Author: Sharron Burnett

I love dependable service people. I have been especially supportive of them during the pandemic. When the rest of us were staying home and working virtually, they had to be out in the thick of things, often ending up sick with Covid and bordering on financial ruin as they lost work either from being ill or not having materials with which to work. They’ve taken abuse for having long wait times which were out of their control as they waited for materials. Somehow they still managed to get jobs done by hook or crook. I applaud them for being the backbone of our society.

I called a company out to install a new fence. They did an exceptional job and did not charge us a dime more than they had contracted to do even though the cost of lumber had soared and unexpected problems required more time to complete the job. I would recommend them to anyone without reservation. I appreciated their attention to detail and their willingness to work extra hours to speed along the process. 

Our chimney was falling apart and three different contractors made appointments to inspect the damage but never showed up. We finally took the advice of neighbors and called a local fellow who responded immediately and came to inspect the damage after a long day at work. He was honest, fair and did exactly what he said he would do. I now gaze at the chimney with a sense of relief and a belief that it will be sturdy for a very long time. 

We also had a major drainage problem. The side of our house was a swamp seven days a week no matter whether or not it had rained. We got some outrageous estimates of what it would take to solve the problem until our old handyman told us about a guy named Nat whom he believed would give us outstanding work for a good price. 

Nat came to the house right away and gave us three different solutions and their respective costs. We decide to go all out and still paid less than half of what the others had estimated it would take. It became apparent right away that Nat was a perfectionist who was not going to stop his work until it was perfect. Much as with the fence, getting the landscape back into good shape took an inordinate amount of time, but Nat and his crew were undaunted. Like artistic engineers they installed drains and catch basins and regraded the land until the water drained precisely out into the street and to the gutter. They laid a beautiful walkway and even seeded the bare soil with grass. It was a pleasure to watch them toiling until everything was just right. I did not mind paying them for a job that exceeded expectations. 

We also had to replace our back door because it was rotting and water came into our kitchen every time it rained. The man who installed the new door spent hours making certain that it fit just right and that it had a perfect seal when it was closed. Watching him work was like taking a master class in carpentry.

Then there was the repair of our trailer that was damaged at the end of our trip last July. Our insurance adjustor wanted to do the bare minimum. They suggested that we drive our trailer to someone that we did not know in Katy who would quickly seal a few cracks and install a new air conditioner. Instead we stuck with a guy who had serviced our trailer many times. He was known as an honest man who did things right. We were willing to pay him more for ensuring that our home away from home would not leak. We trusted him.

Months went by while our trailer that had always been stored under a cover sat in the blistering sun. We patiently understood supply chain problems. We had already guessed that it might take a bit of time for the materials needed to repair the roof to arrive. We did not complain. We were model customers. Finally we got the call for which we had been waiting for five months. Our trailer was supposedly as good as new. It was our unexpected Christmas gift. 

The first thing we noticed is that pieces of the new air conditioner were hanging from the ceiling. The trim on the exhaust fan in the bathroom was not secured. Part of the floor had come unglued and was curling up because of being unprotected from the heat for five months. After a few embarrassed excuses the so called “cosmetic” features were quickly set right. We took our trailer to its home in a storage facility and left it there until after the holidays when we planned to give it a thorough cleaning and maybe even take it out for a spin to a state park. 

It was then that we turned on the supposedly brand new air conditioner. It sounded like an old washing machine run by a pack of gerbils on a treadmill. It was not cooling either. Suddenly our patience was gone. The shoddy lack of concern for doing things properly was too much to bear after our willingness to overlook the fact that nobody had ever bothered to give us an update during our long wait or to apologize for the lousy quality of the work that left things obviously undone. We realized that whoever installed the air conditioner probably had never tested it to see if it was working. 

We have referred many people to our fence builders, our chimney repairer and our drainage artisan. They have been as happy with the craftsmanship of these workers as we have. They too have gladly recommended them to friends and family. A job well done with a sense of pride always results in even more business. Being lax and uncaring, on the other hand says something negative about a person’s honesty and abilities. 

We tend to be loyal customers. We kept the same plumber, air conditioning repairman, mechanic, barbers, hair dressers, manicurists, exterminators, carpet cleaners, painters, electricians and handymen for years. We send them more business and value them as the incredible workers that they are. A sloppy job loses our good will. No matter what you may be doing for others, do it with pride. It only takes one lousy job to tarnish your reputation and right now I’m not feeling so good about a trailer repair company that did not seem to care about making our trailer feel like home again. It really does not take that much to do right by people and the benefits that you gain by doing so are immeasurable.

I woke up a bit earlier than everyone else who was in my house on the day after Christmas. I did not want to interrupt anyone’s slumber because we had all experienced a very busy two days of celebrating. I sat quietly in my front room reading various articles and opinion pieces from the BBC, The New York Times, and The Washington Post. There was a common theme of self analysis in each of them, an attempt to understand the feelings of disconnect and chaos that currently define so many of our interactions. Each author attempted to explain why he/she thought that we appeared to be moving farther and farther apart from each other in the very time that a modicum of unity would be most helpful. While they bandied about many different ideas about causes and effects, problems and solutions, the consensus was that we have separated ourselves into groups that isolate us from the feelings and thoughts of those who disagree with us. In other words, we purposely avoid quieting our minds and opinions long enough to hear why someone from the “other side” thinks so differently. 

None of the articles suggested that we should abandon honest debate about solutions to our common problems, but they all contended that we must first begin by knowing exactly why each side congealed into a particular way of thinking. In other words, we have to understand the points of view and why they are so important to each group if we are ever going to be able to concede to a bit of compromise. We must realize what motivates behaviors and ideas that we do not generally understand. This kind of analysis and willingness to hear the other person has to be a two way street or we will ultimately accomplish nothing. 

Obviously learning how to accomplish the difficult feat of hearing ideas that seem to defy logic to us is highly charged with possibilities of moving even farther apart. It may lead to hurts and misunderstandings and even unwillingness to change even a tiny bit. On the other hand, such an exercise if done with good intentions might actually lead us to a realization of the logic and good intentions that drive each other’s choices. We don’t have to agree with them, but our discourse will become more about attempting to work together than about arguing over who is right and who is wrong.

I learned a bit of wisdom from my reading but also from considering conversations and comments that I heard during the two days of intense revelry in which I imbibed over the span of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I keenly felt the frustrations of people that I deeply love who differ on so many issues. There was a quiet divide within our family with both sides feeling misunderstood, but still desperately wanting to continue loving each other. There was an unspoken wish that we might turn back the clock and just be blissfully unaware of our divide. It was so much easier when we did not know that we would react so differently to a virus or to the current political issues. 

What I noticed as I listened to conversations is that every single person, regardless of where they fell on the various spectrums of current topics, genuinely believed that he or she was on the right side of history. Each person only wanted the best for everyone, but their ideas for solving societal problems often differed. Sadly, there was also a certain level of condescending belief that the other side’s logic was somehow faulty or even toxic. There was more of a tendency to defend positions than to genuinely strive to know the reasons for another’s differing ways of viewing the world. Often the older people lectured the younger persons rather than just listening to their ways of thinking, a tendency that has plagued humanity throughout history. 

It is a human desire to be heard. When we think that nobody is paying attention to us or that they are misjudging us we feel isolated and even hurt. We search for people who embrace us for who we are. Thus many groups are formed. We avoid the outsiders who make us feel small in their estimation that our ideas are somehow ignorant. This is nothing new in the long arc of history and sadly it often leads to great strife, a moment when it feels as though the center will not hold as things fall apart. 

Time and again after protests and movements that inspire violence we humans end up engaged in wars that we do not want. Evil actors take advantage of our divisions and push all reason and compromise aside. We fight with one another even as we know in our hearts that our situations should not have come to such dire extremes. We end the battles with treaties of peace that more often than not mask the facts that we have not yet truly found a way to work together. 

I heard the rumblings of discontent and disconnect in the conversations of those that I most love. The differing philosophies within my extended family are but a microcosm of the world at large. We actually love each other deeply, so the fissures that come to the surface tend to be temporary, but the hurt still lurks below the surface. Such a situation is being echoed in virtually every family across the globe and across time. Somehow even with those we know best, we insist on arguing our points rather than politely listening to each individual’s rationale for his or her ways of thinking. We are more inclined to to try to change minds than to understand them. Therein lies the universal problem that we all face. 

I intend to try to silence my mind and simply listen more from here forward. I know it is not always easy. I put my foot into my mouth all too often. I hurt feelings when that is something I never intended to do. I plan to think a bit more before rendering my opinions or reacting to things that bother me. This is my goal for 2022. I know I will falter, but hopefully I will do better and widen my horizons to gaze through the eyes of those who appear to see things differently than I do.  

I always thought that my Uncle Paul was the inspiration for Dr. Seuss’ Green Eggs and Ham. Once every year he made a disgusting looking concoction of eggs, ham and who knows what else baked into a rubbery feast that he swore would bring good luck if consumed. For years I simply stared at the foul green creation that appeared to be more like a spongy sea creature than something worthy of placing in my mouth. It mattered not if luck would elude me because I did not have the inclination to risk eating something so strange. 

One year I decided to screw up my courage and ingest just enough of it to form a more reliable opinion of its worth. To my utter surprise it was actually rather delicious despite its lime green hue and strange consistency. I eagerly sliced a bit more of the egg casserole hoping to increase my chances of having a very lucky year and learned that my long held fears of the dish had been as silly as one of Dr. Seuss’ rhymes. 

My did prosperity did not seem to improve in spite of my willingness to be more adventurous in my eating habits, but I found myself looking forward to enjoying a slice of my uncle’s recipe for good luck in each new year. If nothing else it was one of the most unique renditions of what might have been a bit of good fortune that I have ever encountered. 

My mother always served the tried and true southern tradition of black-eyed peas on New Years Day. Sadly I never really formed an attraction to that particular legume even though I am often called “The Bean Queen” due to my ability to transform virtually any variety of bean into a delicious feast. It was not until I spent my first New Years Day with my mother-in-law that I learned of a different member of the pea family that supposedly also had the power of bringing luck into any household that consumed it on the first day of the year. 

It was the yellow split pea that transformed my world. I stood behind my mother-in-law each January 1, for many years learning the secrets of the alchemy that would change the tiny yellow bits into a smooth and delicious soup. Under her watchful care this traditional British dish became a delight for me and all of the members of my family. After she died I relied on the tutelage that she had so wisely given me to recreate the smooth golden soup that warms the body and the spirit. 

On a visit to Austria during the New Years holiday a few years back, I learned that there are many iconic items that might be used to insure a happy and prosperous year. Of course there was the four leaf clover but also the lady bug and golden coins of chocolate. My favorite, however, was the pig. From that vacation forward I have collected a “lucky” pig to adorn my home each New Years Day. They are whimsical and joyful and easy to find in my travels. Who knew that there were so many different ways to attract luck into one’s life?

I’m not particularly superstitious. I’ve yet to find a food or trinket that ensures me that my life will be somehow better than it might otherwise have been. Not even a rabbit’s foot has any power over the unfolding of life’s events. It’s simply a fun thing to pretend that we can somehow change the unfolding of fate with a simple wish or the ingestion of some iconic food. 

I often laugh at a memory that I have of attending the funeral of the mother of one of my Asian friends. The deceased woman was a Christian so the service included lots of prayers and readings from the Bible. At the conclusion of the memorial a few Buddhist traditions were also inserted into the mix. The deceased woman’s daughter commented that her mother had asked for both customs “just in case one was actually better than the other. “ She had not wanted to take any chances on choosing wrong in the her final goodbye to the world.

So as the old year fades away and the New Year beckons I have readied the little pink pig that I purchased in Santa Fe last summer along with a big pot of yellow split pea soup and some black-eyed peas “just in case.” We can all seriously use some better luck than what has come our way in the last two years. I’ll be most happy for a change in the right direction no matter from where it comes. 

Wishing everyone a very Happy and Blessed New Year! May 2022, bring us together in love and good health.  

I live in a lovely cul-de-sac filled with the most wonderful people. We often meet up in one another’s yards. We watch for signs of trouble and comfort each other in difficult times. We are good folk as diverse as any group might be. In the end we ignore our differences and simply love and respect the fact that we are all just humans attempting to do our best from day to day. Our little street is like a small town in the middle of a great big metropolis. It is a haven from the challenges that so often drive people apart. It is a place of genuine love. 

Recently we were awakened from our usual routines by the sound of sirens. Running to the front windows I saw an ambulance, accompanied by a fire truck stopping at one of my neighbor’s homes. Soon our neighborhood “Mr. Good Guy,” Patrick, was texting all of us to let us know that the elderly man who lived in that home was near death. A priest had come to administer the last rights to him and they would be rushing him to the hospital very soon in the hopes of forestalling his demise. 

We all went into a mode of prayerful hope. We hugged the man’s daughter as she tearfully got into her car to follow her father to the hospital. A pall of sadness lingered over the street until we learned that the old man was going to live to see another Christmas. We were overjoyed and filled with gratitude, not only that he would not die, but also that we lived amongst such caring individuals. 

Last week during the celebrations of Christmas I heard a raucous commotion that also drew me to my front room window. It was a gloriously happy sight as the elderly man’s family convened to be with him. There was much hugging and kissing and enough laughter and joy to fill the whole area with the Christmas spirit. I found myself smiling from ear to ear and getting into the real meaning of the season in the most remarkable way. It was a lovely outcome for a family whose holiday might have otherwise been so dreary. 

I thought of that priest who so quickly and selflessly rushed to the home to anoint the man and pray for his healing. I marveled at the dedication of the firefighters who so patiently and professionally took the man to a waiting medical team that diagnosed his problem and quickly brought him back to life. I marveled at how beautiful our world is when we simply love one another without thoughts of politics or religion or race or belief. 

We are all one. All the same when stripped of of the many labels that we apply to one another. We are born as innocent as can be. We grow and learn and experience life in many different ways, but at heart we have similar hopes and dreams for ourselves and those we love. Sometimes no matter how hard we work we are crushed under realities that threaten to derail our optimism. When we witness unvarnished love such as I see on a daily basis on my street, we know that we will be able to continue forward no matter what has happened. 

There will be both good times and bad in the coming year. It is the inevitable fate of being human. If each of us simply loved our fellow humans with patience and understanding, it would be a beautiful day in every neighborhood across the world. Perhaps this should be the one New Years resolution that should guide us through the coming days and weeks and months. 

We should be asking ourselves what we might do to help, to comfort, to care. We should embrace each other all across the world in our commonalities rather than focusing so much on what is different. We might find that our diversity is wonderfully beautiful and exciting. We can learn much from one another. Our own lives will be enriched beyond measure.

My hope is that one day we might import the spirit of love and kindness that is so prevalent on my street to the wider world. I’d like to believe that we are a microcosm of what is possible with our many races, political beliefs, and even sexual preferences blending together in a lovely mix of tolerance and real feelings for each person’s welfare. There is no judgement here and that is wonderful. 

I suspect that we are all weary of viruses and bickering and a feeling that we have lost something very important in the past many years. Perhaps this is the year to instead just embrace people just as they are and then move forward together, sharing and making sacrifices for the betterment of the world. In the end we must surely know that we are all live in a global neighborhood that must somehow learn to work together. It’s not a fantasy to believe that this is possible and it can begin one street at a time.

I’ve done my best to keep up with a strict exercise routine throughout the pandemic. Of course I’m one of those persons who fudges a bit too often. Still, the desire to keep my arthritis addled body working as well as possible burns brightly in my intent. I even ordered a recumbent bike to add to my repertoire of walking, stretching and using small weights to stay fit. My results have been rather disappointing, but I comfort myself in imagining just how bad I would look and feel if I had been doing absolutely nothing since foregoing trips to the gym almost two years ago. 

I was actually patting myself on the back for doing my best in a bad situation when I awoke recently to see one of my neighbors working out in the home gym inside his garage. His was a routine that boggled my mind. I was glued to my front room window as he effortlessly lifted heavy weights and then began a series of mind blowing calisthenics. My jaw dropped as he performed perfect squats with his legs and buttocks parallel to the ground so that his body looked like a chair. 

I have to admit that I attempted to imitate his movements while hoping that nobody was glancing at my window. I made it through about four repetitions of something only slightly resembling a squat before I was winded. Believe me when I say that the only angles parallel to the floor came from the outstretch of my arms. My legs were bent in such a way that anything placed on my thighs would have immediately rolled to the ground. I comforted my pride by reminding myself that the young athlete performing on his driveway was no doubt a full forty years younger than I am. 

My fascination with the workout kept me staring in wonder, and it was not because he was in his usual attire of shorts with no shirt. On this morning it was cold outside and so he was wrapped in sweatpants and a hoodie that was secured up to his throat. It was his devotion to keeping fit that intrigued me along with the sheer beauty of his perfect movements. I can’t even talk about his planks. I’m not sure how any normal human is able to do what he was doing. 

He ended his driveway antics by jumping rope. His hands and feet were moving so quickly that my eyes had trouble keeping pace. Not even when I was ten years old and a champion of moving lithely over a rope was I ever as deft as this man. I suppose if someone had snapped a photo of my gawking it would have captured my jaw dropping onto my chin. 

The grand finale was a dash through the neighborhood. I suppose that I was actually jealous of that because my knees are now so bad that I’m not sure I would be able to run even in an emergency. I’m not quite the little old lady shuffling without lifting my feet, but I am slowly heading in that direction. I was winded such watching my neighbor keeping himself fit and strong. 

Each January I resolve to do a better job of keeping my body mobile and robust. Sadly age and nature do their best to fight against me. Nonetheless I soldier on. I’m am aware that a certain popular show has given people in my age group a warning to be careful on our bicycles. I’m not particularly worried that I will overdo, because in truth I am not any longer capable of going overboard with athletic feats. I’ve spent enough time and money on physical therapy to understand the limits of my own abilities, but there is a little voice in my head that reminds me of the vigor and endurance that I once had. 

I see that young woman I once was hiking to the tops of mountains and putting in twelve hours of hard labor without even a hint of aches or pains. Now I’m lucky to work for a few in the yard before my back and my knees tell me it’s time to take a rest. If I ignore those warnings and push forward, I end up in bed wishing that I had been more prudent. These days pacing myself is as important as staying active. 

They say there is a time and a season for everything. I can wish away the hitch in my get along, but it comes back to laugh at me when I do my best to pretend it isn’t there. These days I have to be happy with walking for miles rather than pushing myself to break records. My personal best means being able to lift my arms over my head or extend a plank for more than a couple of minutes. I have to face the fact that this old mare ain’t what she used to be. 

I’m not ready to be sent out to pasture yet, but on cold mornings I have to do more stretching of my limbs than making them bear weight. I’m determined on some days just to remain mobile. As my Grandmother Minnie often told me all of our kin gets “rheumatis.” As illiterate as she was, she nailed the diagnosis of my future when I was only a child. I am truly my grandmother’s granddaughter in almost every possible way. Because of that I know that I can work through the pains that seem to be baked into my DNA. She gave me the model and the homespun remedies for everything that ails me. 

So my resolution for the coming year is to stay the course. I’ll keep walking, riding, stretching, lifting weights, working in my garden as long as I am able. I won’t compare myself to an athletic man in his thirties, but I’ll sure have fun watching him from my window and remembering a time when I might have been able to match his energy and endurance. I’ll applaud his determination and stick with my more limited plan. Who knows maybe the angle of my squats may move a little closer to ninety degree angles rather than forty five. Baby steps are better than none.