Saving the flag

Author’s note: Memorial Day is scheduled for May 25 this year. I hope you will take the opportunity to honor our war veterans.

Tag, you’re it.

That’s what the card said to me when it caught my eye as it lay on the ground at the Shell/Sonic/Church’s Chicken station right outside of Katy, Texas.

When I picked it up to read it, I saw it was in Spanish and I gave a little “humph” because I can’t read Spanish and I threw it into the trash can.

Right on top of the U.S. flag.

No, that’s not right, I thought to myself when I saw the juxtaposition of our nation’s treasured symbol laying among the empty cups of coffee, the wrappers filled with Sonic burger crumbs, and other gallimaufry of items no longer wanted.

I wanted to walk away from it. Wash my hands of it. Not have it inconvenience me and my family on a Saturday afternoon.

Except that’s not what my father, Hollis E. Perry, said in Korea. Or my step-son, Adam L. Leavens,  said in Afghanistan. Or any of the other 1.9 million current members of the Veteran’s of Foreign Wars (VFW).

Instead, they said: “Send me. I’ll go. I’ll defend and honor the flag until death if I need to.” Since the American Revolution, nearly 3 million service men and women have been wounded or died serving the United States.

And until 1899, many veterans were treated like the flag I found in the trash. Then, the veterans decided to band together.  “The VFW traces its roots back to 1899 when veterans of the Spanish-American War (1898) and the Philippine Insurrection (1899-1902) founded local organizations to secure rights and benefits for their service: Many arrived home wounded or sick. There was no medical care or veterans’ pension for them,and they were left to care for themselves.”

So, my family and I took the wounded and tattered flag from the trash and over to the Katy VFW chapter, not knowing if the group was even open on a Saturday afternoon. But as fate and meaningful coincidence would have it, the chapter was open and volunteer Jim Babin was giving tours of the small  “G.I. Joe” museum established to honor the military veterans who served in wars on foreign soil.

A Vietnam vet, Mr. Babin thanked us several times for bringing the flag to him. “We have a burning ceremony once a month for our flags,” he said.

But we weren’t the ones to be thanked. He was. He gave as a young man in Vietnam and he continues to give today, with no expectation of reward but maybe just a little respect.

We’re grateful we were tagged that day.

God bless America.

You are the only answer

Speaking up for a child

Note: If you suspect a child is being abused, please speak up. 
Call the National Child Abuse Hotline at 1-800-4-ACHILD. 
If you're a parent under stress, you can receive help from the
same hotline.

Country singer Toby Keith would have been embarrassed to know that a man wearing a shirt bearing his name was abusing a child.

And if Toby Keith had been where I was, I think he would have done the same thing I did, which was speak up for the child.

It was chaotic situation and when you’re a six-year-old boy at a children’s museum being considerate of other people or of their exhibits isn’t the first thing on your mind. But the grabbing and poking wasn’t any more outrageous than the hundred other six-year-old boys who were grabbing and poking.

But to this boy’s father it was. And his father grabbed his arm. It wasn’t in the firm way that grownups do to bring a child’s awareness to a place other than what he’s involved in. This was the grab and twist your arm way that elicits nothing but a screech of pain and the automatic reaction of fight or flight for survival. And so that’s what this little boy did. He backed up as far away as he could from his father. And every time his father made a step closer to grab at him again, the little boy scooted backwards as fast as he could.

All in the plain sight of the general viewing public, which included me.

I’m a mental health counselor  and I established a local chapter of an advocacy group for kids in foster care because of parental abuse. So when I see things in public that cross the line, I conclude that in private it goes much further.

So I had a decision to make. Ignore it because it’s none of my business, or take a risk and speak up and do it in such a way to prevent further abuse for that incident.

With a sick feeling in my stomach, I chose to speak up. By this time, 220-pound dad had grabbed 50-pound son and carried him downstairs. Pregnant mom and younger brother were following behind. And I followed them, too.

What I wanted to say was “rednecks like you shouldn’t be allowed to have kids.” (Sorry, Toby, but you do sing for the red necks.) “How would you like me to grab your arm like you did your son’s?” “How about I just kick your ass.”

Instead, I joined up with the family on the museum’s first floor where the boy was hiding behind his mother screaming for his father to leave him alone and where father was trying to grab at him again.

I walked up to them and asked “is there anything I could help you with? It looks like everyone is a little upset…”

The parents looked at me like I was an alien but for that moment took their attention off their son and turned it to me. The boy’s mom with brown teeth shifted her stance towards me and explained it all by saying the museum was too much sensory overload.

I affirmed her opinion and encouraged them by acknowledging they had a lot on their hands as parents and that I was a parent and understood the challenges.

Dad just stood there and grinned at me. And then it was time to move on. And I said to them “it will be okay.” And with that, mom, dad, son and brother left.

And I wondered after they left if Toby Keith would have thought like I did that instead of being a redneck dad, that this man “should have been a cowboy.”  Because a true cowboy raises a family with respect and not abuse.

How to make over $400 from your cell phone carrier

This worked for me. I don’t know if it will work for you, but you should try. If you’ve had a cell phone for more than a year, you have already spent well into the thousands of dollars in exchange for it.

Sprint has been running a promotion that if I drop my current carrier and go to them, they would give me a plan that I just couldn’t refuse.

I thought that was wrong of my carrier to not offer a loyalty reward, so I called my carrier, Verizon, and told them.

After 10 haircuts my hairdresser will give me my 11th one free. After more than 10 years, shouldn’t my phone carrier be willing to do the same thing? I tallied it up, and the amount I have spent with them could have funded a pension plan.

But you can’t go to the usual 800 number. The first-line customer service agents don’t have any authority to do anything except give you a $100 credit, maybe, and that’s after they ask their supervisor.

Instead, send an email to the executive office. There, a over a dozen young executive office liaisons are trained to handle customers so irate that they felt the only way to receive recourse was to go straight to the top.

Lowell C. McAdam Chairman and Chief Executive Officer

But I was willing to walk away, too. So, don’t call their bluff. Be ready to switch to whoever you think might be the deal of the month. And just remember, the money you’re spending today for texting, talking, and surfing the Internet is going to fund someone’s retirement fund, but probably not your own.

Standing with France

A Wabi-Sabi Volvo

My heart sank as I sat in the group room with my 10 clients on federal probation. I was working as an intern for a mental health practice leading substance abuse recovery groups for people who were reclaiming their lives after serving drug trafficking sentences. As we discussed the triggers that caused them to use, we heard the pelting of hail. We anxiously shifted in our chairs wanting to bolt out and take our rides to shelter. Instead, we talked about honesty in submitting our insurance claims the next day and my clients shared tales of acquaintances they had that they knew would drive their car across town just to have it hit by hail so they could collect money. We mutually agreed before we left session that our hail-damaged vehicles would not be a trigger to use drugs or drink beer.

The Volvo I aspire to drive.

I had just bought my 2006 Volvo a few months previous. I was proud that I spent a conservative amount of money on what others judge as a luxury model of upscale liberals who want to make a visible statement of their political views.   I wanted to drive the European-branded car because of its reputation for safety and durability, perhaps fulfilling another aspect of the Volvo-driving stereotype. I was working part-time as a member representative for a small business lobbying group and I traveled long distances for the position.  My husband and I purchased my Volvo sight unseen from Texas Direct in Houston and had it shipped to the eastern New Mexico town where Republicans are as common as the tumbleweeds that rolled across the region’s desert highways.

As a second-hand car, it required a few minor repairs that we addressed. But the pummeling of ice rocks gave the Volvo a forlorn look all the way around. Within a few days of the storm, I stood in line with my clients at the insurance adjuster site. I knew, though, I wouldn’t be using the funds to replace the trunk lid, the hood, or the roof. Instead, my husband and I decided to use the money to pay off the loan we had on the car.

The Volvo I actually drive.

If circumstances had been different, we probably would have made sure my Volvo was gussied up to its original sheen. But at the same time I was finishing up my graduate school internship, I was also moving to another house so my mother could live with us. A bankruptcy listing, the house needed even more attention than my Volvo to bring it to a tolerable working condition. Paying off the Volvo freed up several hundred dollars each month to pour into the house which we bought on faith that we could afford because we were following the fifth Biblical commandment of “honor your parents.”

The Urban Dictionary satirically characterizes Volvo owners this way:  “Although the cars are pricey to buy and maintain, Volvo drivers see them as works of art–well-made machinery that protects their passengers, other drivers, and even pedestrians from the hazards of the road.”

I do see my Volvo as a work of art and I have had difficulty wrapping my mind around how all the dime- and quarter-sized dents all over the car have added to its beauty. To console myself, I have embraced the Japanese philosophy of Wabi-Sabi which declares beauty to be all things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete.

Wabi-Sabi is a frame of mind I continue to develop for the tenuous aspects of my life which refuse to fit in the picture frames I constructed for them. My Volvo is a material manifestation of how my illusions are shattered by the reality of pell-mell running through the world.

Since the initial introduction of Wabi-Sabi through my Volvo, I’ve had other episodes of it. I parked under a tree where birds did their business on it right before I was to meet with a woman I wanted to impress. Recently, I chose a side road and a stranger’s driveway to turn around so I could be headed in the right direction. The driveway’s incline was so steep it tore off the right side of the front bumper. My husband wrangled it back into place. But repairing the bumper came several hours after driving my Volvo around town, me oblivious to the damage, and included an exhibition in the car pool line of my son’s school where many parents drive shiny BMWs, Lexuses, and Mercedes Benzes. None of those cars have hail dents or bird poop that I’ve noticed.

According to an Utne Reader article, “To discover Wabi-Sabi is to see the singular beauty in something that may first look decrepit and ugly. Wabi-Sabi reminds us that we are all transient beings on this planet—that our bodies, as well as the material world around us, are in the process of returning to dust. Nature’s cycles of growth, decay, and erosion are embodied in frayed edges, rust, liver spots. Through Wabi-Sabi, we learn to embrace both the glory and the melancholy found in these marks of passing time.

Today, when I drive my Volvo I realize I have put on the full armor of a Wabi-Sabi life. If I encounter people who are only living life on the surface, then they may look at me in one of two ways: either enviously or derisively. They’ll experience envy if all they see in me is the status sign the Volvo represents or view me derisively if they judge me for not repairing the external skin which betrays the fine mechanics of the interior.

Sometimes I react to the judgment and I’m tempted to say “wait, you don’t understand. You don’t know everything I’ve been through.” Then, I realize explanations make no difference to people who live on the superficialities of life. And then I remember that this desire to connect with people who aren’t capable of deep connections is also Wabi-Sabi.

And I let it go.

Lonely as a Cloud

There’s opportunity to be a flash of lightening in someone’s life.

The Being Place

We spend our time absorbed in our lives and later discover it won’t endure. The Jeopardy-life trivia that I made my bed 250 days in a row or that I’m abstinent from sugar and alcohol for 1,096 days straight won’t matter to the generation 100 years from now.

The world is divided among people who are struggling or dancing through their day. Some people are walking around with a cloud over their head. You can nearly reach up and touch the cloud, the burdens they bear are so great. Others seem to skip through their life as if under their feet are the white cotton versions of the grey clouds that hang over others. Others don’t have the clouds over their heads or under they feet. They’re dog paddling through the fogginess of their lives. Many days I feel like I’m in the fog category: I’m not sure where I am and…

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Barefoot Books and Bedtime Routines

At the recent craft show I worked, I watched 4, 5, and 6 year-old boys run around the room like the Tasmanian Devil. I asked their parents if this is what their bedtime routine was like. To a parent they all nodded their heads, yes, and rolled their eyes.

Then I showed those parents a little magic. I asked each of those little boys if they liked putting puzzles together and all of them nodded their heads yes. I took out Barefoot Books Portside Pirates and before their parents knew what was happening, each little boy stopped their whirling dervish activities and sat down and completed the puzzle.

Working on a puzzle in the evening helps children’s minds gather all their scattered thoughts into one focus of finding which piece fits where. Set a timer for 10 minutes so you and your kids don’t lose track of the bedtime hour and help both of you calm yourself as you transition to the land of dinosaur dreams and moon walks.

With a little help from your friends

My personal commitment this holiday and Christmas season is to purchase my gifts from small business owners and, better yet, from small business owners I personally know.  I invited my entrepreneurial friends to share with me their personal and professional goals so I could share them with you.

Each of these women featured brings a unique gift to the marketplace. As you consider your gift purchases this holiday season, I hope you will consider my friends and their services/products as a choice you could make to help support small business and hardworking people in our local communities.

Brilliance by Design

For 37 years, my friend Donna Bauer has been helping people make their surroundings more beautiful. When I bought my first home nearly 25 years ago, I was inexperienced in decorating an older home. I was inexperienced in decorating. Period. Added to the challenge of a first-time decoration project was that my 1920s-era home had plaster walls and four layers of wallpaper. When I asked Donna if she could help me, in her characteristic way she said absolutely.

Donna scraped and prepped and painted and re-papered my two-bedroom bungalow and helped me turn it into a home I was proud to own. In a field that tends to draw more men than women because of the physical work involved, Donna is one of the hardest-working individuals I have met. She’s not afraid to get her hands dirty and she sticks with a job until it’s done.

From her early days of working primarily as a house painter, Donna has expanded her business to refurbishing and up-cycling pieces of furniture that others have declared as useless. Donna has the heart for saving what others have given up on and the creativeness to draw out the beauty of a piece that has been covered by the wear and tear of life.

“In 2004, I learned the art of decorative and faux painting and in 2012 we expanded our painting abilities once again when we discovered the beauty and joy of refinishing antique trunks,” said Donna of how she learned the art and craft of upcycling furniture.

Donna currently sells her pieces in two stores in central Iowa; however, she is able to show you all of her work through her website and can make arrangements for delivery.

She also produces her own artwork and for the holiday season she has hand painted winter scenes on vintage screens, hand painted wood signs and “a few other goodies”

“With our years of experience, we know how to work efficiently with as little inconvenience to you as possible while still delivering a final product that surpasses your expectations,” said Donna of her approach to customer service. “From the initial consultation to the last walk through, we keep you abreast of our progress, so you know exactly what we are doing and how much it costs.”

Donna gives back to her community by donating her furniture and other pieces to local charities and fundraisers. The philosophy which guides her the most and is evident in her kindness to others is a strong relationship with God. Through this relationship she has developed a personal philosophy to “never give up, to do my very best always.”

Heartlines by Sandi

It’s been said that “women hold up half the sky,” but in the case of my friend, Sandi Browne, she’s one of a special cadre of women who have walked on the sky.

I met Sandi when the universe asked me if I would extend my stay as a mental health therapist at the local hospital in the town in which I lived up until October. I’m glad I followed the universe’s bidding because otherwise I would have missed the delightful experience of Sandi Browne.

As is characteristic of mental health therapists, we got down to brass tacks in sharing about ourselves in our first day. When I mentioned that my first career was as a journalist, Sandi shared about the book she recently authored, “Touch the Sky.”

”I have had an unusual life as an Airshow pilot and wing rider during earlier days of aviation.  I wanted to share the adventure of flying and the choices of balancing career and family,” Sandi said of her motivation to write the book. “I am a creative person who enjoys challenges and learning new things.  Writing was a new area to explore.”

Now deceased, one of Sandi’s mentors was Tracy Pilurs, who “was an airshow pilot, built her own airplane and wrote a monthly column for a national aviation publication. I wrote about her in my book,” said Sandi. Sandi also took numerous classes and worked with a writing coach to ensure she offered a professionally prepared memoir.

Since Sandi is a mental health counselor, she contributes positively to her community nearly every day.  (That’s a whole other story!) She mentored me during the time we worked together as therapists. Sandi’s other ventures include jewelry making and spending time with her beloved family.

Whether or not you are an aviation aficionado, you will enjoy reading about the adventurous spirit of Sandi and the other air show performers in her book.

Younique with Tracy D. Haynes

Someone needed to take my place at my last position when I moved to Houston, and I am happy to say the universe sent Tracy D. Haynes. With her hearty laugh, Tracy has a centeredness about her that lets others know it’s going to be okay. As a social worker, Tracy has contributed to the world around her by working with kids in the foster care system and in her spare-time as a mentor for at-risk kids. But a woman has to eat and social workers aren’t counted among the overpaid in our commerce-based economy, so Tracy is earning extra income with Younique, a direct sales company for cosmetics. “I chose to start selling Younique makeup for the extra income as I am single parent,” said Tracy of what prompted her to begin this business in August of this year. “My goal is to use my earnings to help pay off my student loan debt as well as purchase a home.”

Tracy chose Younique’s products because they are “mineral based and last longer than the competitors. The makeup is made of natural ingredients and the best part is the money back guarantee,” she said.

With my eyes nearing 50 years, I decided to give Younique’s popular 3D Fiber Lash Mascara a try. And, wow, the promoters weren’t overselling it either when they said it boosts lashes by “300 times their natural length.” For the month of November, Younique is including a free lip stain for every $150 in purchase. I say stuff the stockings with Tracy’s products. Everyone will be happy with the quality of the product and the experience of Tracy.

Natural Nesters

Katrina Fuller and I met at a social gathering for which the purpose was to raise our experience of spirituality in our daily walk around in the lives we live. There, I first learned about the commitment Katrina has to Natural Nesters, her business that provides pregnancy, childbirth, postpartum, and breastfeeding education and support, and integral therapy services to families. Since 2009, Katrina has worked diligently to spread her message that natural approaches to child rearing are the best and she has invested a large amount of time and resources to earn several certifications and credentials, including her Ed.D.

What motivates Katrina to work as hard as she does is the knowledge that when best practice is used in pregnancy, childbirth, postpartum, breastfeeding and parenting, she is influencing positive growth for families and their children and that it spreads exponentially. Katrina quotes Sheri Dew about her impetus to advocate for mothers and children: “Perhaps having influence is not about elevating self, but about lifting others.”

While most of Katrina’s in-person clientele is located in Lea County, New Mexico, she is available to consult through email and phone sessions. Except for professional trainings, Katrina is offering a 10 percent discount on her fees for the month of December.

But you don’t have to be a woman about to give birth to work with Katrina. Katrina offers a robust menu of services designed to provide more awareness of the mind-body connection. She offers the following slate of services:

Henna Designs

• Silhouette Painting
• Plaster Casting
• Digital Photography
• Birth Art & Stories

Yoga Instructor:

• Prenatal
• Postnatal
• Mommy & Me
• Guided Meditation
• Infant Massage

Reiki Practitioner:

• Individual
• Couples
• Children
• Pets
• Distant

Placenta Specialist:

• Meal Preparation
• Encapsulation
• Tincture & Salve
• Prints & Keepsakes
• Burial Consultation

“I learned the most important life lesson not just from the families I serve, but from my own family as well,” said Katrina. “I have experienced the joys and challenges of pregnancy, childbirth, postpartum, breastfeeding, and parenting and am able to utilize my own experiences and professional trainings to help other families be successful in their own efforts.”

Barefoot Books

I am ending this with a shameless plug for myself. I am a founding member ambassador for Barefoot Books, an award-winning publisher of children’s books. I chose to do this because of the company’s core values of offering an “authentic alternative to the commercialization of childhood. Barefoot Books encourages parents to make time for make-believe, and to share stories from all over the world with their children, so that they can glimpse the simple truth that the human condition is universal.”

My goal is to earn enough money to pay for my younger son’s attendance at the Westview School, a school for children with special learning needs. I need to earn money in such a way that it gives me the flexibility I need to care for my family, including as a caretaker for my mother.

The most important lesson I’ve learned, so far, in this endeavor is that if I stand up and ask for what I need the Universe is grace-filled to deliver.

Small Business Saturday

Small Business Saturday (the Saturday after Thanksgiving) is an American Express sponsored day set aside to remind consumers that the lifeblood of our economy is a small business. None of us featured above have a personally owned shop on a Main Street, U.S.A. (yet). However, we all have a small business from a brick and mortar home and big dreams for our lives to provide economic security for our families. I invite you to explore my friends’ websites and I trust you will find many special Gifts of a Great Life among them.

It’s a big job, but it can be done

Mrs. Esther Grosvenor taught the Colfax High School seniors their last English class before they graduated and embarked upon the world to conquer whatever it was they thought lay before them. While the 17 and 18 year old students in her class spent more time counting the days until graduation than they did counting their verbs and nouns, Mrs. G. (as we affectionately called her), nevertheless, persevered in her job in assigning the task of diagramming sentences and drilling the rows of pimple-faced boys and girls on the difference in meaning between affect and effect, lie and lay, and simile and metaphor.

If she was inpatient with the impertinence of us she didn’t show it. After 40 plus years in the classroom, Mrs. Grosvenor had developed enough equanimity about her job that not much fazed her in her interactions with children disguised as adults.

When I finished her class and Colfax High School in 1984, I also left the town for the bright city lights of Des Moines. Six weeks after I walked across the gymnasium stage, my parents had sold the-old-Miss-Byal house where we lived and packed up the green Chevy pick-up and moved us off to the town where both of them worked for the city government.

After I moved to Des Moines, I wrote to Mrs. Grosvenor. I don’t remember the details of my letter to her; likely, I thanked her for attending my graduation reception and made mention of my move. Based on her response to me, I must have had questions about the role of women in the work force.  It’s been 30 years since I graduated from high school, and I have kept her letter tucked away in a small cedar box.

It’s because of our move for my husband’s promotion for work, that I had the chance to reread the letter. In this move I am following my husband for his work and I am unclear as to what my professional place is. Mrs. Grosvenor’s words are more apropos now than when she originally wrote them. Her perspective on women in the workforce was formed from her own life experiences and long before feminism became a topic of conversation and debate in our popular culture.

As I settle into a new phase in my roles as wife, mother, daughter, and employee, her words provide a gentle reminder of the importance of finding the right balance. The past few years were rigorous in tending to all of my family members and embarking in a second career as a mental health counselor.

We are in the beginning stages of our family’s transition. Many details have yet to be decided upon. But just like they were 30 years ago, Mrs. G.’s words are encouraging to me. I’ll keep hanging in there and like Mrs. G. vowed for herself as she expressed her apprehension about the change she was about to seek for herself, “maybe I’ll finish that novel I started some years back.”