Wildflower Writes

Photograph by Sean Woods I came home from work, tired and hungry. I dropped my stuff by the door and noticed an orange plastic egg on my TV stand. I was pretty sure I hadn’t left that there, but I had left my son watching videos on the couch when I left for work that morning. Turns out he had hidden 13 eggs for me to discover. Suddenly, I was laughing as an attempt to turn on a lamp dislodged another plastic egg. A game I had dismissed as being too juvenile for my teenage family members was now making my Monday. I forget how important it is to play and have fun. When I was visiting some friends the other day, they asked me what I do when I’m not working. I struggled to think of something I do just because I enjoy it. When I do take the time to do something fun and relaxing, I have better energy and motivation to do the important stuff. Maybe the fun stuff is just as important. 

Photo by  Demi-Felicia Vares  on  Unsplash Friday night. Pizza (frozen), popcorn (-flavored jellybeans), and a movie (free streaming). Let’s just say I’m watching my dollars and cents. While browsing movies, Zombieland came across the screen. I didn’t know much about it… based on the movie poster I would have guessed it took place in a zombie-themed amusement park. Oddly prophetic, in Zombieland, a virus takes over the country. Rather than causing a reliance on masks, sanitizer, and pre-measured 6-foot spaces, however, it causes people to become flesh-eating zombies. The main character has survived because he sticks to his rules. One rule he adopts after teaming up with another survivor is, “Enjoy the little things.” Like Twinkies. This “rule” is profound if you think about it. You’re so depressed you don't want to get out of bed? Focus on the little things that bring joy- a favorite song, a hyperactive squirrel, a hot drink… Start with one thing and just enjoy it...

I had a blessed Christmas Day. I was able to spend time with the people who mean the most to me. I received some very nice things from my doting husband, and my kids were great. I think my parents would have liked us to stay at their house longer, but I was tired and just wanted to be home (which is ironic, since that was  my home for 18 years). I longed for the comfort of my own pillow and jammy pants and relative quiet. I think sometimes that's what heaven is like. We are enjoying ourselves where we are, and we feel at home, but there's a longing for something more comfortable, more basic, more ideal. It's like the song sung by Buddy Greene: I don't belong and I'm going someday, home to my own native land...I've always known, this place ain't home, and I don't belong.  I find deep joy in knowing that this isn't all there is. As much as I enjoy the pleasures of Earth- the fascinating people, the smell of coffee, the taste of chocolate, the c...

One of my young friends brought the movie " To Save a Life " to my attention.  A movie with limited showings (the closest theater to me is in Benton Harbor, Michigan), it begs the question- if high school students were as concerned about others as themselves, and were willing to reach out beyond their own circles, what kind of tragedies could be prevented? In April of last year I posted the following blog.  I think the message bears repeating.  At some point we’ve all objectified other people. We’ve made fun of someone with an odd appearance, or who walks a particular way. We’ve laughed at jokes based on stereotypes. We’ve dismissed someone as “one of those…” and assumed we knew his motives. We’ve made all kinds of remarks about the car in front of us or behind us, when we don’t think at all about the driver. I’m reminded of a song that I cannot remember the artist, title, or exact lyrics. It talks about not knowing what the person beside us is going throu...

“Anything exciting happen today?” my husband asked. I hate that question. For the record, no, nothing exciting happened at the nursing home today. Or at my parents’ house. My life is full of lists and schedules, rituals and responsibilities. I am officially in a rut. I should count my blessings, right? My husband is caring, affectionate, and one hundred percent faithful. My children are beautiful and brilliant. My family and friends are always there for me. My work provides variety and a steady income. I am in good health and have a strong faith. What on earth do I have to complain about? TV shows are fun. Shows like CSI and House are suspenseful and exciting. It’s also usually a happy ending, at least the mystery is solved. Probably the “vic” doesn’t feel like it’s very happy. The internet is fun, but hardly exciting. I suppose, compared to TV, I should be thankful I’ve never come down with a mysterious illness, been kidnapped, been raped, been shot at, been cheated on, wondered who m...

Five hundred children were packed into the elementary school gymnasium. It was assembly time. I watched little faces, some edged with pre-teen boredom, others gleaming with unmerited enthusiasm.. Some kids obviously took pride in their appearance, others dressed for comfort. Some were part of a cute little clique, others tended to drift alone. Some friends seemed unusual combinations- the almost 6-foot-tall fifth grader and his buddy, who came up a little higher than his elbow. Another was tall solid girl with long natural wavy hair and glasses, chatting happily with a petite blonde with a ponytail and name brand clothes. As I scanned the faces, all shapes, colors, and sizes, I wondered what life was like for them. Surely some are happy-go-lucky, enjoying school, and living in a safe, loving home. Others may give that appearance but really struggle with abuse, self-doubt, or poverty. They each had different reactions to receiving awards. Some were obviously purely excited for the recog...

NPR dubbed it Economic Survivor’s Guilt. It’s that deep sense of guilt someone experiences when he or she still has a job, when friends or colleagues do not. It’s not the same as surviving a major event, like the Holocaust or 9/11. After all, these people are still alive. They’re with us every day. They still shop at the grocery store, attend church, and eat at restaurants. They are caring for their children, playing with their dogs, planning trips. Yet when I go to work every day, they have nowhere to go. When I expect a deposit into my bank account every two weeks, they’re hoping to hear from the unemployment office. As I juggle the demands of my boss and co-workers and my own agenda, they are scanning the classifieds and online listings for something that fits. When I complain about the hours or the stress or the unreasonable expectations, they are trying to fill their hours with meaningful things, struggling with their own identity. When I am wishing for a way out of the m...