There is a Booger on the Couch, is that okay?

 

Just one germ:

 

When I travel I do my best to stay in hotels that consistently meet certain requirements. Some would call me a hotel snob but name brand hotels are more predictable, easier and safer.  I stay away from hotels that have doors that open to the outside. I stay away from most local chain hotels with few exceptions.  I don’t stay in hotels that are adjacent to truck stops.  Having coffee in the room or available in the building is a definite plus but I have two absolutes: safety and cleanliness.  These two qualifiers not only keep me from some brands but can direct me away from some towns altogether.  

 

While I don’t typically check the rap sheets for hotels before I make a reservation, I have been known to drive to the front door and cancel my reservation while sitting in their parking lot. There is no check off list for me that makes a hotel safe; well-lit parking area: check; currently no one being shot onsite: check; no first responders blocking the door: check.  It’s an emotional gut feeling that makes me check out before I check in.  

 

It’s much easier to assess hotel hygiene.  I don’t travel with a UV light and I do not have special vision to know when a hotel room is clean, but I am confident in knowing dirty when I see it.  

 

The biggies: 

The bed isn’t made:  We would not consider staying in a room if the door swung open to a bed that was crumpled from where another human slept. If there were dirty towels in the bathroom? No.  Those are things we are not expected to compromise on. 

 

The smalls: 

What if the hotel room was a little dirty?  Everything was clean except the toilet wasn’t flushed?  Yucky but we can flush, as we do in public restrooms, and the problem is seemingly gone.  What if the trash had not been pulled?  

 

The day after finds:  

This is a special surprise. It’s a nice enough hotel. I slept good. I felt safe. I watched some TV and went to sleep without issue. I woke and showered with clean towels. However, when I opened the coffee maker I gagged. Not only was it not clean but it was a carpet of mold growing on a bed of coffee grounds. 

 

Thatguyilivewith and I recently stayed in an extended stay hotel in Tampa that was beyond what I considered acceptable.  The king size bed had queen size linens, the dishwasher was full of dirty dishes, the shower was moldy, and there was a booger on the couch.  Additionally, there were no clothes hangers in the closet and apparently no forks, clean or otherwise in the building.  We checked out early and I took my-hotel-snob-self down the road to a brand name hotel that I know and trust.   

 

Could we use the same hotel cleanliness scale to evaluate our own lives? I will use the term obstacles but these could be anything from sin to bad habits.  Do I have big obstacles like an unmade bed that I just ignore?  Do I have obstacles that are just inconvenient that I have learned to tolerate?  It is a personal reflection that sometimes only you can see.  The big heavy hotel room door is slammed shut, the peep hole only sees out, and you are there looking around the room: what do you see? 

 

 

Not Intended for Cult Leaders

 What do you want to be when you grow up?

When my oldest granddaughter, Kallie, was wrapping up kindergarten she took part in an annual tradition of surveying the class.  Each spring the teacher would ask every child that was to be promoted to the first grade, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”  On graduation night they read the responses of the children: “I want to be a teacher” or “I want to be a policeman.”  Some said nurse, doctor, veterinarian, etc.  It was adorable to see a snaggle toothed five-year-old walk across the stage in a miniature white satin robe trying to balance the matching hat on her head.  Their future aspirations were tossed into the air like a tassel and cap.  It was a milestone in life for the parent and children.  The parents were so proud.  I can only assume it was a relief for the teachers. 

I don’t remember having the forethought to ask myself this question when I was graduating from kindergarten.  I don’t remember my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Ruth Bristow, asking us in any formal manner but if she reads this maybe she will let me know.  I remember my sister always wanted to be a teacher or perhaps I just thought she wanted to be a teacher because she made me play school all the time.  I never wanted to be a teacher; that much I remember.  I don’t remember ever wanting to be a doctor or a lawyer or a nurse or an astronaut or a fireman or a cowboy.  Perhaps I didn’t have that type of ambition or maybe I never thought beyond the moment. 

In high school my classmates declared their intentions and decided on courses to study or paths to follow.  Even though I took college classes between my junior and senior years of high school I still had no idea what degree or life I would pursue.  Still the one thing I knew was that I did not want to teach.  At one time, like a lot of high school kids I could envision myself coaching high school basketball but I just couldn’t wrap my mind around the classroom or the students or the lockers or the grades or the courses or test or the students.  I know I said students twice.  I thought it deserved repeating. 

Just after high school graduation a best friend and classmate had knee surgery.  I remember helping her mother to get her in and out of her Pontiac Grand Am that summer.  Her mother told me that I should look at nursing because I was helpful with my friend. It was a kind complement but it didn’t suit me.

Finally just before the fall semester started I decided! I will not major in Psychology or Art (choices I had considered) but I will take the classes that my friend was taking.  Apparently, I wanted to be whatever she wanted to be.  Together we registered for our first semester of classes at Panola Junior College.  We took the usual basics plus ‘Math for Elementary School Teachers’.   (Later in life I will write the pantyhose story from this class.) 

For now, I will just say that 2-3 years in the future this plan was derailed and I was back to square one.  With student loan debt and a college catalogue in my lap. I flipped pages looking for the degree that would allow me to use all the science classes that I had taken in preparing to teach grade schoolers.  I was not alone as this unfolded.  That guy I live with was knee deep in a plan to be an engineer as his father had suggested from his early years.  

 

The questions that I cannot answer for me or you:

Questions ONE:  Do you look at your future as who/what you want to BE or what you want to DO?  I do not intend to declare one of these as right and the other wrong.  I don’t even have an answer.  I do see a difference though. 

Kallie’s response to the question was not in the format of what do you want to be but she declared, “I want to work at Sonic”.   She did not say “I want to be a sock hop”.  She said that she wanted to work at Sonic.  It was very cute and the girl loves a slushy.  We still give her grief about this. 

Unless you aspire to be a cult leader or serial killer few occupations equal who you are.  I realize that a doctor is a doctor and a teacher is a teacher for twenty-four hours every day but does that equal who they are or more likely what they do? 

 Question TWO:  More importantly, does what you do as an occupation determine who you are as a human? Cult leaders and serial killers need not answer.  Most of us know better than to answer yes to this. In my career, not as a teacher or a nurse, I have spent a lot of time in a hospital environment.  There’s a vast difference in the education, responsibility and daily payable tasks of the neurosurgeon and the admissions clerk. 

This is the part of the blog that I don’t like. The few sentences that I add that sound preachy and self-righteous. The part where you say, duh, I knew that 978 words ago.  I only preach through this to bring out one point and that is this: Remove “just” from your occupational title.  I am always frustrated with people that say, I am just a clerk or I am just a phlebotomist.  You will never hear a space cowboy say I am just an astronaut. You will never hear a neurosurgeon say I just operate on the brain.  And the one that needs to be banished from all declarations of self, “I am just a stay at home mom”. Its that one word, just, that clouds the line between who you are and what you do.   Be who God intended for you to be regardless of what you do.                  

Friends with Skates

Would you share your roller skate?

Recently thatguyIlivewith and I were moving slowly on a road beside a small private grade school campus.  On one corner sat a beautiful open-air church and on the other a playground.  We were at a stop sign when we saw two girls that appeared to be about 9 or 10 years of age.  They were cute girls.  Both were wearing jeans and their sweaters were normal 10-year-old girl pink and purple and white colors. They were cute and I would have taken an iPhone photo of them through my dirty windshield but thought better of it.  Taking pictures of random minors, regardless of how cute they are, seems inappropriate in 2021.  Though I don’t have the photo I hope I never forget what I saw those two girls doing.  They were sharing.

Ladies of the 80's skating back in time. Fall 2020

Throughout my life I have been told to share the candy, share the couch, and share the tv. I have been told to share the blame, share the credit, and share the responsibility. I have had to share access and availability to a washing machine and a pay phone as I got older. But not once was I ever asked to give up one of my skates. 

It appeared that one of the girls had a pair of white roller skates.  The cute ones.  Not like the pair for rent at the skating rink.  They had pink bubblegum wheels and pink sparkling laces.  I could not tell who the skates belonged to because each girl was wearing one skate.  The girl in the front had a tennis shoe in her left hand and one on her left foot with a white skate on her right foot.  The other girl was holding onto her friend’s forearm and had a blue tennis shoe in her left hand.  She had a skate on her left foot and the other blue shoe on her right foot.  They were like a three-legged sack race on pink wheels.  And they giggled.   I couldn’t hear them but I could see it on their faces. They stumble skated the sloped pavement just off the curb and we watched as they crossed the street in front of us.  

It’s not likely anyone told this girl to share her skate.  That is what made it awesome. That is what made us stop and watch them like white van creepers. They were sharing so much more than a skate.   It was inspiring and hopefully contagious. 

I decline to draw conclusions on this. I just want to challenge you and me to find a place in our minds to see these two girls as a pink and purple rolling inspiration to give, laugh and continue down the road, and to not focus on only having one skate but celebrate having that special friend that will share her wheels with you.

The Gray Guys

I have been to Mayberry on two different occasions.  My kids stood in the jail where Otis Campbell slept it off.  I stood in Floyd’s City Barber Shop while that guy I live with got a little trim.  We took turns sitting at Sherriff Taylor’s desk. We stopped at Wally’s Service Station and we drove past the house where Andy Griffith was raised, bathed and disciplined.

  

 

Of course, some of these we only did through the imagination of Andy Griffith as Mayberry is actually Mount Airy, North Carolina.  I find the life of Andy Griffith through the character of Sheriff Taylor to be fascinating.  I love the simplicity of the plots.  I love the morals of the regular people.  I love the clutter-free program that my grandsons call the Gray Guys.  

You probably have a favorite scene or moment from the sitcom.  At the very least you can whistle the theme song.  Go ahead.  Pause for a second to whistle the tune.  Visualize Andy and Opie almost skipping down a dirt road with fishing poles laid over their shoulders and pitching rocks.  Even in black and white you can see the sun is shining brightly. They are happy to spend some time at the fishing hole.

By the way, that is the name of the song; “The Fishin’ Hole”.  It’s not called the Andy Griffith Show theme song but it is noted as the most iconic theme song ever written. 

Also, did you know that there are actual lyrics to the song?  I hope it doesn’t disappoint you to know that according to the World Wide Web it wasn’t written by Andy Griffith.

The link below is Andy Griffith singing it for your listening enjoyment and the words in case you want to karaoke along.

https://youtu.be/j_IfSxMQ7yg

Well, now, take down your fishin' pole
and meet me at the fishin' hole.
We may not get a bite all day,
but don't you rush away.
 
What a great place to rest your bones
and mighty fine for skippin' stones.
You'll feel fresh as a lemonade,
a-settin' in the shade.
 
Whether it's hot,
whether it's cool,
oh what a spot
for whistlin' like a fool.
 
What a fine day to take a stroll
and wander by the fishin' hole.
I can't think of a better way
to pass the time o' day.
 
We'll have no need to call the roll
when we get to the fishin' hole.
There'll be you, me, and Old Dog Trey,
to doodle time away.
 
If we don't hook a perch or bass,
we'll cool our toes in dewy grass.
Or else pull up a weed to chaw,
and maybe set and jaw.
 
Hangin' around,
takin' our ease,
watchin' that hound
a-scratchin' at his fleas.
 
Come on, take down your fishin' pole
and meet me at the fishin' hole.
I can't think of a better way
to pass the time o' day.

 

So, who cares?  Why did I write that little blurb with information that you could have easily retrieved for yourself with a few clicks on google?  Could you have gone the rest of your life without those facts?  Without a moment to pause and whistle?  Without knowing the words? Of course.  I typed this for one brief analogy that I promise not to beat to death.

Possibly you didn’t know that lyrics ever accompanied the upbeat whistling but you still knew that show.  You most likely know the characters:  Aunt Bee, Deputy Barney Fife, Opie, Floyd the Barber, Goober and/or Gomer, and of course Andy.  We know some facts about the characters:  Andy didn’t typically carry a gun.  He only allowed Barney one bullet most of the time and he often took that one away from him.  Aunt Bee raised Andy and moved to Mayberry to help Andy raise Opie. We probably could imitate some of the buzz words or phrasing from the show like, “Shazam!” or “Golly”; “I reckon so.” And “Hold on a cotton-picking minute!” Only the true sitcom scholars will remember how many girlfriends Andy had through the years, that most, if not all, of the patrol cars were made by Ford, and that Deputy Fife and Sheriff Taylor were cousins.  Feel free to test you Mayberry trivia at 

https://www.metv.com/quiz/the-mayberry-trivia-challenge-how-well-do-you-know-andy-griffith-show-characters

 

Again, why?

The analogy:

Isn’t that how we are with the Bible?  I know the general tune, I know a lot of the characters by name, I have a list of phrases and quotables, and I definitely have my favorite scenes.  I don’t know the words as well or maybe well enough to sing them aloud.  Like I did with some of the fun facts above, sometimes I must google to find details of the Bible.