriously, and did what I could to help Diana and Jason.

Sunday was Easter and Ed’s birthday, so I expected everyone to call him. It was also our church’s General Conference, with two sessions, broadcast on TV at 11:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. (Chicago time). Ed had driven to the church to see the priesthood conference the night before and seen and talked to many of his friends. He had talked to me afterwards, so I wondered if some of the church members would invite him to Easter dinner and to listen to conference with them, so I didn’t call him Sunday morning before conference.

Our children started calling between conference sessions to ask if I knew why they couldn’t get in touch with Ed. I told them no, I’d talked to him the night before and he’d been fine. They said they had tried all morning to call to wish him “Happy Birthday,” and his phone went right into voice mail.

Now, we are always checking our cell phones to make sure they are charged and on because we are always awaiting THE CALL FROM THE HOSPITAL! So I tried to reach Ed. Just as the children said; it went right into voice mail. I wasn’t worried; maybe he’d left his phone in the car, and forgotten it. He’d remember, and get it before long and call me.

All day Ed’s siblings and our children called me when they couldn’t reach Ed. Ed’s siblings weren’t aware I had abandoned him and was halfway across the country, while “who knew what was going on in Los Angeles while he was weak and alone.” Our children were less understanding, and they kept calling me, even though I promised them I would call as soon as I knew anything.

“Maybe he is at friends’ home, enjoying Easter dinner and conference with them. If so and he left his phone at home, we won’t hear from him until after conference,” I told them.

“It is possible they called him to come in and get his transplant and he knows I’ll be home tomorrow morning and he just decided to wait until it is all over before he has them notify me since I can’t get home earlier anyway,” was another of my rationales.

Finally, it was 6:30 p.m. Pacific time and 8:30 p.m. Chicago time and I still hadn’t heard from Ed all day—the longest all week I’d gone without talking to him. I decided I needed to know what was going on in Los Angeles. I looked up the phone number of our apartment manager, with the phone in my hand ready to call her and ask her to look in on Ed to see if he was alive or not, when Ed called. He didn’t have a clue why we were all upset not to have heard from him all day, and on his birthday no less. .

“I had a very restful day. I just stayed home and watched conference and rested.”

“What about your phone?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. It ran down, so I recharged it this morning when I realized it was dead. I didn’t know that it had turned itself off and had been turned off all day until I decided to call you just now.”

“Didn’t you wonder if anyone would call you on your birthday? Or on Easter?”

“Not really! Was anyone worried?”

“Yes, just everyone in the family. Diana is texting them all right now letting them know you are fine—that your phone was just off all day.”

“Oh, yeah, it looks like I have a dozen text messages and phone messages. Well, you’ll be home to take care of me tomorrow anyway.”

“Yes, dear. Tomorrow I’ll be home to take care of you and make sure you keep your phone on IN CASE THERE IS A LUNG AVAILABLE TO TRANSPLANT.”

Yes, you shouldn’t ever leave your husband home alone. He might decide he enjoys being alone so much he may turn the phone off and get away from it all—PERMANENTLY.

Close Every Door to Me

“Close every door to me,
“Keep those I love from me,
“Children of Israel
“Are never alone.
“For I know I shall find
“My own peace of mind,
“For I have been promised
“A land of my own.” 1

This song from Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat2 has always been a favorite of mine. It was brought to my mind last Sunday when our adult Sunday School class which is discussing the Old Testament this year talked about Joseph of Egypt being in prison. The teacher reviewed how Joseph as a young man had visions of being a great leader and ruler over his father and brothers, but instead had been threatened with death by those brothers, then sold into slavery into Egypt where he worked as a slave until he displeased his master and was thrown into prison.

There Joseph had hopes of being released when he correctly interpreted the dreams of a baker and a butler; the baker was executed, but the butler was restored to his butlership as Joseph had foretold. However, even though the Butler had promised to remember Joseph and help get him out of prison, “Yet did not the chief butler remember Joseph, but forgat him.2”

The song I quoted at the top of the page is Joseph’s lament. It is here in prison, where he acknowledges the blows of fortune, the whips of fate, the trials of his life, yet his triumphant praise rings out that despite these, “I know I shall find my own peace of mind, for I have been promised a land of my own.”

Regardless of all the challenges we face in our life, even with our setbacks, the deaths of our hopes we, like Joseph of old, have been promised the same promises he was: 1. A land of our own 2. A way to find peace of mind.

The “land of our own” may not be on earth; it may be in heaven. For many years Ed & I lived an army career and lived in army quarters (almost always duplexes), and I wondered if I’d ever have a house of my own. Of course I did, for which I am very grateful. But sometimes our expectations are not accomplished on earth, but in heaven.

Remember that this earthly life is only one part of our life—a very small part of our life. Our earthly experience is like act II of a three-part play. Act II is always the most difficult, where the most trials and conflict occur. It is only at the end of Act III that all is resolved and happiness is achieved. It is always in Act II that everything is hopeless! Many of our promises will be accomplished here on earth, but always remember that there is more than this life for them to be accomplished. Death is not final or the end.

But even in Act II, even in the midst of the most difficulties, we have a way to find peace of mind. It isn’t new, or miraculous, it is always available, yet it isn’t a button you can push to turn on when you need it!

The peace of mind I am talking about it the peace the savior gives us that he promised the apostles in John 14:27, right before he left them “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you.”

The peace is far more beneficial than all the tranquilizers every made, better than all pastors or mental health counselors combined.

This past week has been extremely difficult for my family. My daughter Diana and her husband have been trying to adopt a child for several years. Last year they came quite close with a beautiful four-month-old boy whose grandparents felt they couldn’t raise their daughter’s child and who were willing to place him for adoption. For a month they worked with the adoption agency, the court and the grandparents to work out all the details, exchanging photos and growing closer to the boy. Then it went to court and when the judge asked the grandparents what they wanted to do, they suddenly and unexpectedly decided they couldn’t give him up! Diana and Jason were not allowed to adopt this little boy they had grown close to.

Three weeks ago the adoption case worker came to Diana and Jason with another adoption possibility—a woman who had gotten pregnant while she was separated from her husband and wanted to make her marriage work so she was determined to give up the baby. Diana and Jason were chosen to be the parents of this little girl who was to be born by C-section last Tuesday. Everything went well and the mother remained adamant that she would not keep the baby. Diana and Jason prepared the baby’s room, had baby showers, and arranged everything. I made reservations to fly to Chicago to help Diana with the baby. The baby was born a day early and the mother wanted to see Diana and Jason before she signed over the final papers to give up the baby on Wednesday. I left Los Angeles Wednesday morning, with a layover in Dallas, planning to arrive in Chicago at 3:15 p.m.

My incoming flight to Dallas was delayed so I missed my flight to Chicago and had to get one 40 minutes later; I got a phone call while I was trying to catch it. Diana was crying and said, “Mom, you have to turn around and go back to Los Angeles.” I immediately thought of my husband in Los Angeles who was awaiting a lung transplant. Had he gotten THE CALL? WAS THERE A LUNG AVAILABLE AND I NEEDED TO GO RIGHT BACK TO BE BY HIS SIDE?

I asked Diana to explain what had happened. “The birth mother decided to keep the baby; you don’t have a baby to come and help with.” I told her I was still coming, and boarded the flight to Chicago.

Someone wrote that losing a baby that you’d planned to adopt is like a miscarriage; losing a baby that you’d planned to adopt on the day you are to bring it home is like a still-born birth. Diana had texted immediate family to tell them what had happened, but very few others knew that the looked for baby had not and would not be coming home. The sun was shining brightly outside, but it was dark and gloomy everywhere we were.

How does one deal with a situation like this? How did we deal with the death of our two premature twin grandchildren in Seattle in January and February, one stillborn, and other who lived 20 minutes? How did the pioneers bury their children in the frozen plains and turn westward, leaving them behind on the barren plains? How did the sister President Monson talked about a year ago in April 2009 General Conference3 deal with the death of her husband and all four of her children as she was forced to walk over a thousand miles across Germany in the winter at the end of World War II?

How do we do anything in this world? With faith! Faith in the Lord’s promises; faith in Christ and his redeeming love; faith in priesthood power and priesthood blessings. It isn’t instant and it isn’t easy—but it comes. Prayers have helped us deal with the sadness and the pain. Diana said on the second day that she felt better. I crashed on the third day, but then I, too, recovered and I felt the prayers of those who cared about us, and I know that helped me a lot!!!!

I know priesthood blessings help! I know prayers—ours and those of others in our behalf help. I’ve felt them, when before I could feel nothing but pain and sorrow. I’ve felt them comfort me and drive out the sorrow.

In the June 2009 Ensign magazine, President Uchdorf had a wonderful article titled, Prayer and the Blue Horizon. Comparing gospel principals, and prayer specifically to aerodynamics that enable flight he wrote:

“Lift happens when air passes over the wings of an airplane in such a way that the pressure underneath the wing is greater than the pressure above the wing. When the upward lift exceeds the downward pull of gravity, the plane rises from the ground and achieves flight.”

President Uchdorf then explains that we can do the same when “the force that is pushing us heavenward is greater than the temptations and distress that drag us downward, we can ascend and soar into the realm of the Spirit.”

He then says “Prayer is one of the principles of the gospel that provides lift. Prayer has the power to elevate us from our worldly cares, to lift us up through clouds of despair and darkness into a bright and clear horizon.4”

This comfort through prayer is real, but it is elusive. You must continually strive to maintain it. I remember once when I was struggling with clinical depression, every day was a struggle. Despite medicine, therapy and everything I could do, sometimes it became too much. Those were the times I would ask for a priesthood blessing. When I received a blessing, I could feel the Lord’s love, and the love of my family break through the chains of depression that chained me. It would surround me and wrap me in a robe of warmth and comfort. The next day I would go forth with only the memory of that love to strengthen me and warm me, but the lingering remains, along with the my prayers, and those of my loved ones, would fortify me against the storms of the day.

Another tool I used during that time, and one I still use, is music. When I would need to feel the love of the Lord, when the pressures of the world would begin to be too much, I would get my lawn mower and mow the lawn, singing at the top of my voice the Young Women song “I Am of Worth.” The words of this song, especially the chorus, “I am of worth, of infinite worth, my Savior, Redeemer loves.” Then I could remember, even if I couldn’t feel the love of the Savior at that moment, and know that He did love me and that I was of worth to Him.

This song, and others, like the song from Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat, remind me that “I know the answers lie Far from this world.5”

The answers are as real as the trials we face on the earth, but we are not left alone, “swinging in the wind.” We have resources, and prayer and music are just some that help us get through the storms of life. Even so, even if life throws everything at me, I can be like Joseph of old in prison, singing:

“For I know I shall find
“My own peace of mind,
“For I have been promised
“A land of my own.6”
__________________________

1. Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat is a musical theatre show written by the team of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice. First produced on Broadway in January 1982, then produced on video/DVD in 1999 with Donny Osmond as Joseph. It is a family/friendly show frequently produced by high schools and community theaters.

2. Genesis 40:23.

3. Thomas S. Monson, “Be of Good Cheer,” Ensign, May 2009, 89–92 (From personal conversations and from Frederick W. Babbel, On Wings of Faith (1972), 40–42).

4. Dieter F. Uchtdorf, “Prayer and the Blue Horizon,” Ensign, Jun 2009, 4–7

5. Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat

6. Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,

It’s a beautiful Life

Photos by Janet Davis

"There are souls in this world which have the gift of finding joy everywhere -- and of leaving it behind them when they go." ~ Frederick Wm. Faber

Someone mentioned how bad it was that Ed and I had to wait in Los Angeles for Ed to get a new lung--how we must miss our family, our friends, our neighbors, all the comforts of own home.

I laughed, thinking of the disaster we had had the week before when someone (in any of the two floors of apartments above us) had put something down the kitchen drain and plugged it up, and since the pipes of all three apartments on the three floors were connected and we were on the bottom floor, we had a flooded kitchen. Until we could get all the upstairs neighbors notified and the water turned off, everything coming down the drains was coming out in my kitchen. It was a mess to clean up the dirty mess, then I had to stay home the next day to wait for plumbers, the roto-rooter man and then carpet cleaners to fix things up.

It is true that I wished then for my own reliable kitchen that in 20 years had never flooded, and for not hearing whenever neighbors flush their toilets, and for not sharing hot water with who-knows-how-many apartments—just knowing that I wait until I know everyone’s gone before I try to shower or I get your typical “freezing/scalding” hot water episodes during your shower.

Yes, our wait that we expected to be less than a month that is now almost three months, with no relief in sight, seems forever, but it also is an adventure. We can’t go work in the garden, because for now we don’t have a garden, or as Ed keeps reminding me every day—we have no snow to shovel or ice to trip on. No windows to scrape the frost off, no cold cars to heat up before you can drive them. Ed has enjoyed every day of the warm weather here in Los Angeles, and reminded me of it every moment. Even the rain hasn’t bothered him because it isn’t cold and it can’t freeze.

We have had fun exploring the museums in the area; I love learning about Los Angeles’ history, and despite the history books that say that California history began with the 1849 gold rush (HA), a lot happened before then and it fun learning about it. I discovered where the city of Los Angeles began (and it isn’t near the ocean), and what the first Mission was.

There is a wealth of ethnic restaurants, so we have gone out to eat at a different type of restaurant every week, trying Bosnia, Indian, Thai, Brazilian, Mexican, Kosher, as well as good old American cuisine. We have a very valid excuse also. Ed is still under weight and needs to gain more weight, which he does better when we eat out. We’ve even gone to movies, which I used to have to drag Ed to, but here in movie town, he seems more willing, somehow, especially if we buy a bag of hot buttered popcorn. I am even taking a three-day intensive genealogy course this week that I am excited about; who knows if I would have found time back home to take it.


Maybe it is the impermanence that allows us to enjoy our stay so much; if we were going to live here forever, maybe we would get into a rut and quickly burn out, but for now, it is still an adventure. Once Ed has his lung transplant, I am sure that it will be a lot more tedious and difficult. But we’re enjoying it tremendously now.

Last Friday I was walking around my neighborhood photographing the beautiful spring flowers and I thought how wonderful it was that I was in such a beautiful place to take photographs of.

Then my sister Janet sent me some photos she had taken on her morning walk. The area she walks in is not nearly as attractive an area as where I walk; some would say there is nothing beautiful, or interesting at all there to photograph. But the photos she takes are breathtaking in their splendor. They truly illustrate that beauty is in the eye of the beholder; that an artist sees with an inner eye. For her photos are magnificent glimpses of life.Janet's photos and her life show it IS a beautiful life.

My Mother Painted Peace

My mother painted peace. With gentle hands she sketched pastoral valleys nesting amid tall majestic mountains. Cool, placid waters flowed from her fingers and the snows of her mountain landscapes were confined only to mountaintops.

Peace is not just the absence of conflict any more than white is the absence of color. Peace embodies a true harmony of human and personal relations, a calmness of mind and heart. Mother’s paintings reflect that harmony as a blend of color and balance that conveys tranquility. Several of her paintings were displayed in doctor’s offices in the same way that light green paint is used in hospital settings—to calm the troubled minds of the patients.

One of Mother’s earliest paintings, a night camp, shows her love of the outdoors. It also demonstrates in a delicate way, Mother’s faith that even in the absence of the sun, God sends light to reflect his love.

“There is too much conflict in the world,” Mother once told me when I complained that her paintings were all the same. “I want to do in my paintings what I can’t do in life. I want to smooth off all the sharp edges and paint over life’s distortions. I try to capture peace and serenity on my canvases, not violence and suffering. I try to concentrate on the good and ignore the rest.”

Mother’s paintings reflected her personality—she was a delicate, soft-spoken woman who radiated a serenity that is rare in today’s high-decibel world. Neither the hardships of the Great Depression, nor the atrocities of World War II seemed to have marred her sweet amity.

Mother’s last two paintings, however, were a dramatic departure from the rest of her paintings. Rather than using the shades of blue and green that are so prevalent in all her other paintings, she used vibrant orange, brown and grey hues. Rather than pristine mountains and placid meadows, these show the stark landscape of southern Utah, an area that she felt lacked beauty.

Rather than calm, carefree summer, these were the only winter scenes that Mother painted. Yet, despite the barren trees, frozen snow and sullen skies, her signature serenity shows through the paintings.

Do these paintings reflect Mother’s tremendous suffering from cancer in her final years? In embracing and painting the Utah Canyonlands that she had disliked so intensely, did she accept the pain and agony of the cancer that destroyed her physical body, but elevated her spirit? Were these paintings self-portraits of a bared and defenseless soul?

The Luck of the Irish

The Luck of the Irish

My husband, Ed, has the luck of the Irish. He can find a parking place right by the front door of stores (even here in Los Angeles where there are no parking places), where I feel lucky if I find a parking place in the last row. He win raffles, is chosen first for teams and has every other example of good luck known to man. Even if he has problems, like running out of gas, it is nullified because he runs out of gas in front of the gas station.

He attributes this good luck to his “Irish” heritage, per his last name of “Dayley,” yet he is equally parts German, English, Danish, Swedish—and mostly American! He attributes my lack of luck to my Danish heritage as “everyone” knows the only luck the Danish have is bad luck!

Do the Irish Have Better Luck Than Other Nationalities?

However, the phrase “luck of the Irish” is an ironic phrase. The Irish have been, and are a spectacularly unlucky race. Even in America, they were looked down on as low-class immigrants. But the notion that Irish are inherently luckier than others can be traced to the 1850s in the United States where, during the exploration for gold in the West, there were a high number of Irish people who got lucky, and found their "pot o' gold" in the gold fields of California, or were equally prosperous in silver mining.1

What Is Luck?

Luck is difficult to explain. The dictionary defines it as “a belief in good or bad fortune in life caused by accident or chance, and attributed by some to reasons of faith or superstition, which happens beyond a person's control.”2

The Romans embodied luck as a goddess, “Fortuna” while people in America believe in common symbols of luck such as rabbit’s feet, four-leaf clover, horse shoes, wishbones, and “lucky” seven. In other countries, good-luck symbols are pigs, fish, fish scales, acorns, tortoises. I can remember as a child looking through lilac flowers to find one that had three flowers (or was it four? Whatever it was, it was different from the ordinary number). If I found one, I’d put it in my shoe and make a wish. Perhaps good luck symbols became lucky because they were commonly uncommon items like four-leaf clovers instead of ordinary three-leaf ones.

Luck as a self-fulfilling prophecy

Can a feeling that you are lucky become a self-fulfilling prophecy? Although few believe in superstition, and many discourage dependence on a “lucky shirt” for a ball player, or blind faith in lucky objects, is there any benefit in believing in luck?

Some psychologists feel belief in good luck, although it is a false idea, may produce positive thinking, much like a placebo provides benefits although there are no inherently beneficial ingredients in them. Studies have also shown that “People who believe in good luck are more optimistic, more satisfied with their lives, and have better moods.”3

Can Anyone Be Lucky?

So, should you decide you are lucky, and then live like you are? Why not? If it makes you happier and brings you better luck, it seems a no brainer to not to. Another article said, “If ‘good’ and ‘bad’ events occur at random to everyone, believers in good luck will experience a net gain in their fortunes, and vice versa for believers in bad luck. This is clearly likely to be self-reinforcing.”4

So from this day forward, I, too, have the luck of the Irish because I am married to an Irishman. Or maybe I am lucky because if I could choose to be an Irishman, I would be. Maybe people born in March are lucky; or maybe the Danish are luckier than the Irish. Or maybe I was just born lucky, no matter what nationality I am. Maybe all Americans are just naturally lucky!

I just know that I am lucky. And so are you. Eat your heart out, Ed!

_________________________________________________

1.

http://Wiki.answers.com/Q/What_is_the_origin_of_the_term_%Luck_of_theIrish%27

2. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luck

3. Maltby, J., Day, L., Gill, P., Colley, A., Wood, A. M. (2008). Beliefs around luck: Confirming the empirical conceptualization of beliefs around luck and the development of the Darke and Freedman beliefs around luck scale Personality and Individual Differences, 45, 655-660.

4. Ibid.

I’ve Never Fit In

I've always done things "my way" from the time I was a baby and refused to crawl; instead I got up and walked. My father called me individualistic and unique. My mother called me stubborn.

I was too old to be a baby-boomer, too young to be part of the World War II patriotic generation. I was too young for the "Happy Days" 50s, but too old and settled for the swinging 60s. I disliked Elvis Presley, and was unawed by the Beatles. I liked to say I was eccentric, but my brothers and sisters called me odd!

I was married when it was swinging to be single and still on my first and only marriage when my friends were collecting divorces and multiple marriages. Somehow I never fit in with society.

I was a feminist before it was fashionable; a mother of pre-schoolers when children were passé' and zero population was big. I went to college when homemaking was the style and dropped out to be a homemaker when careers became the craze! My husband served in Vietnam when protesting the war was hip; we were conservative before Reagan made it popular. I don't think I voted for any presidential candidate that won.

I did aerobics (while my children shut the drapes and locked the doors so the neighbors wouldn't find out) until it caught on and then I rode my bike. We lived in the city while everyone else moved to the suburbs, then reversed the trend when "gentrifying city neighborhoods" became the "IN" thing to do. We never went near the Silicon Valley.

Our contemporaries were celebrating empty nests and grandchildren when I came up with the most outrageous idea since the invention of birth control. We decided to have another child (in our already hopelessly "large" family of six) in our forties. So what happens; the "new traditionalism," large families and having babies "late in life" comes into style and I'm declared a trend-setter.


I'll never live it down.