End of the Year Reflections

(I owned a 1974 Spirit of America Chevrolet Nova as my first car. My late friend, Rita Gray Allen, and I spent a lot of evenings driving around talking and listening to music played from eight track tapes. We were young, strong, and had the whole world ahead of us to explore. Those really were the best days of our lives. This one is for you, Rita, you'll never be forgotten!)

End of the Year Reflections

Another year is coming to an end,

Tonight I lost another good friend,

Started thinking about the days gone by,

Remembered her laugh and started to cry.

Life was simple without a job or a man,

Our biggest worry was getting a good tan,

Loved wearing high heels and nylon hose,

Looked silly with skin peeling from a burnt nose.

Cruising down Main Street in an old used car,

Soaring high though we didn't drive far,

Not in a million years would I have guessed,

All the treasures and riches we possessed.

Youth has fled and I'm growing old,

The winter winds are blowing cold,

Forever woven in my memories,

Are brighter, happier days than these.

Another year is coming to an end,

Another birthday is coming around again,

I'll search for friendship, flowers, and trees,

Build the rest of my life around all of these!

Dianna Doles Petry

December 30, 2010



Blessings in an Ordinary Day

Blessings in an Ordinary Day


My eighty-two year old neighbor came to visit with me today. She appeared at my back door at a time when I was trying to juggle three tasks at one time; preparing breakfast, refilling my mother's medicine tray, and brewing coffee, or as my family often reminds me, my life blood. At first I felt a pang of anxiety because I was so busy and didn't want to have a visit with anyone but then she held out a gift for me and I not only smiled, I stopped to take two Tupperware containers from her hands.

Without realizing what I had done at just that moment, I know now that I made a split-second decision that felt right to me. It was the right decision to make. By stopping to smile at my neighbor and thank her for making my day a bit brighter we had both received a gift. She needed the gifts of attention and friendship this morning while the gift I needed was a reminder to stop and smell the roses, or in this case, the coffee.

The Tupperware containers contained freshly ground coffee and memories of a different era in my life. Sally, my neighbor, asked, "Dianna, do you remember where I got that Tupperware? You were just a strip of a girl and you had a party with this stuff. It was the first time I ever went to a party to buy plastic containers but I sure did have a good time. Now I come over here for coffee about every day so I figured I would bring you some coffee for brewing and get you to take a break long enough to drink a cup with me."

I slathered heart-healthy spread on the butter I took from the toaster, added milk to two bowls of shredded wheat, and took fresh strawberry jam from the refrigerator. My mother and Sally took seats at the dining room table and I poured three cups of coffee, one for each of us. While the two older women enjoyed cereal and toast, I checked out the Tupperware.

"Sally, how in the world did you remember where you got this Tupperware?" I asked.

"Well, Child, lift up the lid. You'll see. I always figured on giving it back to you some day and today seemed like a good day to do it."

I lifted the dark blue lid of one of the containers and saw that my name had been neatly etched into the plastic along with a date, July, 1974. My thoughts started to drift back to my teenage years. I always seemed to be finding ways to make a few dollars back then. One year I wore the rubber right off of my tennis shoes by walking door to door selling greeting cards. Another time I sold a tabloid like newspaper, "The Grit", door to door for a few months. I sold raffle tickets, I cleaned windows, I washed cars, and I groomed pets, but my biggest money maker had turned out to be selling Tupperware.

My mother and most of the women in this community were old fashioned stay at home wives. The only parties they attended were baby showers, bridal showers, and family occasions or events held at church. Even those were rare because I grew up in a coal mining camp where the men worked swing shifts and dads were not always available to watch the children while a woman went anywhere alone. Babysitters, while not unheard of at that time, were not in high demand in this area. The point is that these "parties" could be held in the middle of the afternoon or in the early evening and they were perfectly acceptable. The Tupperware was also an item that could be used by women of all ages.

"Dianna," Sally said, jolting me out of my stroll down memory lane. "Do you remember trying to teach us all how to burp those containers?" Sally laughed so hard at the end of this question that coffee spewed from her nostrils. "I think it was harder than burping a baby! I also think you learned to make sure the container was empty when you did that demonstration!"

Have I mentioned that Jell-O was also wildly popular as a dessert in the 1970's? I can still see the look on the widow Brown's face as bright red Jell-O seemed to jump from a little square Tupperware container and land right at the top of her ample bosom before beginning a slow decline through the mounds of flesh and onward to the top of her girdle. She was jiggling more than the Jell-O as she worked to unfasten the top buttons of her dress to remove the Jell-O.

"Oh, I remember that very well, Sally," I said with a smile.

"Child, you might not have known it, but every one of the women that came to your parties left there smiling and just praying you would have another party like that. We all went home thinking about the plastic junk we had bought to add to our saved up butter bowls and jelly glasses in the cabinets. We didn't really need that junk, we bought it to help you and we bought it to get together and save our sanity. You were funny, friendly, and fed us all finger foods we didn't have to fix ourselves. You wouldn't want to have another one of those parties would you? I'd buy some more of that Tupperware and you could send it to your daughter!" Sally's face was full of expression and happiness. My mother's face was full of need for me to refill her coffee cup.

I realized at that very moment how overwhelmed I sometimes feel by the frustrations of trying to be everything to everyone in my life. There are many moments when I ponder on the dreams that seem to have evaporated and my days that seem to have stalled in a rigid zone of chores and responsibility. What happened to that teenager who was so full of energy, determination, and ingenuity? Well, I think that young girl went through many changes of seasons and scenery and to be honest with myself, they were not all bad.

I've experienced people and places I never dared to dream about and I am still tapping into the potential I never even knew I possessed. I have learned and I have grown. I have been able to see past the rain falling around me to see the rainbow developing after the storm. I have taken the moments from my life and turned them into adventures I can retell and memories I can use to warm my soul during a cold period in time. That teenager seeking to make a fortune and see the world became a woman who brings her own unique gift to this world every day in some small way.

My mother started to bang her spoon against her empty cereal bowl and Sally gently placed her hand on one of my mother's hands. My mother seemed to calm down and I saw a tear trickle down Sally's face. "Would either of you ladies like another cup of coffee or some more toast?" I asked.

Sally stood and said, "Well, I'd better be heading home. My phone might be ringing off the hook you know. Every now and again one of my children remembers that they have a mother.” Her facial expression saddened and then she looked at me before adding, "Dianna, you have no idea of how blessed you are to have such a close family. You're a blessing to your friends and family every day."

I felt a tear trickle down my cheek as Sally walked past me. We aren't alone in this world. Many people face the same struggles and we all need a human touch of kindness. I'm pretty sure that I often search for the wrong blessings and overlook the blessings I'm given in an ordinary day. Sally is one of those blessings.

I guess Tupperware might have been designed to keep food fresh but for me it preserved memories, friendship, and a reminder that miracles happen when you least expect them. I think I need to purchase some new Tupperware very soon.


© Dianna Doles-Petry

03/25/2010

Thoughts on Losing a Friend

Thoughts on Losing a Friend


My life is speeding past me to fulfill a destiny I’ve never been aware of or accepted until now. My friends are being thinned out by death as if they are nothing more than stray hairs in God’s eyebrows. Everyone I know seems to be in some state of declining health with a stack of medical bills tall enough to compete with the Empire State building and barely enough money to keep the electricity flowing to operate the computer, our modern day system for communication.

I am at an age that finds me and my circle of connections wondering about how the end will come. The fear of becoming fragile and suffering is never more than a thought away after reaching a certain point in our life. Time is borrowed: there is no question about that. Some of us, if we are lucky, will pass from this life into God’s waiting arms quietly and peacefully as one of my dear friends did just this week.

As I’ve watched friends and family stumble and fall, I have become more aware of my own life, my own compassion, and my own mortality. Maybe death is meant to be a teacher of self-awareness. Maybe we all change our perceptions of what is important and the meaning of success when faced with death. Maybe time and death work hand-in-hand to bring us the gift of wisdom.

Each day of my life has become a renewal of hope, determination, and gratefulness. I am more determined to share my thoughts with the world more freely. I write my innermost thoughts, important events, and personal information in a journal for my children to keep in days to come. I want them to know how many struggles I faced and overcame, how many battles I lost and what I learned from each one. I want them to know how I got around each blockade I encountered on the road of life. I want them to understand that each tragedy and broken heart gave me strength of character. I want my memory to live on in their hearts.

My greatest gift has been the gift of motherhood. I have cherished moments spent with my children beneath skies of blue. I’ve often recalled the pleasure of sharing a song gathered around a fire as we roasted marshmallows. The simple joys of laughter shine in my memory like diamonds adorning a queen’s neck. It is important to me that my children feel the passion I have for living and learning.

One of the other great gifts of my life has been my friends. No wonder I feel as if a part of me dies every time one of them is called home ahead of me. My friends have encouraged me, held me up when my legs were weak and tired, and helped me to find profound peace. My friends helped me to feel comfortable in my own skin.

My late friend told about his adventures with honesty and a sense of remorse for the accomplishments he had allowed to slip through his fingers like water from a kitchen faucet. I always listened intently. With cups of hot coffee in hand we shared thoughts, we shared the news that made the headlines on any given day and we sometimes shared a comfortable silence. I called on him when I lacked inspiration and he called on me when he wanted to be a part of everyday life with a house full of noise and hot meals coming from the oven at dinner time.

He had accepted his frail health and the fading youth he once clung to as fiercely as a tigress protects her cubs. He shared memories of the places he had been and the songs he knew by heart. He talked about the ladies; those he had loved, those he had lost, and those he dreamed of night after night. He learned from mistakes he made along the journey of life and over the last few years he found a renewal of promise in the joy of his own life. Confusion turned to understanding, anger became compassion, and the thrill of the hunt slowly settled into the contentment of having lived a life full of challenge and change.

Maybe music kept him moving. Maybe he finally heard the song he needed to hear. Maybe he heard the song of his mother’s voice softly calling to him from the Heavens. Maybe it is up to me to use my love of writing to immortalize the man he had been before he became bone weary with no where else to go but Heaven.

My life is speeding past me faster than Superman but each day is a miracle. I watch people walking with canes and walkers who still stop to tell a joke and make someone else smile. I watch children playing cowboys and Indians and feel the excitement of possibility stir within me again. I watch my mother struggle to retain memories of the dances she shared with my father, the faces of her grandchildren, and the touch of her mother’s hand when she was crying. I have been blessed to have a good family, wonderful friends, and cherished memories. My late friend blessed me by showing me that even in our darkest hours, compassion, forgiveness, and human understanding are still alive and well. I will miss him greatly but I didn’t really lose him. He just relocated. Instead of talking to me by telephone, he’ll be whispering to me from Heaven.

@ Dianna Doles-Petry

3/2/10