Macy's Parade Balloons

Scarf drawn around my head and neck, clutching my coat closed, I shuffled through the crowd of people heading for 81st street. It was a windy cold Wednesday night before the Macy's Parade. As Bob and I rounded the corner, we were greeted by the 10 foot wide smile of a big brown dog hoovering just slightly off the pavement. Scooby Doo looked plump with helium and ready to bound down Broadway in the morning. With the predicted winds, he would be a tough character to hang on to.

Other balloons in the parade were at various stages of inflation. Some were just being unrolled from bags that looked no bigger than those which would contain a good sized tent for camping. They lay pancake flat on the street until all the guide lines and appendages were unfurled and the hose from the industrial sized tank of helium on a truck nearby was attached. With a hiss, the flat fabric begins to take shape. Arms, legs, ears, lips, all fill with the lighter than air gas and it begins to float hampered only by the netting thrown across it to secure it for the night.

The next day we were awed as the balloons paraded by us tethered by two jeeps and 25-40 people who held guide lines to move the characters down the street. It was windy. They struggled at intersections where open spaces created cross winds. But, except for one mishap, they all made it safely to the Macy's department store on 34th Street--a miracle indeed.

Often, as the balloons passed by or stopped for a short time in front of us, the wind would cause the huge characters to sway--sometimes right over the top of our heads. Their size was overwhelming and the danger they presented should they get out of control was always a consideration.

I thought about how we inflate our worries so often like those big balloons. They become overwhelming and dangerous if we let them. They loom over us, darkening our world. Macy's used to release the balloons when the parade was over (they were smaller then) and let them float away to be taken care of by wind and air pressure that would eventually explode the inner cavities. It is a good analogy--let go of those inflated worries and let God take care of them.

Holiday Greetings

Life has been moving in the fast lane lately. Unfortunately that led me to neglect posting my musings and stories for the past week. But life has also been good. FYI we went to NYC for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (more to follow) and my BIG news--I now have an agent for the novel I have written, In a Pickle. I am one step closer to seeing the first of a series featuring Annie Pickels, pickle entrepreneur and world traveler. Yes, it is humorous. Yes, it has a dash of romance. And yes, I AM EXCITED!

The contract came just before we left for New York and needless to say, Bob wondered if he would have to tie a string to me to keep me from floating down Broadway with Scooby Do and Chicken Little. It was a little strange being away for Thanksgiving. Except for the year I was sick, I think it is the first Robbins Thanksgiving we've missed in 37 years. Not to worry though, we did have a great turkey dinner.

Bob made reservations with the restaurant in our hotel for our Thanksgiving dinner. There was a huge salad buffet and a modest dessert buffet (but tasty!) and inbetween the two was a plateful of turkey, dressing, gravy, cranberry relish and sweet potatoes. Mmm-mmm.

When we were first seated, our waiter came over to take our drink order. He introduced himself and I answered with "Happy Thanksgiving!" He straightened and stepped back. I wondered if I'd made a faux pas. I hate empty space so I filled it with, "I'm so glad you're here today so we could have dinner."

He started in to say, "What can I get you..." and then he shook his head. "You know, you are the first person today who's said 'Happy Thanksgiving' to me...and before you asked me to get you anything!" I felt tears rush to my eyes. I'm not a weeper so that surprised me. Here was this gentleman working his tail off all day (his shift ended shortly after we came) to make customer's happy with their holiday dinner and no one had taken the time to wish him good will.

Perhaps we shouldn't be worried with how we are greeted in the stores this season but more about how we greet others. There may be someone God has put in your path who needs to hear, "Merry Christmas!"

Mending Broken Hearts

I just returned from a grueling three day seminar on speaking. The motto was "never let them rest." The leaders (CLASServices) lived up to the motto. It always amazes me to see the collection of people God gathers together at these types of seminars and conferences.

As Christian writers and speakers, we want to reach out to those who are hurting and need encouragement. Why? Because at some point in our lives we've been touched by some of the hurt or the ugliness of life. We remember the broken heart. The stories I heard in just three short days could fill volumes of works...and may, if the tellers also become writers.

While a speaker or writer cannot be the mender of the broken heart, she can be a vehicle for God to do his handiwork. What a privilege to be used in such a way.

"For out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks." Matthew 12:34b

Had Me at Hello

This has been a year of natural disasters starting with a horrendous tsunami, followed by earthquakes, hurricanes, and floods. People have lost great numbers of loved ones, homes, jobs, all the things that were important in their lives.

We live under the threat of terrorists who bomb discriminately or indiscriminately at will. An expert commented the other day that no country is safe. A suicide bombing is not a matter of "if" but "when."

Crime, poverty, unemployment, disease, homelessness, death,--the list goes on, affecting our lives no matter where we live.

Wouldn't you think that we would have more important things to worry about than whether a Wal-Mart greeter says "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas" to us as we enter the store? How about "Hello?" It worked for Tom Cruise and Renee Zellwinger.

Typing 101

Do you remember Typing 101? After all those years of learning the alphabet--singing the song--suddenly you were faced with a keyboard that seemed to make no logical sense. Credit goes to inventor Christopher Lathan Sholes for what appears to be the haphazard organization of the keys. Originally the keys were arranged alphabetically but as his skill and speed in typing increased, he found the keys colliding and sticking together. Thus he had to reorder the keys to make the process of typing easier and more efficient and keep the mechanics of the typewriter in better working order.

Our lives are often like the keyboards upon which we type. Seemingly haphazard and out of order. Often nothing makes sense. We question, "Why?" But, just as we place our hands upon the letters on the keyboard and make words, paragraphs and even great works of literature, so God's hands upon our lives can bring order, grace and great works of love. The keyboard will always seem disordered but the master's hand upon it will determine its production.

Pink, Blue, or Yellow?

Okay, now here's a conversation starter: What's your favorite sugar? Pink, blue, yellow, or white?

Have you noticed how colorful the litttle container of sugar packets that sits on the restaurant table has become? There used to be only two choices--granulated sugar and Sweet N Low that came in pink packets. Along came Equal in blue and now we have Splenda adorned in yellow. Add to that, for the naturalists among us, the packets of brown containing raw sugar--especially good in cappuccino.

It's no wonder life is so complicated when our choices only continue to multiply and we are forced into constant decision-making throughout our day. Calories or no calories? Processed verses raw? Sucralose, asparatame, saccharin, or sucrose? Alright, my head is spinning already.

Have a sweet day!

Tacking

There is nothing more frustrating when you sail a boat than seeing your destination but you can't get there in a straight line. Rarely does the wind cooperate and blow from just the right direction for you to make a bee-line to your destination.

In order to get where you're going, you have to tack. That means you zig-zag back and forth toward your destination. The captain at the helm (usually Bob) yells "Come about!" The crew (usually me) then lets go of the line on the jib sail (the one in front) and the boat is turned to catch the wind from the other side. The line is pulled from the other side and fastened off on the cleat when the sail is in the right position. In the few seconds it takes the sail to cross over the bow of the boat, momentum is lost. But as soon as the wind fills the sail again, the boat pushes forward and get closer to its goal.

Now if you had a power boat, you'd just buzz right to the marina in a straight line. But that's noisy and not nearly as challenging.

This week my writing adventures have seemed a bit like using a sailboat to get where I want to be. I was moving right along and then the wind changed--I got another rejection. Since I am the captain of this ship, I yelled "Come about!" and set the sail to the other side (I sent my proposal out again). There were a few moments where the sail lufted in the breeze--I lost a little momentum but I am still heading for my publishing goal, albeit on a different tack.

Inanimate Personalities

As we pulled out of Hamilton, Bermuda, the cruise ship's horn sounded mournfully long and loud--a heartbreaking wail to the ears of those who loved her. This was the last time this ship would see Bermuda.

When we set sail in Philadelphia, we were aboard the Horizon, the very first cruise ship we had ever sailed on back in 1993. It was a young ship then--only about 2 years old. It was magical. I remember the first afternoon so clearly. We checked into our stateroom and were directed immediately to the lunch buffet being served on deck 11. I don't remember what I ate but I do remember sitting outside at a table, looking out over the beautiful harbor of San Juan, Puerto Rico, and thinking, "It's just like the Love Boat on TV." (It was a popular show back then.)

We sailed on two more cruises aboard Horizon after that--one more to the Caribbean and another to Bermuda. While on the Millenium (another Celebrity ship) we heard that the Horizon was being sold/transfered to a subsidiary of Royal Caribbean. It was a wild and crazy thing to do, but we booked the last cruise of the Horizon for nostalgic reasons.

Arriving at Bermuda, we couldn't pull into the port of St. George's because of the weather. Hurricane Wilma was pushing wind and unstable weather conditions ahead of her. The channel to reach St. George's is very narrow allowing for little error. More than 8 knots of wind makes it precarious for a cruise ship. We docked at Hamilton instead.

We anticipated traveling by ferry and/or bus to St. George's and other interesting spots on the island. What we didn't anticipate was what was about to happen to the Horizon...

Hot! Hot! Hot!

We were in Bermuda last week and visited a glassblowing demonstration in St. George's. It was the first time we'd ever seen someone make a plate.

A glob of molten glass was placed on the end of the long metal blow rod, heated in a raging furnace until it was red hot and then rolled in little granules of colored glass. The process was repeated a few times and then the hot glass was rolled in very fine white granules.

It was heated in the furnace again and then with a few gentle breaths, it became a round ball at the end of the rod. Thrust into the fire again, it glowed an ugly red-hot when the assistant handed the rod to the artist. She took tongs and gently shaped the ball, making it smooth, removing irregularities. The assistant took another rod, added a dollop of molten glass to the end and stuck it to the ball of glass held by the artist. The artist clipped the ball off of her rod and the assistant returned to the blazing fire again to reheat the glass.

Little by little, the artist enlarged the opening of the ball--each time requiring her assistant to reheat the glass. Eventually, as the glass cooled and the ball became a flat plate with fluted edges, a brilliant display of color was revealed. It came from all the little colored pieces that were first rolled into the glass. The bright colors swirled out from the center of the plate and became even richer in tone and hue as they caught the rays of the sun.

I couldn't help but think of how God refines us through our "fires"--our trials and sufferings. In the hands of the Artist, we become beautiful creations, richer still when caught in the rays of the Son's love.

Needle Phobia

I am a wimp--no way to pad that to make me look better. I'm facing my flu shot today and already feel that nibbling in my stomach. It's not as bad as it used to be though. I think having kids helped some.

BK (before kids), I passed out when I saw a needle approaching. If it didn't happen prior to the prick, it happened after. My mother, who seemed intrepid, sent me down to the lab one day one my own. I was around 17 and checking into the hospital to have my appendix removed. The lab did the blood test and then scratched my ear (it had something to do with seeing the blood clot). I must have caught sight of the needle then because as I left the room and walked to the elevator, I could feel the world gray around me.

I pushed the button and the elevator doors closed. The next thing I remember was falling forward into the arms of a nurse.

Along came kids. I assigned the task of "puppy" shots to Dad. He went most of the time. At first the pediatrician thought it was because we had twins and Dad was helping. Then he caught on that it was my needle phobia. He worked with me. When Dad couldn't make it, Dr. Rohweder made sure I stayed in the chair a while before he let me leave.

It's been 34 years since those puppy shots. I've had my fill of blood tests, shots, and IVs. I can usually make it through without fainting but the flight or fight adrenalin rush still courses through my veins and turns my stomach inside out.

Wish me luck today. I'd almost...almost rather have the flu.

(P.S. I'm taking next week off from my blog...Please don't think it's from my needle phobia. Smiles!)

Good Morning

Are you a morning person? I could be...if the morning started a little later. It's hard to shuffle past my husband at 6 a.m. as he stands at the sink, lathering a face flushed from a half hour workout on the treadmill. He chirps a "Good morning!" and I try to answer. It isn't pretty. I wake up with a throat that is voiceless until I have my coffee. I croak at him and move on to the kitchen.

Somewhere along the line--after having children who woke me at all hours of the night--I learned to do things without being fully awake. This isn't bad when everything goes well. But a few miscalculations can have you drinking hot water instead of coffee or wiping raw egg off the floor.

My voice returns in time to bid hubby good-bye. I go to my computer, coffee cup in hand, and turn it on. Now there are some mornings where it springs to life and is ready to go before I finish my morning draft of caffeine. Other mornings it keeps thinking, "Do I want to boot up or don't I?" I can sympathize with that.

At a writers conference this spring, someone quoted Mary Lou Redding of Upper Room (a devotional magazine) as saying, "Good morning is a statement of faith."

Good morning has to do with expectation. I've never wanted to set those expectations too high. I'd rather wait for the review. But by then it's afternoon and...well...everyone is saying "Good afternoon!"

How do they know? I know, I know...have faith.

Chaos Theory

The Chaos theory was a big part of Michael Crichton's Jurassic Park--so big in fact, that I skipped through a lot of the detailed description he wrote. Now I think I could sum it up in a simple sentence: Chaos is three preschoolers going in three different directions amid a store full of delicate collectables with a grandfather chasing after them.

We had lunch with Tyler, Danielle, and Kotomi yesterday--and their moms too. Grandpa decided to take them off for a walk when they got antsy at the table. He made a wrong turn and ended up in a gift store. With squeals of delight, the three took off to explore. While I wasn't with him, I can imagine (from experience) what went on. Display carousels were spun, doilies were waved in the air, and bundles of stuffed animals were cuddled and tossed back on the shelves...or floor.

When I saw the place he had taken them, I could only shake my head in amazement.

"You had the kids here and you didn't have to pay for anything?"

That man leads a charmed life.

Encouragement

Yesterday I went to a writers conference in our area. It was a small conference but featured some dynamic speakers I had missed hearing at earlier conferences this year. When I entered the breakfast room, one of the speakers, author Cec Murphy, recognized my name and rushed over to me to give me a big hug and thank me for all the wonderful e-mails I had sent him.

Cec is the author of Committed But Flawed, a wonderful book on modeling our lives after characters in the Bible that weren't perfect but were committed to God. I used it for 26 weeks of study in the adult Sunday school class I teach. I had e-mailed him a couple of times to tell him how much the class enjoyed it and some of the responses to the book, and I'd invited him to come and meet the class if time permitted while he was in the Cleveland area.

I didn't think much about what I'd done. Cec is a prolific writer (about 100 books to his name) and I just figured he got that kind of feedback all the time. Maybe he does...maybe he doesn't. His response yesterday though reinforced my belief that no matter how big or small, how popular or unknown, how successful or not, everyone needs words of encouragement. His response to mine has encouraged me to continue to look for ways to make people feel appreciated.

Is there someone you could encourage today?

Midget Massacre

Last week, Kotomi, our almost two-year-old granddaughter, came to visit. One of her favorite things to do is draw. She spent hours drawing on a magnetic erase board and on paper with pencil. The most fun, however, for her and Grandpa was the sidewalk chalk on the driveway.

The two of them started out drawing flowers and trains and writing "Kotomi" and then Grandpa got a bright idea. He laid Kotomi on the driveway, arms stretched out, and drew the outline of her little body. When she stood up, he drew in the eyes and a big smile. She was thrilled--so much so that she laid down again and yelled, "Granpa, Granpa!"

About six body outlines later, Kotomi made Grandpa lie down and and she drew around him.

After the dust settled and Kotomi was on her way home, we surveyed the driveway, remembering the good time with her. We had to laugh at the image before us, though. It looked like a criminal investigation team had been in and drawn body outlines for a midget massacre that took out one giant as well.

Toastmaster

A few weeks ago, I joined the Toastmasters club in our area. I wanted to sharpen my speaking skills especially when it comes to having to think on my feet. You know, when someone you are trying to impress with your latest book proposal asks you a question, totally off subject, and expects an answer.

The Toastmasters have what they call "Table Topics." Someone prepares a list of questions/topics and we take turns standing up to give a one to two minute talk on whatever subject comes your way. I was having great fun listening to questions that had the theme of a newlywed game show. Since there's nothing more fun than talking about your spouse's habits, I volunteered to take the next one. To my surprise, the list of game show questions was exhausted and I was given a serious subject to speak on. I faltered, grasping for ideas of what to say to a group I really didn't know well yet. I learned that a minute can be an awfully long time and I have a long way to go yet to smoothly field uncomfortable subjects among unfamiliar people.

I guess the old saying's true...be careful what you ask for...I'm learning.

Still, it's too bad the subject changed. I had such a good story about linty black fuzzies on the rug from hubby's dark socks.

The Fly Lady

Did you just say "What?" I did to when I saw that listed as a topic at our Ladies' Day activities at church. The description of the workshop said the Fly Lady was going to get me organized. O...K..., I thought, if she can do that, she must be a super-hero...ine.

What I found was a super creative mind that has organized household tasks, cut corners, given encouragement, and forgiven the untidy. The FLY stands for Finally Loving Yourself. The house didn't get the way it is in a day, you won't get it organized and cleaned in a day.

You start with the sink--developing a habit of getting it clean each night before you go to bed. If you wake up with a clean sink (one area of your house that shows promise) then you can feel a sense of accomplishment and it encourages you to push on.

Her website, www.FlyLady.net , is full of ideas for whipping the house into shape and keeping up with it. She divides the house into zones, and if you sign up on her site, she will e-mail you reminders and challenges for cleaning each zone. There is also a reference to another site that helps with meal planning--one of the chores I hate. I just may sign up for that one.

It was a fun seminar. The gal that presented it (not the actual Fly Lady) was sold on the idea. She said even her young children know what a five minute cleanup is and how to set a timer.

Well, time to go shine the sink...I forgot to do it last night.

The Moxie Grandmother

Many thanks to those of you who have congratulated me on becoming a grandmother again. While the distance makes the longing to hold a new baby in my arms excruciatingly painful, the wonders of cyberspace and the internet help to ease the anxiety.

Within hours of Caleb's birth, we had pictures of him as he was being cleaned and dressed for his appearance in the nursery. My son took a break and went home to e-mail pictures for the hungry grandparents in Ohio and Arkansas to see. During the weeks that have followed, he has continued to update us with all the little nuances a newborn has to offer right down to that smile we all know is just gas tickling the tummy.

One of the best pictures comes from my daughter-in-law who knew that one of my greatest desires was to see my son holding his son. It's a picture I'll treasure.

I think back to when my son and his twin were born. They were the first grandchildren on both sides. We lived in Maryland at the time and our families were in Ohio. My mother had planned to come out to stay with me, but came down with pneumonia the week before they were born. My mother-in-law came in her place. Knowing my mother, I cannot imagine the angst she must have experienced. It was probably close to a week before she could get the first pictures. We had to take them, have them developed, and then send them by mail--snail mail.

I had printed "Do not bend--Precious pictures of first grandchildren" on the envelope. She told me later that the mailman had blown his horn when he delivered them so she'd know they had arrived. I'd bet she was hanging around the box everyday--waiting, pneumonia or not.

I'm glad I'm able to understand enough of this modern technology to get by. I sure would have hated to wait as long as my mother did. In a few days, I get to hold that little guy--the one who's smiling at me from my computer screen.

It's great being a moxie grandmother--or maybe I should make that foxie...

Not Me!

Yesterday my grandson got me into trouble. He's been going around saying, "Holy Sheets." At first, Mom and Dad were concerned that it was something else but once they established that the word was sheets, they asked him where he learned that word.

"Grandma Robbins."

I can see him sitting there saying it nonchalantly while playing with Thomas the Train, unconcerned that he may be putting a strain on family relationships.

I remember the days when my kids were developing their language skills. It was always a challenge to deprogram them upon their return from my parent's home. My mom and dad had some words in their volcabulary that did not carry over into mine. They were usually very good about not using them in front their grandchildren, but once in a while something would slip out. I'm sure my boys would have thought nothing of it, but Grandma and Grandpa made a big deal out of telling them not to repeat it. Right.

As kids do, they experimented with a few words. Thankfully we curtailed the usage of questionable volcabulary. Hopefully as adults, those lessons learned are keeping their language acceptable even when they are not speaking in my presence.

As for shouldering the blame for this newly learned phrase from my grandson, all I can say is, "Not me!"

Baby Launched!

Right in the middle of my continuing saga, Take Me Away!, our fourth grandchild arrived. We dubbed him "the little taco."

He wasn't due until September 30, but at Leah's checkup, the midwife suspected the baby was breach. Sure enough, the ultrasound showed the baby folded like a taco, feet touching the nose. Rather than risk injury or an emergency c-section, they went ahead and scheduled a c-section for Friday, the 16th.

It's not going to be easy being a long-distance grandmother. I began pacing in my Ohio home as all the drama was unfolding in the Florida hospital. Almost two hours after the surgery was scheduled I got the call from my son.

"Mom! It's a boy! And I didn't pass out!"

My son was finally a father.

Now with four grandchildren, I should have plenty of stories for my new column. Beginning October 1, I am writing a column for www.inspiredparenting.net .

The topic: Grandparenting, of course!

Take Me Away! (7)

(This story is fiction--very loosely based on reality.)

“James?” I was so relaxed and sleepy, I could barely speak. “What was it you took from the mansion? You said you would tell me.”

“This, my love,” he said opening the picnic basket to display an elegant lunch complete with a little bouquet of flowers. He waved his hand across it. “All for you.”

I felt so special, but I was so tired. How could I even begin to eat all those lovely little sandwiches and cookies.

James began to play with a fuzzy weed he plucked from the grass. He traced it around my face. I closed my eyes. As the weed touched my nose, I felt a sneeze wanting to surface.

My wet hand grabbed my mouth.

Wet hand?

I opened my eyes.

“Meow.” Oscar swished his tail across my face one more time bringing me back from my fantasy world. I sighed deeply as the last vestige of James faded with my return to reality.

But, after all, without reality where would my fantasies take me?