The story behind the figurines

Much of my inspiration for writing has come from my mother. I no doubt inherited some of her talent, but her encouragement and positive critiques have fueled me to keep writing. This piece is something she wrote. The events were 58 years ago. I am not sure when it was written. It gives insight into how she thinks and reasons and feels. It is a piece of family history. It is a story behind some tiny figurines no one would ever guess had such meaning for someone. The world is full of poignant stories that never are written. This is one that was.



We were moving to Missouri in May 1945. WWII would be over in June and I was just graduated from the 8th grade. I would be 13 years old the 28th of that month. Sophus lived with us and Louis was a Junior in high school. Mom and Dad were both 42 years old and excited about moving away from all the turmoil of the war years in Omaha and their plumbing business. Louis and I were pretty passive about the whole thing wondering what life would be like without any electricity, running water or heat in the house. For the folks it was going back to a wonderful free way of life; for us it was being stuck out in the middle of nowhere.



On the day of the big move we were headed south near Liberty, Missouri. We were in a ton-and-a-half truck loaded with our few possessions. There wasn't much left. Dad had been in a hurry and what we couldn't sell quickly had been given away or abandoned. Sophus and Louis were riding in the back of the truck covered with blankets to keep warm in a little space amidst the furniture. As we went down an incline the rear wheel came off the truck following the truck down the road as if attached with an invisible rope. Louis and Sophus watched as it gained speed, passing the truck, where we saw it go down the road in front of the cab, where we were riding. Dad got stopped, got the run-away wheel and surveyed the damage. Poor uncle Sophus shook with laughter, thinking it all so funny in his simple mind, little realizing the frustration and anger my Dad felt. We were able to get help to come get us and the wheel and had to wait for it to be fixed.



At this point, Mom and I walked a short distance to the square to look at the pretty store displays. We went into a jewelry store that had a gift section and spent some time just looking. I spied some beautiful figurines dressed in costumes of their day; George and Martha Washington, John and Priscilla Alden and the Governor and his wife of Virginia. For some reason I was "taken" with them and wanted to buy them. I had $10 graduation money with me and although Mom tried to talk me out of such a frivolous notion I bought them and spent $1 apiece for them. In that day and time it was a terrible price to pay for something even as nice as they were. Hard times later on taught me the frivolity of such luxurious ideas even if my mother failed.



In all the moves and disasters that followed in the next 42 years they were somehow protected and preserved. Fate being what it is, I bought three sets, one for each of the three children I would later have. As I pass them on I hope they bring a testimony with them. Dare to want more than you can afford, whether it be time or chance or treasure. Realize the price you paid for it and keep it as a prized possession until you pass it on to your children. The days will fly away and simple things you keep are in a sense like a clock that has ticked away the hours of your life. So much of all our resources goes for the necessities of life - spend a little for beauty as you go along. And pass on as much as you can.



Love, Mom



Until the next time,

John Strain

Gratitude

If I were to list important concepts in my philosophy of life, gratitude would be near the top. A common question of people talking about my job of working in a psychiatric hospital is, “how are you able to be around all of those problems and not get depressed yourself?” Usually my first answer is, “they are not my problems.” The second answer is, “it makes me grateful they are not my problems, because as they say - ‘but for the grace of God go I.’”



Here is my main point. Be grateful. There is a lot of bad stuff in life and eventually it will slosh onto you. Every day there is bad stuff all over the world, starvation, war, death, poverty, sickness, divorce, anger, hostility, meanness, crime - I think you get the point. Every day there is good stuff all over the world, birth, marriage, graduation, promotions, falling in love, laughter, I think you get this point as well. If one is aware of the “good” and the “bad,” gratitude is a natural feeling. Just watch the news and you will probably have this thought at some point, “man I am glad that didn’t happen to me.”



Gratitude can be a point of view and an awareness. We recently lost power because of tropical storm Bill. When the power eventually came back on I was really grateful for the air conditioning. Just thinking about it now wells up the gratitude in me. The list is endless. I am grateful that at this time, my family is healthy, I am grateful for having a job, friends, etc. Most people can make an extensive list of things for which to be grateful. It is the attitude of gratitude (not really trying to rhyme) that softens the blow when the bad stuff comes.



On the other hand if a person is bitter and full of resentment, otherwise lacking in feelings of gratitude when their life is relatively free of problems THEN when problems come the impact is intensified. Let’s face it - in our society / country we have it pretty good compared to many in the world. The concept of the “ugly american” is an ungrateful individual.



Think of instances in which you or people you know get bent out of shape over minor things. “My god, she’s using the wrong fork - how gosh.” “There is a scratch on my Mercedes, I have the worst luck.” “I have to live in a dorm at Harvard.” I am not advocating a person should never get upset, but if we were to focus on the underlying reason to be grateful our upset may not be so severe.



Life is short for each of us. It may seem long when you are sitting in an audit at the IRS or in the dentist chair, but think about how quickly it passed when you were “making out” on the couch those times. Gratitude is insurance against resentment. When you begin to lose a step, when the wrinkles catch up with you and your cuteness no longer enchants with its once irresistible power, gratitude will help you put it all in perspective. You will be able to appreciate what you had and accept what you have. This is the goal of the grief process. Our loved one is gone. Eventually we get to the point we are grateful for our time with them more than we are resentful our time is over with them.



My grandfather had a solution for someone who was ungrateful or a general pain in the keester. He would say, “what they need is a good scare.” As I think about it, “a good scare” results in gratitude. Once the fright wears off you are grateful something bad did not happen. The only thing that changed to make it so was a thought an awareness of gratitude.



Until the next time,

John Strain

Good Jokes

These are some of my favorites:



A set of jumper cables walks into a bar. The bartender says, "I'll serve you, but don't start anything."

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I guy walks into a diner. He tells the waitress, "I want a cup of coffee with no cream." She says, "we're out of cream - you'll have to have it without milk."

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Two psychiatrists are discussing some of their own Freudian slips. One psychiatrist says: "Once I was at the airline ticket counter and I was flying to Pittsburgh. The attendant at the counter was showing a lot of cleavage. My words were, I want two pickets to tittsburg." "It was very embarrassing."



The next psychiatrist said, "I had one last night with my wife. We were sitting at the dinner table. I meant to say - would you please pass the hot-cross-buns, but the words that came out were - you bitch, you ruined my life."

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A guy walks into my office and says, "can I use your dictaphone?" I told him, "hell no, you have to use your finger like everyone else."

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I hope these gave you a chuckle.



Until the next time,



John Strain

What’s for Supper?

Those used to be fighting words to my wife. Now I use them and quickly smile to let her know I am kidding. It all goes back to me not making enough money for her to stay home and be a traditional mother and housewife. Instead she had to work while John was left in day care. Barbara felt guilty about leaving him. Well he starts college this fall and seems to have overcome this early neglect. Anyway, back to the statement “what’s for supper?” Innocently, I would ask this question. Things were going the way I thought they were supposed to. For Barbara though she was getting a double portion of responsibility.



I imagine her thought process went something like this: “I had to leave my baby with strangers. . . I don’t get to see him do cute things all day . . .I should be able to do so . . . why is he asking me what’s for supper? . . .I worked all day . . .why should it be my problem?” They say “fools go where angels fear to trod.” I was trodding unsuspectingly like a blind guy waving a red flag in a pasture full of bulls. Let me just say, I learned not to ask the question. Natural evolution and finesse developed alternative questions that accomplished the same thing: “What would you like for supper?” “Are you hungry? What would you like to eat this evening?” You get the idea.



Needless to say, we ate out a lot. It was easier. I memorized numbers for Dominos and Pizza Hut. We made the circuit of restaurants. Today we haven’t changed a lot, but we eat at home more than we did in the early days of our marriage.



Tonight for instance we ate at the “Six Fortune” Chinese restaurant. Whoever said Chinese food does not fill you up never ate at this place. I am still stuffed - my fault. It seems that every time my elbow bent, my mouth opened. This restaurant is a little store front Chinese buffet. Pretty good. There are better places as measured by the quality of the food, but this place wins hands down in the quantity department.



I think the place is decorated in the “tacky” dynasty motif. The light fixtures are faux lanterns. Tiny Christmas lights ring the perimeter of the dining area. There are the requisite Buddha statues, an aquarium, and large carved wooden wall hangings. The only oriental people I saw were sitting at the cash register.



As I sat there tonight eating a lot of the pretty good food, I noticed the patrons. I enjoyed watching the young mother demonstrating her skill to fill two plates and keep her eye on her five year old daughter who bounced and darted around her mother. she wore a pink dress and had an innocent smile only seen in children.



In the back corner the rowdy table was occupied with about six teenagers. They laughed a lot, loudly, but it did not bother me. I thought, “those guys are enjoying themselves.” There was a man in his 50’s with long hair. He looked different, but speaking as one with very little hair - “more power to you brother!”



I think my rant about political correctness this AM purged me of anger and bitterness for a while anyway. I felt peaceful and serene this evening.



My fortune in the cookie read: Those who do not set goals are destined to work for those who do. My lucky numbers are: 28 29 40 41 43 49. Feel free to use them.



So what’s the point? I don’t really know, but it has something to do with the title “what’s for supper?”



Until the next time,



John Strain

Political Correctness

This post may turn into a rant. From time to time “political correctness” has raised my ire. The rise of the “thought police” and “word police” make me wonder about the freedoms we say we have. Specifically, “do we really have them?” This growing trend of having to say things so the slightest fringe element is not offended has given a tool to the few to wield against the many.



“That offends me.” This little phrase strikes fear into the hearts of supervisors and Human Resource Directors because courts have backed it. I grew up in the era of “sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never harm me.” I still believe that. “FUCK, SHIT, COCKSUCKER, BITCH, ASSHOLE.” Are you offended? Some of you might be. Are you laughing? Some of you might be. Are you indifferent? Again, some of you might be. What is the point you ask? Simply this. Why does one group - the offended - get to have the power to make me erase those words? Why should their rights encroach upon my freedom?



Rap music offends me. Many politicians offend me. Religions different than mine may offend me. That joke offends me. But you know what? That is my problem. Somehow I must find a way to carry on without being reduced to a pool of sniveling, whining, useless flesh. I believe the word is tolerance. I tolerate things I do not like because I know in my non-grandiose, narcissistic, entitled view of the world that some things I find offensive may make others laugh, feel good, or any number of positive things.



Who am I to tell you what to think or say AND who are you to tell me what to think or say. If I do not like what you said, SO WHAT? If you do not like what I said SO WHAT?



It is beyond me how adults run to the government like a child to a parent. “That bad person is thinking something I don’t believe, make him stop.” “That bad person told a joke about bald people and I am bald, WAAAAAAAAH, make him stop.” “Make everyone think and talk like me or I will sue them and take their job - that seems appropriate.”



If these words are expressing strong feelings multiply them by 100. I am sick of whiners not being OK with what someone else thinks. I guess it is because it is hypocritical. They do what they accuse others of doing. The difference is their particular brand of thinking.



People are racist, gossips, and prejudge people. EVERYONE IS FOLKS! The better adjusted folks are aware of their flaws and watch out for them. The feeling I get from the political correct people is that “I’m OK, You’re BAD.” They go one step further AND "you need to change because I am offended."



What we say, write, and think has consequences. The consequences, however, should be related to the ideas we promote and not to the level of offense rated on someone’s arbitrary OFEND-O-METER.



Well, I feel better now. I hope I did not say anything to offend you.



Until the next time,



John Strain