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Victories and Defeats
Our little grandbabies are so precious to us, and we celebrate every tiny new victory, every gained bit of knowledge. He is my whole life, and I mourn as each of those things we celebrate in the children are taken from him: how do you play that game? How do you do a puzzle? When do I take those pills?
Little Yellow Bowl My little yellow bowl broke today, its handle finally succumbing to 34 years of regular use and hot dishwashers. It’s not much of a bowl. Plastic, part of a set long gone. And I was surprised at the rush of emotion I felt. You see, my mother-in-law gave me that bowl. She gave me the whole set as part of a large box of utensils and bowls and dishcloths and other kitchen things her son and I would need as we set up our first home together. While many may not see that as such a big deal, it was. I was most decidedly not her choice for her son. And yet, she still did this thoughtful thing. I use that bowl for nearly everything. It has a little spout, making it perfect for pouring pancake batter on a hot griddle or cake mix into cupcake tins. And every time I used it over the years, I thought about her. The rest of the contents of that box are mostly long gone. But the little yellow bowl hung in there, for 34 years. My mother-in-law and I had what can ta...
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A friend of mine used to tell me how much she loved the striking red color of our desert. “It’s so beautiful,” she said, “and such a relief for the eyes after hour upon hour of that horrid, ugly brown California/Nevada desert on the way up here.”
Yet when time permits, I stop along the road in that same brown desert and marvel at its stunning beauty. No, it’s not red like ours, it’s not lush and green, there aren’t banks of brilliant flowers, magnificent waterfalls or snow-capped purple mountains silhouetted against an azure sky. But it’s beautiful just the same, in its own unique way.
The first thing that always strikes me is it’s still possible to stop along the freeway and look out at a stretch of that desert where nothing is built. No power lines, no buildings, no visible roads. Beautiful.
In those moments I try to imagine what it must have been like to cross that land in a wagon or on horseback. No power grid, no buildings with hospitable hosts, no roads. Did they find this place beautiful or like my friend, ugly and forbidding?
In the grand scheme of things, it hasn’t been that long, and those few remaining untouched areas haven’t changed appreciably in the last 150 years. Were they ugly then and beautiful now? Or is it the other way around - they were beautiful then and ugly now?
The answer, of course, is yes to all of it. They are what we choose to see in them. Her ugly vista is my expanse of beauty. Lovely from the side of the road with a Snapple in hand. Forbidding from the seat of a wagon with no water in sight.
And so it is with each other. “I expected nothing but greatness from you,” he said.
Why? I expected to be able to produce nothing but mediocrity.
Why would he expect more. . . find more?
Because he chose to.
Why did I expect less. . . find less?
Because I chose to.
Is it great now because someone else has named it that? And do I have the power to morph it from average to great just by my choosing it to be thus?
The object has not changed. Only my perception can change. It’s all in my eye, and the way I choose to behold.
How beautiful is my desert? As beautiful as I choose to believe it is.