The Fifth of July

Many years ago after our annual family 4th of July picnic and after-dark fireworks, I spent the night with my Uncle Dick, his dad, and his grandma. His dad was my Grandpa Dobson, and his grandma was my Great- Grandma Dobson. As I recall I was about 7 at the time, and Dick was 12. Being older, smarter, and more sophisticated than I, he came up with the ideas for our entertainment. To that end he had saved a few firecrackers from the night before. They were the type that were in a strip--each one-inch fire-cracker attached to the next with paper. We considered them harmless. I'm sure they were intended to be pulled apart and lighted one at a time, but everyone knows you get a bigger bang if you leave 2 or 3 together. If you are 12 and fearless, you might even light the whole strip at once.

Well, Dick's plan for this July 5 was to climb to the second floor of the large square farm house, go out onto the upper porch, attach a fire cracker (or a small strip of fire crackers) to a fish hook attached to a fishing line and pole. Step 2 was to light the fire cracker(s) and then, using the fishing pole, reel out the lighted weapon over the bannister down to scare Rex, the dog, napping on the stoop below.
Genius! Dick was the master trickster, and I was his assistant.

We gathered the necessary equipment and crept through the dim upstairs bedroom onto the seldom-used porch. The bannister was fairly high, and so to get a glimpse of the sleeping Rex, I had to stand with my bare feet on a holey, musty, green army blanket which was crumpled in the corner. We peered over the edge and took a look at Rex. We giggled at the prospect of scaring the living daylights out of him.

I don't know if you realize this or not, but the fuse on those little fire crackers is not long, and Dick's first few attempts at the plan resulted in premature explosions. Each time a blast went off, I imagined that my legs were being burned or pierced. I shrieked for him to stop. He took one look at my legs and yelled, "Yellow jackets!" At that, we tore through the door, raced through the upstairs, and thundered screaming down the stairs. We crashed through the door at the bottom of the stairs in the following order: Dick, me, and the bees.

The sound effects were largely lost on Grandma Dobson, who was essentially deaf, sitting in the kitchen with her crochet hook and thread. She must have felt the vibrations from our wild stampede down the stairs though because she didn't seem surprised. But she was mad, even madder than the bees. Being a near invalid, she moved very slowly and painstakingly and spent most of her days sitting in a chair. However, she was quite well enough to scold Dick roundly and remind him that he should KNOW better!

This lecture didn't rescue us as we were still under attack from the ill-tempered bees which we had disturbed from their home in the army blanket. Though it takes me a long time to stop the hysterics after such an experience, and Grandma Dobson was no help, Dick and I somehow managed to get outside to the back step where we were able to defeat some of the enemy and drive off the rest, catch our breath, and doctor our wounds.

Rex, meanwhile, dozed contentedly--the living daylights still safely within him.

Little Pitchers Have Big Ears

Have you ever heard the expression "little pitchers have big ears"? I was reminded of it recently and looked up some information about it which I have copied and pasted here.

 http://word-ancestry.livejournal.com/50599.html

 little pitchers have big ears,
-This English expression refers to little children overhearing and understanding more conversations than their parents might think. The allusion is to the ear-like handles often found on smaller pitchers. This phrase appears to be rather old, dating at least back to early 16th century England but likely even earlier. One of the first written records we have of it is found in the fifth chapter of part two of John Heywood's Proverbes (1546 C.E.): "Auoyd your children: smal pitchers haue wyde eares." We also see it used in Shakespeare's Richard III about half a century later.


I was reminded of this proverb recently in the toddler nursery. Marjorie came in for Sunday school and explained to me that Evelyn, her two-year-old daughter, was not wearing pull-ups but underwear and would I please take her to the potty sometime during the hour. And so I asked Evelyn, and I took her to the bathroom. When Sunday school was over, I explained the situation to the children's church worker Dorothy. After church I was in the hallway outside the nursery, and I overheard Marjorie and Dorothy discussing how the potty scene went. For your information, there were no accidents in Sunday school or church.

That evening I was again in the toddler nursery. I had only two children to watch: Evelyn and a little three-year-old boy named Lawrence. The three of us were sitting at the low toddler table concentrating on play doh creations when Lawrence asked, "Ebewyn, are you weering puw-ups or unda-weer?" Evelyn, who doesn't talk much, calmly answered "unda-weer."

I smiled at the sweet innocence of this exchange, but I thought later that not one of us was really aware that all the children heard multiple conversations about the status of Evelyn's potty training. It was a reminder to me that even very small children have little brain recorders, continually recording all the conversations going on around them. Furthermore, they are good multi-taskers:  playing, chattering, and recording all at once. And don't forget that if they can record it, they can play it back!

Awfulize and Catastrophize

She was standing in the pew near the back of the auditorium with a tense air about her, like a cat ready to pounce. She had deep creases between her eyes and downward-turning lines around her mouth.  I knew I would speak to her. I also knew I wouldn't ask her how she was doing, but she would tell me anyway. "My boss cut my hours again. Down to 10 hours a week, and I can't live on 10 hours a week. And Deborah won't call me; I haven't seen my grandsons in a year. For all she knows, I'm dead and gone."

"Maybe you should call her?" I ventured.

"Why should I call her? She doesn't want to hear from me. I've tried. She doesn't take my calls."

"Oh."

"I'll be homeless by the end of the month. No money to pay the lot rent." She narrowed her eyes and leaned slightly toward me.

Just then Sam Evans breezed by and said, "You're awfulizing, Doris. Stop awfulizing!"

Awfulizing? What a great word. It was the first time I had heard it, but I knew exactly what it meant. Awfulize and its ominous cousin, catastrophize--what great made-up words.  In fact, I have practiced these myself. These verbs have not made it into the Oxford English Dictionary, but I looked them up on urbandictionary.com, and they indeed exist in popular culture and, I assume, in common experience.

Many years ago I suffered a panic attack, the only one I've ever had, and I can tell you I don't want another. It was on a Saturday afternoon, and I hadn't been well. My husband took to children to play tennis. I lay on the bed and thought, "What if they have an accident? They will have an accident! No. I'll think about something else. Why can't I think about anything else?"

My heart began to pound, and I could barely breathe. I didn't want to stay in bed, but I was afraid to get up.

"They're not going to die, but I'm going crazy. What if I go crazy? My children will have to tell their friends their mother is in an insane asylum."

I call this extreme awfulizing or in this case catastrophizing. Though I don't regularly experience panic attacks, thank goodness, I'm afraid I do practice awfulizing far more than I should. One negative thought is followed by a worse one. Why do I do this? Why do we do this? Why do we torture ourselves like this? I believe it is a result of not trusting God. And how do we come to trust God? Faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God. OK, so I hear the Word of God, but am I listening?

The following words from our heavenly Father are beautifully translated in the King James Version, and I can't improve on them by commenting, and so I must just listen.

Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they? Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature? And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith? Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
--Matthew 6:25-34