MISMATCHED, SMISHSMASHED AND HAPPY
                                                             by T. Wieland Allen
    Okay, I admit, it's time for cataract surgery for Me.  Doc said I would need the surgery this summer and I thought, what does that young whipper snapper know?   My hubby and I were his youth sponsors at a church when he was a preteen and a teenager.  Then I remembered he said that he is going to retire in a year.  Maybe he does know what he's talking about.  Figure it out, age-wise that puts me "up there" in years but not too up-there to stop mowing my huge lawn with a walk-behind mower, edge the lawn, trim my long hedges, take care of a large pool and big house, still hold down a 3/4 time job -- not a part time one but a 3/4 time one -- and I write three blogs, teach a Bible class every week, co-chair a neighborhood association and occasionally I will -- I'll be honest -- I tell people how to live their lives.  I haven't been hit, run over, chased, cussed out or assaulted for any of my advice yet.  So I live a full and exciting life.
   You ask what was the shocking occurrence that caused me to agree to have cataract surgery soon?  All of my friends have had their surroundings brightened by having that surgery at least ten years or more in the past so I'm a Johnny- come-lately in that area.  It took an incident that would be embarrassing for a much younger person but was hilarious to Me and shook my jolly tree, because I usually get the best laughs every day by laughing at myself.
   The crowning revelation that I might benefit from having the lenses in my eyes replaced with inter occular lenses so that I might see better came after I had run a few errands in the morning, had done some cooking, had taken a meal to a neighbor who is recuperating from hip replacement surgery, and then I had mowed the front lawn.  I decided it was time to ready myself for bed and I sat down in a chair to remove my sport shoes, which used to be called tennis shoes but nowadays they are called sport shoes.  You know what I mean, the sport shoes that are the everyday attire of most people my age, those seniors who are ten and more years older than you and those who might be at least ten and more years younger than you. 
    After untying and removing the shoe off of my right foot, a leather New Balance sport shoe, I untied the left shoe and immediately said, "Well,  Mr. Reebock, where did you come from?"  Yes, I had on two different sport shoes, the leather New Balance one and the mesh fabric Reebock on the other foot.  I had been walking around in them all day.  At least they were both white, albeit they were made of different fabrics and were different styles. No wonder an old hip injury from a car wreck had started hurting again that day, the sole on the New Balance was a good inch thicker than the Reebock.  Yep, I laughed and laughed at myself after addressing the Reebock shoe with such honor by calling him Mr. Reebock.
    Reviewing my day and dreading to even consider that someone I knew had seen me, I remembered that I had gone to several dollar stores for some colored napkins and party supplies.  Whew, I was safe there.  The patrons at those stores are glad everybody walking those aisles has shoes on their feet.  One time I was shopping at a dollar store and a lady was there shopping with a shoe on one foot and a sock on the other foot.  She could have been kin to Diddle Diddle Dumplin' who went to bed with one shoe on and one shoe off, I didn't know.  If Ms. Dumplin' had seen me with two entirely different shoes on my feet, she would not have even noticed the mismatched attire.   She would have thought I was going to a ball because both of my feet were clad with shoes, mismatched ones but both feet were covered, anyway.  The sign on the door said no shirt, no shoes, no service.  It didn't say a word about the shoes needing to match. I was safe all the way around.
    I have heard that getting older is not for sissies.  Personally, I love my life more and more as the years pass because all inhibitions can go to you- know-where, all sophistication can be exchanged for humiliation without a tear or regret, and I can wear purple, shocking pink and lime green together and at the same time, as well as unintentionally wearing unmatched shoes. 
    The scary part is that I always think I look smashing, classy and youthful.  Well, maybe not youthful because young people nowadays only wear jeans and black shirts all the time.  At least I add some color to the world.
    I am looking forward to the cataract surgery.  Everyone tells me that colors will be brighter and sight will be better.  I'm just eager to see good enough that I don't put on mismatched "old lady shoes."  
    With new eyes I guess I'll have to get a different ideosyncrasy.  I'm sure there are some unused ones around.  Life wouldn't be much fun if I couldn't laugh at myself.  I entertain myself royally every day.  Try it.  You'll have a smile on your face all the time and people will think you are a simpleton.  Actually you will just be laughing at your mature intelligence of thinking you are really clever and funny; plus, you don't give a darn what other people think, which is the biggest perk of getting older.
   A clever lady made a fortune off of a book called, "When I Am Old I Will Wear Purple."  Well, I one-up her -- I wear purple, lime green and shocking pink all together, and at the same time.  If you see a lady wearing outlandish colors, it might be me.  Check her shoes and see if they match.  If they don't, it might actually be me.  I will be happy in my own little world of color and eccentricity.  My motto is this:  When I am old I will just be me.  That's my gift to the world and my reward to myself, to be me and be worry free.
    Come to think of it, I have a relative, a Brother, who told people to love their enemies and do good to them.  He told us not to return evil when evil is done to you but to return good for evil  Now, that was revolutionary in a world in which striking back at someone who injured you was par for the course.  You were considered to be a sissy if you didn't defend yourself; but His practices were completely opposed to the accepted behavior at the time.  He told people to bless people who cursed them instead of returning curses to them.  Wow, talk about  eccentric.  It's still considered revolutionary behavior.  That would get you killed. 
    Oh, yeah, it did.  It got Him killed.  But He fooled His enemies, He didn't fight back, He died and He rose from the dead.  That put His enemies in an abnormal place, which was to be completely in awe. So I come by My eccentric actions honestly.  It's a family trait that I share with my Brother Jesus.  He even hung around with his friend John who ate locust and wore animal skins instead of clothing, and John told people to listen to his friend Jesus and do what he taught. I've heard of nonconformists but that guy was ridiculous.  Of course, he lost his head as a result.  I mean literally lost his head. 
     I'll never be beheaded for being myself and I'll never be killed for wearing the colors I choose or wearing mismatched shoes.  I might be ridiculed but I'll just tell people that I am eccentric like my Brother and his friends.  That will really confuse them. 
     I have found that when I do bless people who curse me, when I do good to the people who do mean things to me, when I refuse to fight with people who are different and hold differing beliefs than I do, I become very happy because I don't have any enemies anymore. 
    I wish I could get that message to politicians today.  I bless them every day, pray for them and hope their judgmental, toxic words don't come back upon them and curse them, as my Brother warned. Unfortunately for them, they always do.  I choose not to listen to poisonous rhetoric because it poisons me.  My mind is too precious to allow it to be contaminated.  
     Practicing My Brother's eccentricity of being kind and loving to everyone has worked for me because, when you do, everybody plays on a level playing field in life and happiness is guaranteed. That's what my Big Brother says.
           

 AGING EARS, YOUNG HEARTS
                                                         T. Wieland Allen
   My Bible study sisters and I have been meeting together for praying and studying the Bible for 35 years.  We feel like we have grown up together. We usually end up laughing for a long time as well as executing the primary purposes for meeting together.  Last Tuesday was no exception.
  At the meeting were Jane, 83 years old;
  Dorothy, 81 years old;
  Cathi, 65 years old;
  I am 79 years old. 
  Blanca is the baby of the group and she is 55 years old.
  Marcia was not in attendance but she is 79 years old. 
  Esthela has been meeting with us lately and she is 30 years old.  Esthela occasionally brings her four month old baby with her.  He is a dream child, a wonderful baby.
   Every week that we meet, before we begin praying together, we voice our prayer requests and then we pray in agreement for every need that has been mentioned.
   I had mentioned that Jan from Oklahoma City, who is 65 and also a member of the group, had asked us to pray for her daughter who has a chronic bladder or kidney infection every three months or so.  I also mentioned we need to pray for my niece Joy who has chronic bladder infections and is recovering from one currently. 
   Blanca, who is from Mexico and has a very strong Spanish accent said, "Tell them to make a tea out of the hair of an ear of corn and drink it. It will cure them." 
   I don't know if it was because of the four month old baby who was there with us or not, but I heard her say, "Tell them to make a tea out of the hair of an umbilical cord and it will cure them."
   Dorothy heard her say, "Tell them to make a tea out of the hair of a gourd and it will cure them."
   Puzzled, I asked, "Where do they get the hair off of an umbilical cord?"
   Dorothy said, "Yeah, where do they get the hair off of a gourd?"
   Jane says emphatically, "You can buy it at any store."
   I said, "You mean you can get the hair off of an umbilical cord at any store?"
   Cathi, who is very astute and wondering if she needs to find a younger group of friends, said, "Yes, seasonably you can buy corn with the hair still on it at any grocery store."
   Dorothy said, "I've never been in any store that has a gourd with hair on it."
   Esthela said, "You can even freeze it and keep it." 
   I asked, "Esthela, did you save the hair off of your baby's umbilical cord and freeze it?"
   Blanca and Esthela were both emphatic by this time about being able to buy corn with the hair still on it which must be dried and then boiled in water and drunk until the infection is gone.
   I was still muttering, "I can't believe you can buy the hair off of an umbilical cord in any store.  Surely you have to go to someplace like Whole Foods."
   By that time Jane and Cathi were thinking Dorothy and I had developed dementia since the minute we started giving our prayer requests because we didn't know where to buy corn with the hair still on it.  Looking at Dorothy and me they both emphatically said, "Of course you can buy corn that still has the hair on the ear at any store," which was echoed even more emphatically by both Esthela and Blanca.
   Dorothy said, "Well, I've never seen the hair off of a gourd anyplace."
   The young ears of Blanca finally figured out that we hadn't understood her heavy accent and said loudly, enunciating distinctly this time, "C-O-R-N.  C-O-R-N.  We said the hair off of an ear of
C-O-R-N."
   Oh, corn, Dorothy and I finally understood that they were saying the hair off of an ear of corn.
   Jane was still saying, "You know, that brown hair that is sticking out of the end of an ear of corn.  They are saying that you can use it to brew a tea." 
   By this time I am glad I finally heard the right word, that being corn, or I would have been really grossed out thinking that there would be brown hair growing out of the end of an umbilical cord.  Dorothy was still trying to visualize hair growing out of the end of a gourd, but she caught on when all four, Esthela, Blanca, Jane and Cathi, said in unison, "C-O-R-N, the hair on an ear of C-O-R-N."  
  "Oh, corn," I said. 
  "Oh, corn, Dorothy said.
  If they had said the silk off of an ear of corn, I might have understood.  Nah, probably not.  I would have been visualizing a piece of silk hanging off of the end of an umbilical cord. 
  We have prayed for some weird things and now I'm wondering if, in the past, we've prayed for the right things or not. Oh, well, God knows our hearts and He can figure out what we mean.
  What are we going to be like when we're 90?     
  Get ready for some real miracles.  We have great faith and have had some miraculous results from our prayers.
  God loves our Prayer Posse so much, he grants our prayers whether we know that we're praying for or not.  He discerns the intents of our hearts.  That's something to be grateful about, for sure.
 

EDAN AND MEME'S EXCITING CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE

“There are so many nice people in San Francisco,” is a direct quote from my granddaughter Edan when she was only four years old. While playing at a park that was close to her house she had struck up a long conversation with the young mother of a six month old baby, telling the mom that she really needed to let the baby go to day care because Edan, herself, had had so many happy experiences at Miss Carol’s Day Care. Later, on our way back to her house, she voiced the declaration to me about there being so many nice people in her birth city. I agreed with her completely. On the uphill walk back to her house, that four year old urban child of the City, said, “Meme, let’s talk British all the way back to my house.” Having had no practice in talking British, I did the best I could. I occasionally commented “bloody good”, the only phrase I could think of, as Edan conversed like British royalty. Now that Edan is eight years old she is riding a bicycle like she was born on it. It took a while for her to master it, but she “owns” it now, as they say. However, there are limited places in her neighborhood where she can ride her red Schwinn with ease because of the steep hills. We must descend long hills to get to the park which is several blocks away. After you descend, of course later have to ascend them in order to get home. The day after Christmas, we decided to go to the park for some fresh air, having not left the house for two days. Baking sweet rolls took up most of Christmas Eve day and opening presents took up most of Christmas Day. We left for the park with Edan pushing her Schwinn bike down the steep hills with MeMe relatively close behind her. I was having to walk at a fast pace to keep up with her young, adrenalin driven legs, which it seems to me haven’t been completely still for several years. We stayed at the park for a long time with her riding her bike in the park and also on one unoccupied tennis court after asking permission from a young couple who were volleying the ball back and forth on the other court. She didn’t want to disturb their game, but they were amenable to having her ride in circles and figures 8 on the vacant tennis court. She rode the bike with a look in her eyes of being free as a bird. As the sun began to set in the winter sky, it became apparent that we needed to start walking the bike up the long, steep hills back to her house. Edan looked at the heavy bike and said, “MeMe, there’s a back way that is shorter. Let’s go that way to my house.” This was news to me, having been at that park with her many times. She pointed to the “short way home” that was up a steep hill which looked like a mountain to me. There was evidence of a seldom traveled trail up the steep hill which started with five steps made from railroad ties. I told her that I was up for an adventure if she was sure it was a shortcut. Edan struggled to lift her bike up the first step but made it. That bike was an unusually heavy one. She again was able to lift it up the next wide step. I helped her lift it up the succeeding three steps and then we walked up an incline on a rugged trail that was only about two feet wide. I suddenly realized that we were going up a very, very steep hill. It looked like a mountain to me, the one on which I had seen young adults rappelling down a sheer cliff next to the park many times. I began to figure out that this was the same steep hill that lent itself to rappelling. My assumption was that we were going to cross the hill rather than climb it to the top. By this time I was doubting whether Edan’s assessment of this being a shortcut home was accurate, but I continued to assure her that I love adventures. We took turns pushing the bike up the primitive trail, welcoming more railroad tie steps when they came. By now it took both of us to lift the bike up the wide and tall steps, with Edan in the front and me in the back of the bike. The areas without steps were becoming more rugged as we ventured upward. Darkness began to fall quickly, as it always does in winter. It was obvious that we were climbing higher and higher up rather than across, and the top of the hill was nowhere in sight. There were no other “adventurers” in sight, either. If there were, it would have been difficult to see them because of the thickness of the trees and bushes. We were still on a narrow, rugged trail so it was obvious that it led somewhere. Edan knew where it led and she encouraged me over and over with assurances that we were almost to the top of the steep hill. By then I had complete ownership of the bicycle since we were still ascending slowly and my eight year old companion was eager to get to the top. Each step I took was a struggle since I was lifting and pushing the bike uphill. Suddenly Edan said inquisitively but with genuine concern in her voice, “MeMe, do you always breathe so hard when you are on an adventure?” I listened to myself breathe and realized that I was not huffing and puffing, I was merely huff, huff, huff and then huffing. I deduced that I was having trouble breathing because of the height, the lifting of the bicycle, but also the fact that I had a lung operation 25 years ago and the upper quadrant of my lung was removed. No wonder my labored breathing was beginning to alarm my precious granddaughter, as I sensed the concern in her voice. At that point I had the fleeting thought that we should leave the bicycle there in the denseness of the terrain, ascend the rest of the trail and if someone stole the bike, I would buy her a new, lighter one later. While entertaining that thought, I spotted a huge boulder ahead of us upon which we could sit and rest until I regained control of my breathing. I started to yell at Edan who had run ahead of me to see how far it was to the top of the hill, but I couldn’t get enough air to yell very loudly. I could see her ascending the hill like a young doe eager to reach the top. I stopped pushing the bike, stood there in the darkness, examined the trail to make sure I wasn’t on the edge of the tall hill and liable to slide down with red bike in hand, when I heard some sounds behind me. I turned my head toward the sounds and saw three young men hiking toward me. With what breath I could muster, I asked them to carry the bike the rest of the way and to accompany Edan and me up the hill. They were delighted to help us. If I could have kissed them I would have, but I was using my wide open mouth to breathe in what air I could. All I could do was huff, huff, huff, huff. A few minutes later the crest of the hill appeared, just like Edan had promised me that it would. We both thanked the boys profusely. I sounded like a locomotive as I sucked in air, but was able to get a few thank you words out of my mouth aimed at them. I told them to expect something wonderful to happen to them because of their good deed. Edan rode her bicycle on the sidewalk a very short distance down the hill to her house with me joyfully but laboriously speed-walking behind her. After all, I needed to restore my image to her of being a cool grandma who was still breathing. She burst in the door to her house and yelled, “Mom, MeMe and I almost died,” with emphasis on the word “died”. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how frightened she must have been. Of course she was. I was breathing loudly like the Little Engine That Could up that ominous hill which must have sounded to her like I was going to expire at any moment. I told my eight year old climbing companion that the three boys who rescued us were angels because they appeared out of nowhere and helped us. She grabbed onto that assessment easily and agreed that they were angels. We found out a few minutes later that Edan’s dad had gone with a flashlight to find us because of the darkness of the cold winter night. Fortunately he came upon some people who told him that they saw a woman and a child carrying a bike up the steep hill. I’m surprised they didn’t say a “stupid” woman carrying a bike up the steep hill. They might actually have said that but I was spared the actual truth. We have laughed and laughed about it. We call it our Christmas of 2014 Adventure. I’ll never forget it and I know Edan will not. Before bedtime, she had already told the story two times to relatives on Face Time. She was a brave little girl who will in the future only take the shortcut home when she is with her mom and dad, sans the heavy bicycle. I will remember that I do get winded when I climb four or five flights of stairs speedily because of the lack of having two full sets of lungs and that I also get winded when I climb up steep hills or mountains, especially carrying a bicycle which is meant to be ridden, not carried. I often think I am a 79 year old woman living in a 30 year old body. That new adventure cut me down to size a little bit, even through it was a true joy experiencing it with my precious and loving granddaughter. We will both remember it for years. The angels appearing as young men came just at the right time. We must remember to always entertain strangers because they might be angels of which we are unaware. The three of them helped Edan and me at the end of our adventure, lightening the load of the bicycle and accompanying us to the top of the steep hill. To quote a wise little girl, there are so many nice people in San Francisco. The adventure turned out to be enjoyable, even though I doubted at the time that the trail was a shortcut home. It really was. After we left the rugged trail we descended the hill only a short distance from their front gate. Yes, Edan, I must remember that I do breathe hard when I am on certain great adventures and I will make provisions for that. There are limitations to having had part of a lung extracted. That is hard for me to admit. I know what the readers are thinking; and, no, I didn’t have my cell phone with me. It wouldn’t have been such an exciting adventure if we had been able to call ahead for assistance. Next adventure, I will. I promise. Besides that, Edan had everything under control. She usually does. She didn’t have a problem on the adventure. It was her air sucking grandmother who had the problem. I don’t ever want to stop having great adventures with my grandchildren. Not ever. I’m ready for the next one!