Dot Hatfield

In my formative years, summer officially lasted from Memorial Day to Labor Day. So I began the season on May 30 by fasting and visiting my doctor’s office so a nurse could draw blood.

In June, I took a trip to Branson, July was spent in rehearsals, 3 previews and 7 performances of “The Secret Garden” at Center on the Square theater in Searcy. Summer ended Labor Day weekend at the annual White County Creative Writers Conference.

The trip to Branson was to meet up with some of my kids, grandkids, and great-grands who were spending time there. I know this is an obvious statement, but great-grandchildren are such a joy. In them I see hope for the future because they are so brilliant.

My three treasures are Noah, 4 years old, Caleb, 2, and Quade, 14 months. Since our rooms were on the second floor, Noah and Caleb took turns (sort of) pushing the “door open” button in the elevator until we could all load on . . . which sometimes took a minute or two. They did pretty well sharing this responsibility, though sometimes Noah felt compelled to “help” his little brother, even when Caleb clearly did not want any assistance.

Three days sped by quickly and too soon it was time to leave. The older boys and their parents left first, having the longest trip home. We waved goodbye from the parking lot and rang for the elevator. Back to our rooms to finish packing.

We entered the lift, little Quade’s mother holding him on her arm. Suddenly his eyes lit up. Finally, it was his turn to push the button! Except that … the only button he could reach was the one with the exclamation point on it.

Well, he tried, but he wasn’t able to push it in far enough to make a connection. But the dance performed by all the adults present must have been a sight to behold.

I wonder if there is a security camera in that elevator.

One day last week, a can of Spam appeared on my front steps.

What on earth?

Was it just another of the items occasionally found in my yard — soda cans, candy wrappers, vodka bottles? I do, after all, live on a corner lot, seen by many as an approved depository for anything they no longer want in their car.

I really don’t know, but made curious by the unusual gift, I decided to find out more about this product, which was developed by the Hormel company in 1937, but became more widely used during WWII when fresh meat was rationed.

This mystery mix was similar to the ‘pork luncheon meat’ included in K-Rations for paratroopers. Comedians had a field day joking about how well we were feeding our military.

Spam (euphemistically short for ‘spiced ham’) contains only six ingredients: pork with ham, salt, water, potato starch, sugar, and sodium nitrite (a preservative not to be confused with sodium nitrAte, which is something else entirely). The listing ‘pork with ham’ adheres to an FDA ruling that labels must list the most first. Thus, other parts of the pig with a little bit of ham added is the base ingredient of Spam.

During my valuable research I came across SPAM.com where I found several recipes: Spam fries, Spamburger, Fried Nice, Cheesy Mac with Spam chunks, and Musubi.  Musubi is a Hawaiian dish made of rice and Spam molded in a press and wrapped in nori (which is seaweed).  Talk about a pig in a blanket . . .

Now, I’m still not too sure what to do with the bounty that came to me through someone’s goodness, carelessness, or amusement.

Perhaps give it a place of honor to remember my childhood in the Forties, when fried Spam might be part of the daily fare, with okra and tomatoes from the Victory Garden.

Sometimes it falls on us to perform a difficult task, when the task needs to be … well … performed.

Recently, I played the rather stern housekeeper, Mrs. Medlock, in Center on the Square’s production of The Secret Garden. It’s a delightful play with moving sets and lots of scene changes, as the action takes place in the library, bedroom, or garden of a large English mansion.

In one scene, Dr. Cravens introduces the child, Mary, to the head mistress of a boarding school he wants to ship her off to. I am there with a plate of cookies for tea. Mary says she doesn’t want to go to school and proceeds to throw a tantrum … and a cookie. The headmistress, exuding ‘I know how to handle these things’, makes Mary retrieve the English ‘biscuit.’

In dress rehearsals we quickly learned that the cookie seemed to have a mind of its own, despite Mary’s talent at spiking it in the same place every time. Sometimes it would break in two where it landed, as it should, other times it would skitter across the stage, and stop in a spot not convenient for wrestling. The first time that happened, the director said, ‘Be sure to get that cookie off the floor or it will be a terrible distraction to the audience.’

Back stage, we talked about it. Dr. Cravens would not pick up a cookie. He would call a servant to do it.

Then in a totally unscripted moment, it happened. One night Mary slammed the cookie and it slid stage left, behind Dr. Cravens. The headmistress did nothing. Dr. Cravens and I looked at each other and it was decided. Mrs. Medlock would pick up the cookie.

Let me tell you something about myself. I’m a senior citizen and I don’t bend too well. When I drop something I stop to consider how badly do I really want it before I expend the energy to retrieve it.

Now, I can bend over. But it’s not pretty. It usually involves drawing a lot of attention to my prominent backside. I know it is more graceful to semi-squat but sometimes when I do that I keep going and end up on my hands and knees. If I have something to hold on to, I might balance by raising one leg, something like a dog at a fire hydrant, but, alas that was not possible here.

I thought through all these options and as Mary finished her tantrum with a flair, I crossed upstage. I was aware that if this didn’t work out the cookie would no longer be the distraction. As gracefully as possible, I did the half-squat and picked up the two pieces of the cookie. All went well, thankyoulord.

There often comes a time in life when something needs to be done. It may not be our job, but we are the obvious choice. It may not be convenient, we may even be afraid. If it doesn’t work out right, we may be greatly embarrassed.

Never mind all that. Sometimes it falls to us to step up or, in this case, bend over.

When it’s up to you, just do it.

Pick up the cookie.

Many things in life don’t work the way they should. “Easy Open” packaging comes to mind. But was there ever a bigger national flop than the Do Not Call Registry?

The idea was proposed in June 2003 with every land-line owner’s approval. The plan was to give us a choice about whether we would receive telemarketing calls or not. If you disliked  being interrupted at dinner or awakened on your day off, you should put your name on that list. If you enjoyed that sort of thing, do nothing.

Though everyone, at least everyone I know, approved, it didn’t go into effect until February 2004. It took 8 months for the courts to decide this law did not infringe on the telemarketers’ freedom of speech.

Interesting. If I call you twice a day for a week it would be harassment or stalking. But get Big Business involved and things change.

Once the registry was in place, citizens rushed to sign up. Finally, peace and quiet. Then we found there are exceptions. Non-profit agencies can still call asking for donations. Surveys, with their thinly-veiled sales pitches, are allowed. Any business you have an account with, or have sent an inquiry to, can make a “follow-up” call (or 10). Of course bill collectors are exempt. Add to that the people who simple ignore the law.

Now, here’s my theory about what happened. Someone hacked into the Do Not Call Registry and sold all those numbers to RoboCalls International!

And the Federal Trade Commission, Federal Communication Commission, the FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, Secret Service, nor any of the large telephone companies can do anything about it. Ya think?!

All politicians: LISTEN TO THE PEOPLE. Make America great again. Give us back our privacy. Our life, liberty, and  pursuit of happiness.

The words I most often hear that are just not true are, “You can’t miss it.”

Oh, I can miss it! I can miss a clearly marked exit, I can miss the painted guidelines for a parking space, I can miss a step and fall up the stairs. I can miss the eye of a needle, I can miss a lethargic fly just waiting to be slain. I can miss the answer button on my cell phone. And sometimes, but not often, I can miss the punch line.

One day last week at the education cooperative where I work, we experienced a rather major crisis. Our internet server went down. Now when that happens I know exactly what to do: Call the Technologist.

He happened to be out that day but wonderful techie that he is, he is usually able to help even when not physically present. Brook called him and was told to reboot. She said to me, “He said to find the black box with the word ‘Cisco’ on it. He says you can’t miss it.” Oh, great.

Three of us entered the server room, which has about as many wires and and blinking lights as the inner workings of a nuclear sub. I looked around for a box about the size of a crate of toilet paper with six-inch letters proclaiming CISCO…or maybe even SISCO. There was nothing like that anywhere in sight.

We call Jonathan back to tell him the server box must be missing, it is not in the server room. We’re passing around my cell phone (which I can’t believe is working in there with all those electronics), when Sandy says, “Here it is!”  And there, among a bevy of machinery, on a small black device the size of a DVD player written in 2 point font, is the word: CISCO.

Are you kidding me? Who says I couldn’t miss that?

Well, the server was turned off and then on again. The Internet returned. Brook could continue the Google workshop and the GT Coordinators could resume their ZOOM.

Because we finally found something we “couldn’t miss.”

Opening the kitchen drawer that catches everything, I found a black twist tie. You know, the kind that comes on bread wrappers or occasionally in a box of garbage bags.

Why was I saving it? Who knows. But now that I have it, I know exactly what to do to make it a fine and beautiful gift for a friend.

One day last week, a co-worker shared that she was trying to remember to keep her arms to her side because when she raised her arms, one could see the white twist tie holding the zipper on her pants closed.

Now, I didn’t have to wonder why she was using a twisty to avoid a wardrobe malfunction. Because she’s been a mom for 28 years, that’s why! And when you’re a mom and your zipper won’t work and you can’t find a safety pin, then of course you make do with what you have. (Twist ties and/or rubber bands also work when you’re just a little bit pregnant and a button hole won’t quite reach the button.)

Making do is something we learn early on in motherhood. Our little girls are all flounces and frills. They have headbands pinching their brains out or a bow plastered in their hair with KY jelly. They are wearing black patent Mary Janes and lace is stitched to the tops of their sox.

Mom, on the other hand, didn’t get a chance to shampoo her hair, only just discovered a run in her hose, and the zipper on her new pants won’t stay zipped. That’s just the way moms roll.

The only thing I saw wrong with my co-worker’s outfit was that the twist tie was white. It didn’t match the pants she wore. My little black wire would fix that.

With my gift, the twisty nestled at her waistband would match the pants sporting the broken zipper.

What more could a mom want.

We live in a world of second chances.  How often are we offered the opportunity to turn our mistakes around? The Christian faith is a religion of second chances. We mess up and God forgives us. Again and again.

Saturday was Earth Day — a time when we celebrate the gift of our beautiful world. This year many used the occasion to try to bring attention to humanity’s misuse of the planet.

We hear about holes in the ozone layer, climate change, glaciers melting, certain creatures becoming extinct, and the steady depletion of our resources. Some are frightened by what we hear. Some would say that this is simply the natural order of a world evolving. It has happened in our history before. Probably true, since scientists say California was once a huge glacier and dinosaurs roamed about. Should we try to be more responsible, work to turn things around? Some say that there is no point. A controversy, for sure.

By the way, I’m kinda glad the world evolved to the point we are now. We’re not living on an icecap and dinos are no longer with us. I mean, the commute is horrible when it sleets  …. and hitting a deer is bad enough, a dinosaur would really mess up your car. So ultimately things work for the best. But I digress.

Most of us have heard of the Dust Bowl of the Dirty Thirties. Years of over-using the soil finally took its toll. There were several suggested solutions to our ecological crisis and Franklin Roosevelt, in his first 100 days in office, began soil conservation programs. Congress argued about what needed to happen, about spending money on a lost cause. It took years, (too long a story for this blog) but there was recovery.

So, we can turn it around if we want to. My wonderful niece, Leah*, has a farm that she and her husband have made into a way station for Monarch butterflies. Each spring she hosts more than she can count. Just a few years ago Monarchs were believed to be vanishing. People like Leah have intentionally invited them to stay, offering them a safe place to rest as they migrate.

And just yesterday, the wild flowers (aka weeds) in my yard were nourishing several honey bees!

Well, you certainly got the “Limited” side of my point of view today. In school, science was my worst subject and I took it only because I wanted to graduate. You might be wondering what the point of this message is. If I’ve done my job, I’m not supposed to have to tell you. But here goes:

All is not lost. Whatever mistakes we have made, wherever we are in life, it’s not too late to turn it around.

*Visit Leah May Horsley on Facebook and like her Butterfly Bluff Gardens page for information on plants that attract butterflies and many other gardening tips. Thanks to Leah for the lovely picture at the top of this post.