Relationships are like streams in the desert, forging friendships of love and respect, bridging cultural, religious, and ethnic differences. My life sings my song of relationships as I pass through this world, the love and acceptance I give to and receive from others.
Relationships are fluid and ever changing. Like the Big Ditch after a heavy rainfall, they can be running full force, carrying a lot of debris downstream. A few days later, the gentle, clean, running brook is back. In a relationship, this high tide of water may be words spoken in haste, seemingly popping out of our mouths before we know it. The gentle waters of refreshment will only return by admitting errors and seeking forgiveness and restoration. What will you gain for such effort? A lifelong friendship which will be a shelter from life’s storms and a platform for life’s triumphs is what we gain. We have very few of these relationships in our lives. My sister Chris and I have the pleasure of this type of relationship. I have learned how rare they are indeed, and treasure ours more each day.
There are streams in the desert which run underground, forming huge aquifers of refreshment. These relationships bring much pleasure when they surface but due to distance, busyness, family responsibilities, and other 21st century living realities, they don’t surface often. I have many of these relationships with people, some live nearby and others quite a distance. They are there for you in thought and prayer but not in deed. I can shift the underground rock formation and have the water spring to the surface with a simple email or phone call.
The oasis of the desert is a place of refreshment. Painting a picture of cool refreshment and escape from the heat, I liken relationships of kindred hearts that cross paths, usually unexpectedly and typically for one time only, such as your fellow traveler on the 747. An hour flight is too short when we encounter a person cut from the same cloth as ourselves yet we usually hesitate to exchange contact information. It’s a moment in time to treasure but is typically fluttering by as a butterfly in a bed of clover. Serendipity.
The rain in the desert brings seemingly immediate results, as suddenly the land is ablaze with yellow and orange flowers. The timid scrub oaks leaf out and the grass greens up as the drops fall on the soil. These relationships may be seen as those ones where we connect at first meeting and within a week, we feel as if we have known them forever. …and we plan to know them always!
I think about the foundation of relationships that are healthy and cherished and the fundamental blocks they are built on. Trust would be important to me. Interested in me and things that are important to me would be a requisite. We would have to have in common the meaningful things of life. A shared feeling of mutual enhancement of one another’s lives. Relationships take t-i-m-e
T time
I interested
M Meaningful
E Enhancement
The greatest gift you can give to anyone is time.
Mimi
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
My Diving Coach
Oops! Ouchy! That hurt! I didn’t know when I was going to be diving off the board but I wasn’t going to be tagged a quitter for not trying.
Swimming most everyday of my childhood, from about 9 to 12 years of age, wasn’t cheap. The cost of the pool wasn’t bad, but it did eat up my allowance for the week. But what else was I to do with $2.00? There was a higher cost —chores. All chores had to be done by noon and checked for their quality of excellence. Momma had a work chart detailing what we each had to do that day to have the privilege to go swimming from 1pm until the late afternoon rain shower chased us out of the pool or 4 pm came. During storms, we hung out in the dressing room to see if the rain shower and lightning were a sprinkle or a drencher. Then the pool manager would decide if the pool would reopen or not.
As soon as we arrived, Chrissie and I would stake off our territory, by putting towels and flip flops next to the wall. Our favorite spot was right past the rope dividing the deep end from the shallow. You had to swim across and back the width of the deep end to pass the test and be allowed to swim in the deep end and dive off the board—our ultimate goal. Kate, three years younger played with friends on the other side of the rope.
The lifeguard blew his whistle, indicating that rest period was over. Every hour for ten minutes the pool enjoyed a tranquil respite of children thrashing about, lap swimmers, babies clutching on to their mothers and the constant use of the diving boards by boys doing cannonballs into its waters. Heading back to the water, Chrissie tired of trying to teach me to dive and had joined some friends in the shallow end for a beach ball volley game. Kate headed to the baby pool to see if Anna had come today. My belly had recovered durin the rest period from the belly lops so I resumed my diving practice.
It was then that a “life guard type fellow started giving me instructions.” Furst, yo gotta bend over and touch your toes. Then whiles yous bent over, walk towards the pool until yous plumb in the pool.” He was an older black man dressed in a trench coat and wearing a lifeguard hat. I wasn’t sure if I should listen to what he said, much less talk to him, but I did.
“Really?” I had never heard of such a thing but it made sense to me as he went on to explain that when you dive your arms and head go in the water before your stomach and legs. Feeling very silly, I did this Johnny maneuver several times.
“Next time you go into the water, keep your arms stretched out and go in first with your hands. Keep your arms next to your ears. Bend over and kick your legs up.”
Following Johnny‘s instructions to the letter, I plunged into the pool. I knew it was a dive but then Johnny said, “Does your belly hurt?” I vehemently shook my head no. It was then that I realized that I had not belly flopped. Johnny told me to kick my leg higher and to just keep practicing.
Johnny continued to critique my dives through the summer.
By the end of the season, I was diving off the board.Upon his passing, Johnny Banks was honored by the city. At least once during the summer time I visit my old teacher on his bench, thanking him for teaching me the value of diligence.
Mimi D
Swimming most everyday of my childhood, from about 9 to 12 years of age, wasn’t cheap. The cost of the pool wasn’t bad, but it did eat up my allowance for the week. But what else was I to do with $2.00? There was a higher cost —chores. All chores had to be done by noon and checked for their quality of excellence. Momma had a work chart detailing what we each had to do that day to have the privilege to go swimming from 1pm until the late afternoon rain shower chased us out of the pool or 4 pm came. During storms, we hung out in the dressing room to see if the rain shower and lightning were a sprinkle or a drencher. Then the pool manager would decide if the pool would reopen or not.
As soon as we arrived, Chrissie and I would stake off our territory, by putting towels and flip flops next to the wall. Our favorite spot was right past the rope dividing the deep end from the shallow. You had to swim across and back the width of the deep end to pass the test and be allowed to swim in the deep end and dive off the board—our ultimate goal. Kate, three years younger played with friends on the other side of the rope.
The lifeguard blew his whistle, indicating that rest period was over. Every hour for ten minutes the pool enjoyed a tranquil respite of children thrashing about, lap swimmers, babies clutching on to their mothers and the constant use of the diving boards by boys doing cannonballs into its waters. Heading back to the water, Chrissie tired of trying to teach me to dive and had joined some friends in the shallow end for a beach ball volley game. Kate headed to the baby pool to see if Anna had come today. My belly had recovered durin the rest period from the belly lops so I resumed my diving practice.
It was then that a “life guard type fellow started giving me instructions.” Furst, yo gotta bend over and touch your toes. Then whiles yous bent over, walk towards the pool until yous plumb in the pool.” He was an older black man dressed in a trench coat and wearing a lifeguard hat. I wasn’t sure if I should listen to what he said, much less talk to him, but I did.
“Really?” I had never heard of such a thing but it made sense to me as he went on to explain that when you dive your arms and head go in the water before your stomach and legs. Feeling very silly, I did this Johnny maneuver several times.
“Next time you go into the water, keep your arms stretched out and go in first with your hands. Keep your arms next to your ears. Bend over and kick your legs up.”
Following Johnny‘s instructions to the letter, I plunged into the pool. I knew it was a dive but then Johnny said, “Does your belly hurt?” I vehemently shook my head no. It was then that I realized that I had not belly flopped. Johnny told me to kick my leg higher and to just keep practicing.
Johnny continued to critique my dives through the summer.
By the end of the season, I was diving off the board.Upon his passing, Johnny Banks was honored by the city. At least once during the summer time I visit my old teacher on his bench, thanking him for teaching me the value of diligence.
Mimi D
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Lesson from the Summer of '66
My Unusual Teacher
Flop! Ouchy! That hurt! I didn’t know when I was going to be diving off the board but I wasn’t going to be tagged a quitter for not trying.
Swimming most everyday of my childhood, from about 9 to 12 years of age, wasn’t cheap. The cost of the pool wasn’t bad, but it did eat up my allowance for the week. But what else was I to do with $2.00? There was a higher cost —chores. All chores had to be done by noon and checked for their quality of excellence. Momma had a work chart detailing what we each had to do that day to have the privilege to go swimming from 1pm until the late afternoon rain shower chased us out of the pool or 4 pm came. During storms, we hung out in the dressing room to see if the rain shower and lightning were a sprinkle or a drencher. Then the pool manager would decide if the pool would reopen or not.
As soon as we arrived, Chrissie and I would stake off our territory, by putting towels and flip flops next to the wall. Our favorite spot was right past the rope dividing the deep end from the shallow. You had to swim across and back the width of the deep end to pass the test and be allowed to swim in the deep end and dive off the board—our ultimate goal. Kate, three years younger played with friends on the other side of the rope.
The lifeguard blew his whistle, indicating that rest period was over. Every hour for ten minutes the pool enjoyed a tranquil respite of children thrashing about, lap swimmers, babies clutching on to their mothers and the constant use of the diving boards by boys doing cannonballs into its waters. Heading back to the water, Chrissie tired of trying to teach me to dive and had joined some friends in the shallow end for a beach ball volley game. Kate headed to the baby pool to see if Anna had come today. My belly had recovered from the flops so I resumed my diving practice during rest period.
It was then that a “life guard type fellow started giving me instructions.” Furst, yo gotta bend over and touch your toes. Then whiles yous bent over, walk towards the pool until yous plumb in the pool.” He was an older black man dressed in a trench coat and wearing a lifeguard hat. I wasn’t sure if I should listen to what he said, much less talk to him, but I did.
“Really?” I had never heard of such a thing but it made sense to me as he went on to explain that when you dive your arms and head go in the water before your stomach and legs. Feeling very silly, I did this Johnny maneuver several times.
“Next time you go into the water, keep your arms stretched out and go in first with your hands. Keep your arms next to your ears. Bend over and kick your legs up.”
Following Johnny‘s instructions to the letter, I plunged into the pool. I knew it was a dive but then Johnny said, “Does your belly hurt?” I vehemently shook my head no. It was then that I realized that I had not belly flopped. Johnny told me to kick my leg higher and to just keep practicing.
Johnny continued to critique my dives through the summer.
By the end of the season, I was diving off the board. At least once during the summer time I visit my old teacher on his bench, thanking him for teaching me the value of diligence.
Mimi
Flop! Ouchy! That hurt! I didn’t know when I was going to be diving off the board but I wasn’t going to be tagged a quitter for not trying.
Swimming most everyday of my childhood, from about 9 to 12 years of age, wasn’t cheap. The cost of the pool wasn’t bad, but it did eat up my allowance for the week. But what else was I to do with $2.00? There was a higher cost —chores. All chores had to be done by noon and checked for their quality of excellence. Momma had a work chart detailing what we each had to do that day to have the privilege to go swimming from 1pm until the late afternoon rain shower chased us out of the pool or 4 pm came. During storms, we hung out in the dressing room to see if the rain shower and lightning were a sprinkle or a drencher. Then the pool manager would decide if the pool would reopen or not.
As soon as we arrived, Chrissie and I would stake off our territory, by putting towels and flip flops next to the wall. Our favorite spot was right past the rope dividing the deep end from the shallow. You had to swim across and back the width of the deep end to pass the test and be allowed to swim in the deep end and dive off the board—our ultimate goal. Kate, three years younger played with friends on the other side of the rope.
The lifeguard blew his whistle, indicating that rest period was over. Every hour for ten minutes the pool enjoyed a tranquil respite of children thrashing about, lap swimmers, babies clutching on to their mothers and the constant use of the diving boards by boys doing cannonballs into its waters. Heading back to the water, Chrissie tired of trying to teach me to dive and had joined some friends in the shallow end for a beach ball volley game. Kate headed to the baby pool to see if Anna had come today. My belly had recovered from the flops so I resumed my diving practice during rest period.
It was then that a “life guard type fellow started giving me instructions.” Furst, yo gotta bend over and touch your toes. Then whiles yous bent over, walk towards the pool until yous plumb in the pool.” He was an older black man dressed in a trench coat and wearing a lifeguard hat. I wasn’t sure if I should listen to what he said, much less talk to him, but I did.
“Really?” I had never heard of such a thing but it made sense to me as he went on to explain that when you dive your arms and head go in the water before your stomach and legs. Feeling very silly, I did this Johnny maneuver several times.
“Next time you go into the water, keep your arms stretched out and go in first with your hands. Keep your arms next to your ears. Bend over and kick your legs up.”
Following Johnny‘s instructions to the letter, I plunged into the pool. I knew it was a dive but then Johnny said, “Does your belly hurt?” I vehemently shook my head no. It was then that I realized that I had not belly flopped. Johnny told me to kick my leg higher and to just keep practicing.
Johnny continued to critique my dives through the summer.
By the end of the season, I was diving off the board. At least once during the summer time I visit my old teacher on his bench, thanking him for teaching me the value of diligence.
Mimi
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