The Towels full of Holes from which We Cannot Part

19 Jun 2015 5 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Uncategorized Tags: , , ,

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How many of you have sacred towels, shirts, pants, robes, and other items that you cannot part with no matter how many holes, and rips become it? I have photographed ours and included one at the top and one at the bottom of this post. The top towel photographed has been gently used for over fifty years. As you can see it is embroidered and appliqued with red embroidery and white applique and full of holes, which is a testament to its holiness.

Mr. C’s hand towel as you can view if you scroll to the end has spent a lifetime serving its master. He has had this towel for oh so many years, he has lost count. We want you to know that we have no intention of turning in our towels for the lure of beautiful fluffy ones in arrays of stunning colors or elegantly soft and pleasing Egyptian cottons. Allow me to tell you how it came about that we have holy towels that have been blessed through service.

When I was a teenager my grandmother took me to visit her friend Flora Wolfe. We trudged up and down the steep inclines in the city of San Francisco. Up one hill and down the next and so on until we reached Flora’s house. My grandmother was always out in first place with me huffing and puffing, trailing her giant steps.

I was thrilled to meet Flora, my grandmother’s buddy, and saw that she was working on a dishtowel, adding its decoration. I showed such interest, that she then and there, taught me to basically embroider and gave me two of her gorgeous dishtowels for my “hope chest.” I did not have a hope chest, but I had hope, and saved them in a special place.

Now you know from whence came my holy dishtowel. Mr. C’s holy hand towel came from Uncle Leslie who was the Cannon Towel distributer for the west coast. He and Aunt Jean gave us towels in colors requested, honoring our marriage fifty-four years ago. As you see, we still wash and use them.

HOLY, is that the right way to spell it? Wholly would absolutely be wrong. It means completely, exclusively, not full of holes. Holy on the other hand means righteous, sanctified, and blessed. Tell me why people say Holy shit! Is that then blessed poop? Sorry, but then when they say Holy Toledo, is that then a city full of holes. I have recently heard Holy Moley, which I am certain means Holy nothing or again Holy shit, toned down for parents or other delicates in the group.

I went through this diatribe because I cannot use the words holy towels, I must instead say a towel full of holes. No matter, either way the story can be told. What I would like to know is if you have a towel, or any item full of holes, rips and tears that you cannot get rid of? Heaven forbid it is not there when you look for it. It is just broken in after all the years of use. It is so comfortable, so soft to touch, so endearing. We all have special items we cannot part with, and by the way, the next time you have the urge to take away a little child’s comfort cloth, shame on you. You have one, so what’s the biggie if the toddler has one?

I know when guests come over and they observe us with our holy, oops, towels full of holes, they will not judge us. Hopefully they will have read about Flora Wolfe and the sentiments bewitching our towels full of holes. From now on, shall we all display our towels with pride of service? Send me photos of your holy towels full of holes and I will display them on this site, minus your names. Thanking you in advance.

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“THE CORN IS AS HIGH AS AN ELEPHANT’S EYE”

10 Jun 2015 6 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Reflections

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At State Street Elementary School, fifty and more years ago, we had a principal’s whose name is Mr. Wells. He used to sing a song titled, “Oh What a Beautiful Morning.” I always thought it was called: The corn is as high as an elephant’s eye, but it is not.

It sings about a bright golden haze on the meadow, and oh what a beautiful morning, day, feeling and everything is going my way.

It sings about the cattle standing like statues, they don’t turn their heads as they see me ride by, but a little brown mav’rick is winking her eye.

It sings that the sounds of the earth are like music, the breeze is so busy it doesn’t miss a tree and an ole weeping willow is laughing at me.

Then it ends with: Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day, I’ve got a beautiful feeling; everything’s going my way.

It as you read, only says one line with: The corn is as high as an elephant’s eye. Only once, and to me it is the whole of the song as I remembered it. On further study, I see that the message is not about corn, not about being as high as an elephant’s eye, but a positive and beautiful message about waking up in the morning to a beautiful day, having a beautiful feeling that everything’s going your way.

I am glad to have re-visited this childhood song sung at every assembly during my elementary school days by Mr. Wells.

Now, Mr. Wells was not just a singing principal, he was a strong disciplinarian. A little group of hoodlums at the school harassed all who dared to step into their territory. Mr. Wells seemed to approve of them. I want you to remember as you read; this is elementary school grade 5. As I look back, it seems young to have had such a difficulty. Some people have asked, did you tell your parents? No I did not. I did not want them to think badly of me, as the hoods made me feel about myself.

I dared myself to do lots of things, and one of them was to take my chances with the hoodlums. One of them was so cute; I couldn’t catch my breath as I walked by him. Barely breathing at the sight of the cute hood, one beautiful morning when the corn was as high as an elephant’s eye, I stepped into “Hoodlumville Territory.” They jumped on me and pinched my breasts, spit on my face, kicked my knees and as I scrambled away on all fours, I yelled: ” You Son of a Gun.”

The next morning, I found myself in Mr. Wells’ office with the Hoodlum Gang. Mr. Wells asked me if I cussed at these boys.

I stated, “No.” He said did you say,” You Son of a gun?”

I stated, “Yes.” He asked the Hoods to leave his office and as they did, he took off his belt and slapped my upper body three times. As I turned to leave the office, I coughed out words through my tears, ” I did not know guns had sons.”

It was not such a beautiful morning, it was not such a beautiful day, I didn’t have a beautiful feeling, and everything was not going my way. But, the corn was as high as an elephant’s eye and it looked like it was climbing up to the sky!

Rest In Peace, Mr. Wells.

“THE CORN IS AS HIGH AS AN ELEPHANT’S EYE”

10 Jun 2015 2 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Uncategorized

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At State Street Elementary School, fifty or more years ago, we had a principal’s whose name is Mr. Wells. He used to sing a song titled, “Oh What a Beautiful Morning.” I always thought it was called: The corn is as high as an elephant’s eye, but it is not.

It sings about a bright golden haze on the meadow, and oh what a beautiful morning, day, feeling and everything is going my way.

It sings about the cattle standing like statues, they don’t turn their heads as they see me ride by, but a little brown mav’rick is winking her eye.

It sings that the sounds of the earth are like music, the breeze is so busy it doesn’t miss a tree and an ole weeping willow is laughing at me.

Then it ends with: Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day, I’ve got a beautiful feeling; everything’s going my way.

It as you read, only says one line with: The corn is as high as an elephant’s eye. Only once, and to me it is the whole of the song as I remembered it. On further study, I see that the message is not about corn, not about being as high as an elephant’s eye, but a positive and beautiful message about waking up in the morning to a beautiful day, having a beautiful feeling that everything’s going your way.

I am glad to have re-visited this childhood song sung at every assembly during my elementary school days by Mr. Wells.

Now, Mr. Wells was not just a singing principal, he was a strong disciplinarian. A little group of hoodlums at the school harassed all who dared to step into their territory. Mr. Wells seemed to approve of them. I want you to remember as you read; this is elementary school grade 5. As I look back, it seems young to have had such a difficulty. Some people have asked, did you tell your parents? No I did not. I did not want them to think badly of me, as the hoods made me feel about myself.

I dared myself to do lots of things, and one of them was to take my chances with the hoodlums. One of them was so cute; I couldn’t catch my breath as I walked by him. Barely breathing at the sight of the cute hood, one beautiful morning when the corn was as high as an elephant’s eye, I stepped into “Hoodlumville Territory.” They jumped on me and pinched my breasts, spit on my face, kicked my knees and as I scrambled away on all fours, I yelled: ” You Son of a Gun.”

The next morning, I found myself in Mr. Wells’ office with the Hoodlum Gang. Mr. Wells asked me if I cussed at these boys.

I stated, “No.” He said did you say,” You Son of a gun?”

I stated, “Yes.” He asked the Hoods to leave his office and as they did, he took off his belt and slapped my upper body three times. As I turned to leave the office, I coughed out words through my tears, ” I did not know guns had sons.”

It was not such a beautiful morning, it was not such a beautiful day, I didn’t have a beautiful feeling, and everything was not going my way. But, the corn was as high as an elephant’s eye and it looked like it was climbing up to the sky!

Rest In Peace, Mr. Wells.

THE PRE-DEPARTURE LOUNGE!

02 Jun 2015 7 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Reflections Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

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What is the Pre-Departure Lounge? For now, I will liken it to the lounge at the airport where you are sent to wait for your flight. In the case of this story, I will liken it to the ancient souls waiting in semi darkness all day long in holding pens across the planet. They are sent to these places to await the Lord’s call to begin the trek to St. Peter’s gates for admittance.

It is a dreamlike state where you wait and identify that you are in a state of waiting, for the next level of departure. Where does it take place? You wait in your mind of course. Why are you in this state? You want to make some last minute decisions? Not really, you have done all of that in black and white, but this is a place to wait in semi-comfort and analyze all that you are, have been, and are to become.

You sit and wait. No one comes to tell you anything. No one comes to give you the kindness of a wink, a pat, a kindly touch; nothing comes your way but occasionally a small swift breeze circles around to assure you and your blank stare that you are still waiting. Your stare is not blank, don’t they know? You are still there. You are telling them, but they act as if they do not hear. You have been many things to many people in your lifetime. You have created wonders on God’s green and blue earth. You have suffered humanities elations and ills. You really want someone to look into your fading eyes and say hello. How are you today? That would be enough. That would give you confidence to hope for the next passage. You were on the bestseller list with Reader’s Views for 10 days with your silly little New Age Novel. You re-wrote an enchanted gifted program. You had no idea you were doing it by living it, but they give you the credit. No one knows anything about you in this dank hallway as you sit head dropped nearly to your knees and drool on your thighs. Where are you anyway? Again, remember, my friend Xavier said it is the Pre Departure Lounge. He said it is where you sit and wait. Are you taking a delightful flight over the pond to see friends you have made over the years? Not at all, you wait here for the final departure of your living, breathing, thinking, and physical days on this planet. They are all gone, and if not gone, still considered gone. That is enough whining. You’ll go if you were good or if you were bad. Nothing you can do, but imagine yourself elsewhere.

Will you have an after life, you cannot say. No one who has promised to come back and let you know how it is over there, have come. You wait and are left wondering. You have had dreams of what a heavenly place will be and how it will feel. You hope to meet others, especially hoping to meet those who have preceded you.

You hear laughter. It reminds of you of the raucous family parties with children and grandchildren running, hopping, skipping, and jumping. You imagine you hear them squealing and your mind is seeing smiles forever on their faces. They are lodged deeply in the recesses of your memory mind which is still left for you to ponder, or is it? You try and remember the name of the park where four generations of your stock met, exchanged wishes, told lies, shared visions and aspirations, then tarried long after the sun went to the other side of the earth. When it was all said and done, the memory in bits and pieces remain, but where are they now? They could be on the moon for all you know, but what you do know is that here you sit in the Pre-departure lounge saving seats for them.

Who says you Can’t Mix Apples and Oranges?

22 May 2015 2 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Reflections

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Your friend is sweetly angry. You are not behaving the way she wants you to behave. You have not been your usual attentive self and you are becoming self-centered.

Oh dear, what shall I do?

Really? You are asking what shall you do? Be your contented self. Are you all the things she says? Hell no you are not. Perhaps in her minds eye, you are not her idol anymore. It does not happen the way it used to happen. You have taken several steps up on the ladder of serenity and do not need all of the psychodrama so many are capable of spewing. So, as you move up, someone will tug at you and hope to take you down to their level once again. If they can rise, give them all the details on how you have moved and if it does not accomplish what you hope, close your eyes, thank God for your enlightenment, and move along on your appointed rounds.

You will meet many who are working to expand and enter new ways and means. Who says, “You can’t mix apples and oranges.” Why not? I mix them in my fruit bowl always. Oh perhaps because they are so different and rarely do you eat them together. I will leave you now for a lunch break where I will prepare apples and oranges together. Have a cup of coffee. I’ll be back.

I’m BACK. Apples and oranges are delicious together and even attain ambrosia status if you mix in a tablespoon of vanilla yogurt and a teaspoon of honey. It is lip-smacking good as a main dish or a stand-alone. So why have you and I believed all of these years because someone is quoted that all they have to say is true? Can you not look, see, and taste? Make up your own mind? I hope so, and from now on we will be stronger. In fact here is one for you. How about putting potatoes and tomatoes together. Yuck right? Wrong. So, to you I ask, who said some things you think, either you rethink them, say them as your truth, or I must ignore them.

When all is said and done and before you go, the real truth about apples and oranges is that you need to separate them to extend their shelf life. Apples and oranges stored together will omit a gas that will break them down faster. So, as a matter of perspectives, it is right and wrong. I assume right for some who wish to breakdown sooner and wrong for those who wish to remain crisp and fresh as long as possible. I’ll take my apples and oranges together, and eat them sooner before the breakdown.

An Educated Heart

12 May 2015 9 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Reflections

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What is an educated heart? I thought perhaps the article I presumed I am to write would naturally say write about the educated mind. Talking and writing about the mind is an easy task especially if you put educated in front of it. Soon you will bear witness, this is not the case, but I will say this much, your educated mind is what you know, use to create, live, say, and perhaps use on the basis of producing data of some sort or another, perhaps the use of “intellectual tools.

Now, the educated heart is a hidden gem that I notice more of us than a few own. The person that possesses an educated heart is a joy to know and they shed light wherever they go. They know when to explain an action. They know when to call. They know not to melt down and spew accusations; they know how to clear a path so you pass unscathed. The educated heart is never trying to hurry you through; they let you take your time. They explain, describe, and enlighten you along the way. They offer you a full, uncomplicated friendship with a free spirit. They ask for nothing in return except for your understanding and your alliance. An educated heart gives mutuality, neutrality, hope, charity and clarity.

Throughout my life people have silently, yet purposefully modeled an educated heart. I was watching and gathering. Many of them are gone beyond the great boundaries, but I have copied them and know how to model back.

I see you out there doing the same and recognizing the educated heart in many others. I see you sharing harmony and affection, and modeling it as well. Exceptional, admirable, worthy!

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“HEARTS AND FLOWERS FADE AWAY WHEN THE BILLS COME TO PAY”

04 May 2015 2 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Reflections Tags: ,

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When I was in high school, I lent a boyfriend two hundred dollars. Do you think I ever saw him again? No I did not. He was not from my hometown, just visiting his aunt and uncle. Off he went into the wild blue yonder with my heart and money in his hands. I had no idea someone could be so heartless and take your money and run. Certainly, you all are laughing by now, but you shouldn’t be, because now, I know there are so very many more horrors of human heartless, callousness and I realize my two hundred dollars is a childhood drama. I want you to know that this little early performance led me on a path to gratitude for the information given early in life at a cut-rate price.

I used to keep my money in the bottom of my underwear drawer along with other valuables. My mother, bless her heart, wrote a poem and left it in the bottom of my underwear drawer for me to eventually find. It said, “Hearts and flowers fade away when the bills come to pay.” How right she is to this day.

Allow me to add to my mother’s poetry:

“Hearts and flowers fade away when the bills come to pay.”

When it is time for breakfast, lunch, and dinner to be fixed a new and appetizing way.

When children join the fray and the laundry climbs to the sky

It is not time to run away and say goodbye

It’s time to get the clothes washed and dried

Whose crying, nobody has died.

Life insurance, car insurance, house insurance, medical insurance.

A test for your pocketbook, and your mental endurance in order to gain peace of mind and assurance.

Your family talks back right at you, everyone not necessarily taking turns

You’ve worked all day to make everyone happy, especially the money you earned.

The house needs a good pick up, a put away and a cleaning.

Look everyone complaining about his or her injuries, bodies leaning; can’t do any pick up or cleaning?

It seems like the days are filled with competition and playing the same rendition of Hearts and flowers fade away when the bills come to pay…

Yet today we are all having nice encounters. Tonight out to dinner, the real winner.

So when hearts and flowers fade away, pay the bills and live another day.

A POEM TO THE SOULS WHO CAME TO INHABIT THE LAND

23 Apr 2015 6 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Uncategorized

Photo by: Joy Lerner on her visit to San Migeuel Allende

Photo: Guanajuato, Mexico, by Joy Lerner

A long time ago, part of me crawled up from the sea to inhabit the land.

Out came the color and radiance of that which was here to command.

Surrounded by beauty it came into full view in the presence of loving hearts on a journey.

This land and its inhabitants have gathered every color available and made their environment scream with delight in the flurry.

The new inhabitants gather together on the date of their birth and worship the light.

Claiming their new life after escaping into lands, attracting and enchanting their beautiful selves, without diminishing any of their personal grace and rights.

Flowers bloom that we could not even imagine and perhaps is part of nature’s blessing.

Monuments put naturally into the landscape attesting to honor, and respect their predecessors in their direction, towards personal grace, righteousness, and the harmony of natural progressing.

Wildly falling water seems endless in creating life and preserving the ecosystem far beyond their ancient gazes and input of the inhabitant guests.

All species foreign and native to the land follow the colors and the patterns. It is stamped into the conscious light on each survivor’s crest.

The history of the land has been preserved to honor the past, care for the present and to secure the knowledge gained for the future.

People of this land are vibrant, intelligent, and beautiful creators of life. The environment is now and forever. For those who come, the numbers will be more, not fewer.

Reflections abound, they astound, just look around, see how profound.

Let us look around, spellbound back to 5,000B.C.

I would surely like to know, how it would be to talk with these inhabitants of not so long ago.

What would they say? What would we say? How would we communicate?

I think, I would do a little dance and sing off tune. They would smile, chuckle, shake their heads and appreciate.

I would bow and scrape at their majesty and they may clap and sing to celebrate.

Too Old To Cut The Mustard: Really?

16 Apr 2015 8 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Life Events, Reflections, Trials and Tribulations

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Medicare’s formulary is so restrictive. I even had to look up the word formulary to be certain I heard the pharmacist correctly. It is, an official list giving details of medicines that may not be prescribed to me if I am a person over the age of sixty-five, no matter the need. The age is the calculated risk. I may fall. That is all the doctors can say to defend themselves. This means to me that there is a list that is prescribed for me personally, without even seeing me, without studying my health needs, and the only consideration is that I am over 65. Also, you should know that I am grouped into a category with other men and women 65 and older that does not take into consideration my medical history, and my mental ability to use drugs according to the directions, and my ability to medicate myself.

All of the drugs that I have used most of my adult life to keep me upright have been taken away because perhaps I will fall. Damn right, if I cannot sustain myself, and you take away my sustaining recipe, I will fall. The only drug you have not banned for me is Levothyroxine, but you have decided to lower the dosage so much that I have to crawl on all fours to get up my stairs. How do I know this is your fault? I know because on my own, I raised the dose to my normal dosage for the past 25 years and 6 weeks later I am my old self in the energy category? Still I am considered a geriatric patient with no mind at all.

If I have repeated muscle spasms in my back, I will end up with a back attack if not careful. It happened and I spent 10 days in the hospital. I swore that would never happen again and it has not, due to my due diligence. I had muscle spasm pills and I made sure, with the assistance of these above stated pills, I never got in the back attack mode. The formulary has taken those pills away. I got them from an angel and have maintained good back heath so far and so good. Skirting the Medicare formulary is going to be life long as I see it.

If I had too much anxiety I would take 1/2 of a 5mg Valium and be on my way. No more. I get migraines less often now that I am older, but still they come. You took away my migraine meds because of its rebound effect and may cause dizziness. I counted on those pills to take away the horror and gloom of repeated headaches. I inherited them from my blessed grandmother D. Tell me why it was okay for the first 3/4ths of my life to get rebounds and dizziness and all of a sudden it is not. It is sickening to hear my doctor say that I cannot have my pills or he will get fined. Fined? What does that mean? Is that something like Big Brother is watching you? Sounds like a sham. Do I really want to give up my sacred pills and my sanctified life so you won’t get fined, Doc?

I don’t even need to think about it. Now that I really need my sleep, you took away the teeniest, tiniest pill on earth, Lorazepam. It is a mild anxiety drug with just enough power to put you to sleep. I have been without it for three scary nights. Did that little pill really take away the nightmares and the unearthing of the past foolishness and fears? I haven’t been this tormented in years. I terrify myself with telling myself things when in the past I have always be peacefully asleep. I feel burglarized and it is an inside job. I should have my continued opportunity at a good nights sleep, so, please, let me sleep. Give me back just one little teeny tiny pill. It seems that Medicare is saying under the table of course, you are “Too old to cut the mustard,” and so we will slowly and methodically cut you out of your heretofore life.

The last pill I had in my arsenal was a pain pill like everyone I know has stashed. Right? I think I can get an anti-inflammatory, but Advil is the same and no need to get my doctor fined over inflammations that mount as you hit the 65-year mark. I do not wish to be an advertisement for Advil and I think it has side effects, but what is an old lady on a restricted formulary to do?

Let me assure you that if I took one of each of the pills I mentioned everyday and perhaps together, that would be irresponsible and I might get dizzy, but I guarantee, that you as a person, should be prescribed on your need, your past judgments, and not a formulary developed by youngsters.

P.S. I just saw a movie that mirrored life, but set in the late 1800’s. Many of the characters were in their early 60’s. The actors got it right. They were hunched over, limping, coughing, had facial rashes, and died horrible painful deaths. I realized that we are living in a day and age of modern medicine, but when our society has a 65th birthday, they can’t enjoy its benefits because of something called Medicare and some words like restricted formularies.

Dear God, be kind.

Someone throw me some pills under the formulary fence and those that have, share!

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HERE TODAY AND GONE TOMORROW

04 Apr 2015 4 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Reflections

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I just want to die in my sleep, not midstream, but in the stream, close to where it melds into the sea. That will be just perfect for me. I know, I know, we cannot choose. Still, I want to be in the stream and in my sleep. Okay? Just for the record.

This afternoon I opened the front door and beheld the sight of blooming day lilies. They are magnificent and straining, as you can see from the photo, to attain the most outstretched fully and wholly into the environment they can be. Why stretch so hard, work so completely, so totally and abundantly? It is their only day on earth and the only time they have to show their worth. So be it. “Here today and gone tomorrow.”

Now, tell me, what does here today and gone tomorrow, mean to you? Perhaps, it is describing an opportunity that does not last. Certainly it means lacking permanence, fleeting. But referring to humanity and alluding to the briefness of the human life span, this phrase was first recorded in John Calvin’s: Life and Conversion of a Christian Man (1549) “This proverb that man is here today and gone tomorrow.”

Sometimes I feel myself stretching, not as fully as earlier in life, but still stretching to reach a goal. Have you watched the flowers come and go? They are buds, open slowly, begin the stretch, out for the full stretch of life, then, begin to soften the stretch until it is gone and the petals fall off. What have you then? You must remember, if you pick flowers to gladden and create more elegance in you home, you must keep them in water, trim the stems at an angle, keep away from direct heat and sunlight, but in any case, you have the final, out of flower time. When you are out of time, hopefully we will meet somewhere in the stream.

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