Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving!  Who are you thankful for this year? Spouses, family and friends traditionally head the list of most folks. But there is one more person for whom we should all give thanks.

Sarah Hale was a housewife in the nineteenth century when women were considered “chattel” in a marriage. Chattel is property, the same as a horse, a house or a piece of furniture.  Women (and children) had very few rights and were considered second-class citizens.  Most could not vote, own property or decide the fate of their own children. 

Sarah had grown up on a small farm in New Hampshire. Her father was a disabled veteran of the Revolutionary War. She taught school to help out. One day, a lamb followed one of her students to school. She wrote a poem about it called “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” 

Sarah’s marriage was very happy, but her husband died young and she was left with five small children.  She took a job making hats to support her family and continued to write poetry and stories at night. She became the editor of a new magazine for women and published articles and stories by Edgar Allan Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Harriet Beecher Stowe and Charles Dickens.

 

All this should have been enough for any one woman, but Sarah was not satisfied with the world. Every month in her magazine she wrote editorials advocating education for girls, colleges for women, female doctors and for safe working conditions for all women. She despised slavery but was not allowed to write politically in her magazine.

That didn’t stop Sarah from getting things done. She took to heart the old adage that “the pen is mightier than the sword.” She published her articles and she wrote letters, thousands of them. When Sarah fixed on an issue, she picked up her pen and started writing to anyone she thought would be able to help. 

Sarah really loved Thanksgiving. It was an annual holiday in New Hampshire and the northeastern United States, patterned after the first thanksgiving celebration of the pilgrims. But it wasn’t a holiday in all the states and Sarah thought it should be. So she picked up her pen.

She started writing regularly to politicians throughout the states. She asked the readers of her magazine to write too, and housewives all over the country responded. They were pretty successful too. One by one, states began to declare a Thanksgiving holiday. But Sarah wasn’t satisfied. She wanted it to be a national holiday when everyone in the entire country would, on the same day, paused to give thanks.

So she wrote to the president, President Zachary Taylor to be precise. He said no. She waited and wrote to the next president, Millard Fillmore. Again, the answer was negative. So she wrote to Presidents Franklin Pierce and James Buchanan in turn. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if everyone stopped on the fourth Thursday in November to give thanks? No luck.

         

Then came the Civil War. The country was torn apart. Sarah wrote to the man trying to pull it together.  And finally, on October 3, 1863, Abraham Lincoln declared the fourth Thursday of November to be a national day of thanksgiving.

With a strong will and a ready pen, Sarah Hale helped establish a beloved holiday. One person can change the world, a lesson for us all. So this holiday, after you pick up that turkey leg, pick up your pen and write a letter about something you care about. Send it to someone who can help and then sit back and give thanks.

Historic Details from Thank you, Sarah by Laurie Halse Anderson.

           

Sweet Medicine

Sweet Medicine

From the moment the policeman directed me, “First to your right, second on your left, sharp right again and you’re there,” I was. My grandmother’s voice led me down past the park and cherry trees to Number 17 Cherry Tree Lane. I had come to Nana’s summer bungalow planning frolics in the waves, but now I was strolling along the streets of London with Jane and Michael and the incredible Mary Poppins.

I had always been what you might call a “deep reader.” I didn’t just read a book, I inhabited it. When the wind changed and Mary Poppins blew into the life of Jane and Michael, she blew into mine too. I watched her slide up the banister into the nursery and unpack her incredible carpet bag. 

“What’s a carpet bag?” I asked Nana.

“Let’s find out,” she answered. Nana was never one to give a story away. We had shared many reading adventures. I was nine and sick in bed yet again. I had lived a vagabond life, moving often with my family and sometimes without them. Nana and books were home to me.

Together, we jumped into the sidewalk painting with Bert and Mary and rode the carousel, Nana astride a black stallion and me on a spotted pony. Raspberry jam-cakes sounded delicious. We found out that tea meant more than a hot drink to soothe my sore throat, and that a good laugh could raise your spirits to the ceiling. When Nana tipped a teaspoonful of yucky medicine down my throat, I imagined strawberry ice and lime-juice cordial.  Nana, like Mary, might have thinking more of rum punch. 

We both loved the bird woman. Nana’s neighbor kept pigeons and we pictured them sitting on our shoulders and pecking at our toes. We imagined it tickled. We didn’t know what a tuppence was, but we thought we might have enough to buy a bag or two. When the wind changed, and Mary left, Nana and I waved farewell; we knew we could meet Mary again just by opening her book and diving in.  

Books have always been sweet medicine for me. When I am troubled or stressed, I often think about how characters in my favorite books solved problems with wit, pluck or humor and wonder whether I might do the same. When I am sad, a happy book cheers me up. When I am angry, a restful story soothes me. Some books take me a thirty minute vacation – just enough to invigorate my tired soul. 

Every year, teachers read aloud to their students just for the joy of it. Oh yes, we spend many hours teaching phonics, comprehension and fluency, but our real goal is to build a love of reading into each child. When you love reading, you read, and when you read, you learn phonics, comprehension and become fluent.  

Think back to your school days. Do you remember a special novel that your teacher shared that sticks with you today?  My daughter still remembers her second grade teacher reading James and the Giant Peach. She went on to read all of the Roald Dahl books just because her teacher showed so much joy when she read it. How many times has your child held up a book and stated, “My teacher read this!” and then decided to read it again?  How many times have you fallen into a book with your child and entered a wonder land together?   

Nana left us when I was fifteen, but her love of story has continued to feed and comfort me. When I read the books we shared or when I read aloud to children, I feel her holding my hand and warming my spirit and I sip the sweet medicine only love can give.

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Seven Seconds to A Kinder World

Seven Seconds

 

Every time my mother-in-law washes her hands in a public restroom, she takes a paper towel and wipes around the sink. “You know,” she says, “if everyone took a few minutes to do this, public restrooms would be a lot nicer.” 

What if we all wiped around the sink? Not only would the bathroom be cleaner, but the worker who cleaned there might have more incentive to keep the rest of the room sparkling clean. Maybe folks wouldn’t drop paper towels on the floor. 

My mother-in-law is right. If everyone took the time to do small helpful things, the world would be a nicer place. There are so many easy little things that we can do to help if we would only take a few minutes in our hurried lives to do them.

Wouldn’t it be easier to maneuver around parking lots if everyone returned the shopping carts to the ‘Cart Park’ or better yet, pushed them right into the store? The strapping teens who manhandle those endless trains of carts back to the store could instead help senior citizens load their groceries into their cars. 

How about holding the doors for shoppers? I recently carried four hot cups of coffee through a series of shop doors. A nice young fellow carrying his own load of treats held the door for me, then I held the door for him, then he held the door for me again. “Just like a relay,” we joked. 

         

Have you ever wished a stranger good morning? Being well trained as a cheerful greeter at school, I do it automatically. Even in New York City, that citadel of rush and rude, I usually get a pleasant reply. Perhaps that person passes along my greeting to others.

There are so many ways to be helpful. Let someone pull into your lane in a traffic jam. Put a lid back on a trash can. Help someone unload his grocery cart onto the conveyer (after asking permission, of course). Pick up litter on your evening walk. Hand someone an item from a high shelf. Read the tiny print for an elderly friend.

A few minutes used in helping others is time well-spent. TV talk show host Oprah Winfrey once interviewed an embittered couple struggling to save a dying marriage. The wife complained about the husband’s careless ways. He showed no consideration for her. He wouldn’t even hang up his towels after his shower. He countered that it took too long. He didn’t have the time. 

         

Oprah considered his protest during a break. She timed herself hanging up her bath towels. It took seven seconds. In the next segment, she cautioned the husband that his marriage could never survive if he was not willing to spend seven seconds on making his wife happy.

We all have seven seconds to help someone. That’s about all it takes to tie a little kid’s shoes, wipe away his tears, or hug him tight. That’s about all it takes to sweep your elderly neighbor’s steps, carry in her trash cans, or pick her newspaper up off of the street. That’s about all it takes to straighten up the stacks of paper in the copier room, throw away the coffee cups littering the break room, or share a smile with a colleague.

         

So the next time you are in a public restroom, look around for a charming older lady wiping the sink. That might be my mother-in-law. Then look into the mirror. Do you see an extremely good-looking person helping her out? That might be you. Thanks! 

                   

One Good Friend

One Good Friend

When she was in sixth grade, my friend Barbara joined a new crowd. She had been my “best-next-door-friend” and we had spent years climbing trees, riding bikes and sharing books. But when she entered junior high and moved into preteen-hood, I remained a part of her childhood. She moved on. 

Even though we lived next door to each other, we attended different schools. During the week, Barbara spent time with her new friends. She was a great athlete and spent hours practicing with this team or that and rode home on the late bus. I caught up with her on weekends when we still sprawled in her bedroom reading together or listening to music. But eventually, her new friends invaded the weekend too and I got left behind more and more.

One weekend, one of Barbara’s new friends, Eva, was having a sleep-over.  Sleep-overs were the Nirvana of sixth grade. Barbara regaled me with the plans her gang had made—prank phone calls, popcorn, pizza, horror movies and Twister. 

I went home and cried.  I couldn’t explain to my mother what the fuss was about.  Strangely enough, in the middle of my flood of tears, the phone rang.

“Hi Lisa.  It’s Eva.  Want to come to my sleep-over?” I couldn’t believe it!  Eva lived in the neighborhood but she was Barbara’s friend. I said yes as tears still dripped down my cheeks. I called Barbara and we squealed about the fun we would have.  I hung up and again burst into tears – this time tears of happiness.    

That Friday night, I arrived at Eva’s with my brother’s sleeping bag and a suitcase full of “just in case” clothing. There were five other girls from the junior high and the party was a blast!  We spread out our sleeping bags in Eva’s basement, and then invaded the kitchen for pizza and ice cream. We dialed random numbers and asked “Is your refrigerator running? Yes? Then you’d better catch it!” We watched scary movies with our blankets up over our heads. We danced until we dropped and Eva’s mother yelled down the stairs, “All right, you girls settle down now.”

After we crawled into our sleeping bags, Barbara and her friends starting gossiping about junior high issues. Since I was the only outsider there, I lay quietly with my eyes closed listening.  As I was drifting off, I heard my name mentioned.

“Why’d you want me to invite her anyway?” Eva asked. “She’s weird and she talks funny.” My eyes burned with tears. During the party, some of the girls had mimicked me, but I had thought it all part of the fun. A few bumps and shoves during the games seemed harmless at the time. I noticed that my sleeping bag had been maneuvered into the corner too. Giggles punctuated Eva’s remark.  I waited for Barbara’s reply.

Barbara answered, “I don’t care. She’s my friend.

Years and years have passed and I can still feel how my heart stopped when Barbara uttered those words. It didn’t matter that the other girls thought I was weird. It didn’t matter that I talked funny. Barbara had not abandoned me. She was one good friend.

When I was teaching and a little one with tearful eyes wondered why her friends had forsaken her, I’d remember Barbara. 

I'd look into those brimming eyes and ask, 

“Do you have one good friend?" That’s all you really need.”

One good friend. 

Someone you’ll never forget. 

Someone who will never forget you. 

Consumer Confusion

Consumer Confusion

A mother called into a financial advice radio program with the following comment: “My son just left for his freshman year at college. All his worldly effects fit into one little car.  I didn’t know whether to console him or congratulate him.” She feared that his peers might frown on someone who has so few possessions. Then again, she was proud of her son because he didn’t need all the trappings society demands.

We live in a consumer-driven society. We have so many products and so many stores to sell them that the economy now depends on our out-of-control spending. Many people are deeply in debt. Advertisers entice buyers to spend more than they should and credit card companies pave the way to financial ruin. We end up with a lot of stuff and anxiety.

Young people develop the acquiring habit as toddlers. One young mother of a toddler bragged, “She won’t wear anything but name brands!” Little kids don’t have one doll or truck -- they have twenty. Teens have clothes bursting from closets and drawers. Young adults drive U-Haul trucks to college.

Isn’t it crazy that we have to rent units for our extra stuff? Why do we need more, more, more? When will we have enough?

The Amish have a saying, “A happy memory never wears out.” Stuff wears out. Anything you buy for children can be lost, broken, or forgotten. But happy memories shared with families last forever.

Think back to your childhood. What wonderful memories do you have? Was it the time your dad put up a tent in the backyard so you could all sleep out? Was it when your whole family got up before dawn to watch a meteor shower? How about the time you got up at five a.m. to go fishing with your brother? Or the time you and your sisters made ice cream on a hot summer’s afternoon? How you turned that handle! It took a while and a lot of ice but it was the best ice cream you ever had.

What wonderful memories do you have now? Your baby’s first smile. Her first day of preschool. His first soccer game. The face he made when he took a big bite of a lemon slice. The way she chased bubbles on the lawn. The way her eyes opened wide when she caught her first firefly. The way he snuggled up close.

That kid who could fit all of his stuff into one car probably took a lot of memories to college with him. He will probably make more at school. His car will rust. His possessions will be discarded. His memories will never fade.

Making memories is free. You don’t have to save up for months. You don’t need a credit card. You just have to laugh and love and enjoy your family and friends. Go out and make some memories now. Start loading that car for the day they leave the nest. Memories don’t cost a cent, but they are priceless.