How long ? At the Kalico Kitchen

We were down at the Kalico Kitchen, our favorite local eatery, the other day.  We were celebrating being home, as we had just arrived the night before at around 9:00 p.m., exhausted.

Certainly it had been a good trip; but we were, nevertheless, glad to be home.  Ahhhhhh..... yes, home again.  Comfort.

So there we sat, grinning, and ordering off our favorite menu.  We must have been looking pretty slappy-happy, because our young waitress came over and said, "Can I ask you something?"

The LOC*, always amenable to any conversation whatsoever, said, "Sure."
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Actually, once the conversation was underway, she had several questions after the first one.  
How long had we been married?  
Was it hard to stay married that long?
Did we ever argue?  (We both laughed pretty hard at that one.) How did we resolve a disagreement, when one arose?
Was it worth the effort?

She was young, beautiful (and I don't mean just kind of - but truly, drop-dead gorgeous) and clearly in a quandary.  She and her boyfriend had just been on a frustrating weekend trip, wherein very little had gone well; and upon arriving home, predictably (for those of us who have been around awhile) an argument ensued.

Thus, her questions.
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Our answers:  
- almost 27 years; 
- yes, it was hard; 
- yes - both of us laughing again - we definitely argued; 
- we talked the issue through (or as the LOC would say, "talked it to death"); 
- and yes, it was worth it.

There were almost no customers in the place, as it was the dead time of the afternoon, so she returned to our booth in the corner, again and again.
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She is a member of the "millennial" generation; and from what I have read and heard, commitment is not a concept with which they easily come to grips.  However, this young woman seemed genuinely interested in our views on "what it takes to stay in it for the long haul."  It was her hope to do that, too.
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So we spoke with her about our own mistakes; and the fact that we married in mid-life (a second marriage for each of us) and we were pretty set in our ways, which created considerable challenges. 

As I have said before, we didn't just have "baggage" - we had "his and hers" storage units full of issues.

We talked honestly about the hard work a long term relationship requires, the need for a sense of humor - especially when things go wrong - and finally a set of shared, and firmly held, values and a foundational faith. 

After a bit, she left to wait on another table.  And as we sat there ruminating, I could not help but be surprised that it was us - us - sitting there talking about twenty-six, almost twenty-seven, shared years.

Where did the time go? Was it over a quarter of a century since I awoke to a picture of John Wayne with a black eye patch in True Grit persona, hanging in the bedroom of my new husband's home into which I had just moved; oh, and one of a moose hanging in the bathroom?  I clearly remember not knowing whether to laugh or cry - and I did some of both.

Ours was a challenging beginning, and a sometimes difficult middle.  But here we are, looking back while enjoying a contented third act.  I truly cannot quite figure out how that happened; but I am grateful.  God's grace truly knows no bounds.
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How long has it been? Well, the days may seem long when troubles are piled high, but the years really do fly by.  And here we are, in safe harbor after all.  We didn't know how long it would take, but we are glad we made the journey.
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Hope you are in a safe and comforting place tonight.  If so, we can be grateful together.  Until next time, your grateful gardener ~ Marsha
(* Lovable Old Coot)

Puh -LEEZE - Could I Be Excused ? - Or at Least Strongly Sedated

 Like many young people, there were quite a number of things I wanted to be when I grew up.

A flight attendant - only back then they were called stewardesses.

A teacher - of almost anything, but mainly of literature.

A businesswoman - because we didn't have much money and I thought all business people were rich.

One thing I never, EVER, aspired to being was ANY kind of technical advisor.  And now I know why.

I have spent a good portion (or a bad one, depending upon your point of view) of the past three days with computer "experts" who were eager to solve my PC problems for me.

Would that enthusiasm equaled understanding. On either side of the conversation, theirs or mine.

I have now been rebooted, refreshed, logged on, logged out, deleted, canceled, unsubscribed and reconfigured.

Subsequently, I am bemused, confused (but definitely not amused), annoyed, dismayed, and exhausted.

Oh, and after each of the three separate customer service / chat/ help desk experiences, I have been politely invited to provide feedback about my satisfaction level.

ARGHHHHH !!!
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So here's the deal.  I may be back in a day or two when I have recovered from the above mentioned trauma.  Or, it is entirely possible that I may never be heard from again.  Right now it is a toss up.
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Hope no one offered to fix your problem today; but if they did, I sincerely hope they actually delivered on their promise.  If not, you have my condolences.  Until next time (maybe) ~ Marsha

To Serve and Protect

We recently visited with one of our children, who happens to be a police officer in a large city.  He has never had to fire his weapon in the line of duty, except at the firing range in order to keep his required qualification status.

He sincerely believes that his primary duty as a sworn officer of the law is "to serve and protect."  And he does.

Contrary to what we often see on TV, his proudest moment as a policeman was when he saved someone's life a couple of years ago. He did not mention it, but his family told us about it and that he received a commendation for it.  Would that there were more like him.
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I recently read an article written by Mark D. Roberts, of the Max DePree Foundation, wherein he said that when God instructed Adam to take care of Eden, the original language "to till it and to keep it" quite literally meant to serve and protect it.

Not to dominate it, nor exploit it, nor neglect it; but to protect and serve it.  Mr. Roberts offered that this is a prototype of what is really intended for work that is meaningful and satisfying.

We can protect and serve, no matter what line of work we are in.

If we are a teacher, we are to protect and serve our students.

If we are a doctor or nurse, we are to protect and serve our patients.

If we are an administrator, we are to protect and serve those in our organization.

If we are an HR professional, we are to protect and serve our employees.

Even if we are an elected official (also known as, heaven for fend, a politician) we are supposed to protect and serve our constituents.

(Here I could go off on a tangent about whatever happened to the concept of being a "public servant"; but I'll save that for another day.)

If we are a farmer, we are to protect our crops or herds, so that we may serve our consumers the food needed for life.

And so it goes.  In today's society, the generally prevailing attitude is, more often than not, win at any cost.  Outdo the other guy.  If making her look bad makes me look better, so be it.

I suspect that this unbridled ambition, and mean-spirited competition, is why so many are miserable in their work.

Once again, it appears that God knew what would lead to a satisfying life, when the first work he assigned mankind was to "till it and keep it" - or put another way, to protect and serve, regardless of where, or what, our particular role might be.

It's a thought.
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Let's hope we have something worth tending and keeping today.  If we do, let's share it with someone, shall we?  Until next time, your grateful gardener ~ Marsha 

The Condition We Are In

There is an old song that says something about "the condition my condition is in".

I have a condition. Don't we all?  I don't like it and I don't talk about it. Mine isn't visible, at least not usually, so most people never know about it. That is just the way I prefer it.

During a doctor's visit nearly ten years ago now, I was diagnosed.  He was a general practitioner, whom I respected, but still, it was a somewhat discouraging announcement he was making.
Although I had suspected it for some time, it was, nevertheless, disconcerting to have it made official.  So I made an appointment with a specialist in that field.

He confirmed the problem and then gave me his best attempt at a good news - bad news prognosis.  "Well, it won't kill you. However, there may be days when you wish you were dead."

Hello -"Thank you very nice" (as my favorite sportscaster, Mike Krukow, would say).  Krukow has a condition.  It has a long, complicated name and he does not like to talk about it.  We would know nothing of it, except that he stumbled and fell coming off the team bus last summer, and it could no longer be kept private.  He now uses a cane whenever he stands while broadcasting.  Other than that, nothing has changed - and he  plans to keep it that way.  I say good for Mike.
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Today I read a blog written by someone who fights something much more serious than that with which I struggle.  She wrote, "Don't become your disease."  She is right.  It is a slippery slope once you go down that path. And no good can come of it.

Two women, who worked in the same company with me, were both diagnosed with the same ailment as the one my doctor identified and at around the same time.  Within a few months they had both taken a medical leave of absence from work, certified by their treating physician.  One ended up hospitalized and later applied for long term disability. The other one simply quit and, from what I later heard, spent most days in bed.

I knew about their diagnosis because they were both very vocal about it.  They groused, they moaned, they actively sought out those who would commiserate with them in the break room.

I watched as they each "became their condition" and allowed their lives to revolve around their symptoms and ensuing work/life/health complications. It wasn't pretty. And according to my doctor and most of the medical articles I have read on the subject, it was mostly avoidable.

From the outset I decided upon a different approach.  I told no one at work, except my boss and two subordinates who would have to cover my duties on the occasional day when I simply could not get out of bed. I let them know that I believed this would be a very rare occurrence and that I had every intention of continuing my duties as usual.

Over the next several years I rarely missed a day of work due to the "condition" - although, as was to be expected, there were days when I struggled to work at the same energy level as I had previously. Once in a while, someone would ask me if I was "doing okay?"

"Yes, thanks, why?" I might reply.

"Oh, I just noticed that you are limping."
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The fact is that we all "limp along" in life, in one way or another,  Some of us limp in a way that is visibly noticeable, however we might try to disguise it. Others have mental or emotional limps that hamper their best efforts. Although we may not be able to avoid our limp altogether, we may often have a choice about whether to make it worse.

Regardless of the "condition" which may have occasioned a particular limp, my observation has been that those who do their best to ignore their limp, and simply keep putting one foot in front of the other, tend to end up in a better place than those who spend lots of time and energy focusing on their limp.  They constantly examine "what condition their condition is in."

Personally, I think each limp is unique.  It can add character, or even panache, to one's walk through life.  My belief is that one's condition is simply one attribute of one's self, like the color of our hair or how tall we happen to be.

Unless our condition is of a completely debilitating or terminal nature, and even then some people manage to keep walking with a lot of dignity, it only becomes fatal when we use it as an excuse to lie down and quit.

So there you have it.  Yes, I still sometimes limp.  But I don't see that as any reason to quit.  Do you?
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Hope you are not limping today.  But if you are, whatever you do, don't quit.  If you keep walking you may find yourself in a much better place.  If you quit, you are stuck right where you are.  Just saying ... Until next time, your gimpy but grateful gardener ~ Marsha

A Space in Which to Grow

A few days ago I sat in my friend's garden.  She is what my mother might have called a "working wonder" regarding what she can do with a garden space.  In just a few short years, since they moved to Oregon from the windswept plains of Wyoming, she has created a garden that is simply sumptuous.

No, it is not a vegetable garden, although some of the plants grown for beauty really do look good enough to eat, it is a plant and flower garden - extraordinaire!

There is enough space that you do not feel crowded.

There is enough variety that you are never bored.

There is enough color that you are delighted, but not overwhelmed.

And it is not perfect.  That would be somewhat discouraging to an amateur such as myself.  She laughingly pointed out the blue spruce that simply will not grow up.  It prefers to squat and has developed a goofy looking topknot.

I think what charms me most about her garden is that rather than aim for perfection, she has aimed for joy - and has hit it just right.  We talked about her roses, columbines, geraniums, and some of the most gorgeous lupines I have ever seen in my life.

She also planted a couple of low-growing Japanese maples, the kind with the burgundy leaves all year long.  They are flourishing and provided such a great contrast to the yellow roses nearby.

We sat in rockers on her back patio and discussed rainfall, heat issues, seeds versus live plantings, and on and on.  It would have been incredibly boring to anyone who doesn't love to garden.  But we were smiling ear to ear as we compared notes.

Finally I sighed and told my friend that, while I am a solidly Western philosophy kind of person, I could easily "just go all zen" right here in her garden.

As the evening waned and we prepared to go inside, I told her again how much I admired all that she and her husband had created here in their very own little Xanadu.  I wistfully expressed my longing for such garden beauty at home.

She graciously mentioned some of the good things we have been able to accomplish where we live, like the potting station and all the new plantings of the past three years, which she saw when they visited us a few months ago.  And then she surprised me.

"What I love most about your garden and yard is all the space you have.  It is wonderful."
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As I thought about it, I realized that her gardening space is about the size of two good rooms.  I have a half-acre to play with.  Sometimes that is a burden, as I struggle to fill it up.  Maybe I should just take a deep breath and celebrate the space I have in which to play.  To work.  To grow.

Hummm - maybe life is a lot like that, too.  We look at someone else's garden and see only their accomplishments and beautiful surroundings.  Meanwhile, we may have forgotten to celebrate our own "space" ?  It's a thought.  I think I will just wander around my yard enjoying it for a bit when we get home. ... And then I will get to work.  Sorry, just cannot help myself.  :)
                                           
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How is your "garden of life" growing this summer?  Hope you are having fun, learning new things, and taking time to smell your own roses.  Until next time - your grateful gardener ~ Marsha

The Happy, Small Life

Pacific Northwest rural road from DreamsTime.com.

I read an article in the Seattle Times the other day wherein the author, op-ed columnist David Brooks, wrote about a recent survey that had surprised him.  The survey was about whether reaching "big goals" caused those who reached them to become more satisfied in life.  Did such goals represent their purpose?

As I recall, the answer to that question was ambivalent - sometimes it did and sometimes it didn't. What surprised the writer more, however, was something else altogether. He called it the "happy small life."

Several respondents described themselves as happy with their lives, not due to any single great accomplishment, or goal they had achieved; but rather, they described their families, their gardens, their friendships, and how those things had led them to a happy life. They talked about kindness and generosity.
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We attended a wedding weekend before last, a small but joyful backyard ceremony.  It was held at the home of the bride's grandparents and her grandfather had personally built the archway / trellis under which they exchanged their vows. The groom was in his Air Force dress blues and the bride was a beautiful sight in her wedding dress. 

The weather was perfect as it topped just above seventy degrees with a gentle breeze.  Hummingbirds flitted around several feeders placed among the strands of winking lights all over the yard.

Someone told me not long ago that the average wedding now costs approximately $10,000 and that many spend well over $25,000.  The first house we bought cost only $26,500. I realize that was nearly two generations ago now, but still .... . What are people thinking?

I cannot begin to guess.  But I know what this young couple was thinking about when they planned their modest backyard celebration. I know because one of the grandmothers told me about it during the reception.  They were thinking of a starting their new life together with no debt and with a little money with which to make their first home; which would be a small sparsely furnished apartment on a military base in Montana.  And they were happy as could be about it.

Perhaps they also have big dreams.  I do not know.  All I know is that this young couple had already reached their first major goal in life:  a wedding that was held in a place that was meaningful to them, with lots of family and friends in attendance, and without spending a small fortune they had made it lovely. It was fun, too!

One of the more touching parts of their ceremony was one of the scriptures they had chosen.  It was Jeremiah 29:11.
                 For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans to bless you and not to harm you; to give you a future and hope.

Those two kids are going to do alright, if they hang onto that promise. And if they keep making the kind of choices that, even if modest in the eyes of others, make them happy.
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This week we are traveling in the Pacific Northwest. It is beautiful here, as it always is.  But we have noticed that it is no more beautiful than where we live every day.  Different, yes.  But not better.  We have a small happy life on a half-acre in Paradise.  And we are thankful.                     # # #

Hope your half-acre, wherever it may be today, is happy.  Until next time, your grateful gardener ~ Marsha

Putting My Shoes Back On

Today, I put my shoes back on.  Alert the media.  I had not had them on my feet in a few days.  Instead I have been schlepping around in bedroom slippers, or fuzzy socks, or plain old bare feet.

Why?  Or more to the point, who cares?

Point taken.  The thing is, I have been sick.  That awful pestilence - no, not Ebola or the bubonic plague, although it felt like it - but rather the common stomach flu.  You know, the kind where first you are afraid you are going to die, and then you are afraid you might not.  That kind.

However, I am now recovered, and I know this not because the fever and chills are gone, nor because the Advil has been stowed away. No, I am sure I am well because I felt good enough to put on my shoes and do something.  Anything.  Anything other than lying around feeling icky.

When your feet are well-shod you can do just about anything.  Ask the Apostle Paul, he knew.  He wrote about it in Ephesians when he told us to put on the armor of God.

"... and having your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace..."

When you have good feet and the proper foot wear almost anything is do-able.  Some people have problems getting their shoes on, though.  My mother had a thing called a hammertoe.  It was awful. That thing was so bad that she could be heading north and her toe would be pointing east.  She limped badly because of it.

There are also some common "spiritual foot ailments" that can cause our feet to be poorly prepared to spread the good news of peace.

Corns of criticism - Oh, maaaan, these little things can hurt, and yet they are originally caused by friction on the toe - constant rubbing the wrong way.  About the only treatment, for feet that want to be prepared for peace is to refuse to criticize others, and refuse to allow other's criticism of us to 'rub us the wrong way."

Bunions of bitterness - Pointy-toed shoes are often the culprit here.  Pointy at this one who "done us wrong" - or pointy at that one, who "just didn't understand" - etc.  Bunions are no joke, they can be so crippling that they require surgery.  Bitterness is just as seriously injurious to our spiritual walk.

Hammertoe of hatefulness - James tells us that we "bite and devour one another" and end up hating one another because we want what we don't have.  Hard to spread peace when we are limping with resentment.

Fallen arches of failure - Otherwise known as having "flat feet" - the military is well-known for refusing to allow people to serve if they have flat feet.  Fallen arches - guilt, remorse, depression over past failure is not from the Prince of Peace.
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Personally, I am soooo thankful to be up and around again that even my old black Reeboks look pretty good to me. Hoping to spread a little peace today.  Hope you have avoided any of the dread foot conditions mentioned above and that you have a peaceful day, too.  Until next time ~ Marsha

A Thought That Festers

While recently watching a re-run of a West Wing episode, I was struck by a comment, meant humorously in the setting of the story, made by the character of the president. Someone made a mildly critical comment to him, and the president wryly replied:

"Now there's a thought that is going to fester."

In that setting, it was funny; but it started me thinking about the times I have allowed a thought to fester.  That word itself is a little odd and old-fashioned.  You just don't hear it used very often these days, mostly I would guess, because few things actually "fester" today as they once did. 

To fester:  to generate pus, suppurate, to infect, decay, rot, to irritate and inflame, to corrupt.

Well, That's pretty clear.  Allowing something to fester is never a good thing.  Fortunately, with modern topical antibiotic ointments, for minor cuts and burns, and powerful intravenous antibiotics, for major infections, we now rarely see a bodily wound actually fester.  Thankfully.

Unfortunately, being the wayward humans that we are, we have made far less progress in the area of spiritual infections, than we have those which are physical.

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You are such a goody-two shoes!  (That one festered for quite awhile. Although it was tossed at me in the high school cafeteria, many ages ago, simply because I dared to speak up for someone who was not part of the "in" crowd, it continued to irritate me for years.)

You really do carry those extra pounds pretty gracefully.  (Uttered with a smirk by someone who was lean as a greyhound. That rankled for a bit.)

You have let me down. (Now that one, not only devastated me at the time, it has haunted me since.)

We each have a recollection of some such verbal barbs that have been thrown our way, like poison-tipped darts, and instead of immediately flushing out the poison, cleansing the wound, and dealing with the hurt, we have often chosen to let the thought fester.

And it is not just the words others have sent our way, it is also the thoughts we have had toward others, that may fester within our hearts.  Jeremiah wrote, "The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked."  Or to put it in more modern vernacular, we can "get a good mad on" over almost any little thing that hits us wrong.

We see someone glance away as we approach to speak with them, and then watch as they engage in cheerful conversation with someone else.  As we feel our ego deflate, we edge back in another direction, so that it will not be quite so obvious that we have just been snubbed.

The rest of the day, whenever the incident comes to mind, we simmer, just a little.  Oh, well, who cares?  It is not as if we are really that close. But we simmer, and the thought festers.

The next morning, over coffee, we think about making a quick phone call, just to check in; but then we remember that other glance, and think, maybe this person would rather not talk to us either.  So we put the phone down, without making the call.  And now the thought begins to heat up, inflame, not just simmer.

Perhaps when we next see the offender (for that is how we now think of them) we make sure we make eye contact, and then we deliberately turn away before they can approach us to say "hello", as we are making a point.  I don't need you. And there we are.

How to reach "fester" in three easy steps.  Interpret (or mis-interpret) someone's actions.  Think about it negatively several times over a period of time.  Actively (or passively) retaliate at the next opportunity.  Festering in full blossom.  Except the blossom stinks.  Putrid.  Remember, to fester is to produce pus, the dictionary tells us.  Putrefaction.  Yuck.

How did we get here?

Hebrews (12:15) tells us that we should be "looking diligently" (KJV) or in the NIV it says, 

See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many.

Or as the Message version puts it:

Keep a sharp eye out for weeds of bitter discontent.  A thistle or two gone to seed can ruin a whole garden in no time.

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We have all known bitter people, those who spend their irritable days and their discontented nights dwelling on those who got the breaks, those whose children are well and strong, those who make a lot of money, those who .... whatever it is that they secretly are roiling about.  And those thoughts have festered to the point that even those who care about them find it difficult to spend much time in their company.

A thought that is going to fester.  We all encounter them from time to time.  Whatever it is, I urge you, don't let it.  Whatever we allow to fester in our hearts, will eventually kill ...  not the thing or the person we resent, but us.  Festered wounds can kill the body.  Festered thoughts can kill the spirit.  

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Regarding negative or evil thoughts, Martin Luther famously said:

I cannot keep the birds of the air from flying over my head; but I can keep them from building a nest in my hair.

Hope nothing is bothering you today, much less festering.  Meanwhile, I'm checking my own head for any unwanted nests that may be lurking up there.  Until next time, your not-so-fine-feathered friend ~ Marsha

A Poignant Example of Faithfulness

She and her grown son slipped quietly into the pew two rows in front of me.  The service had just begun and the first song was already underway as she joined in,  and she did not glance to the right or the left.  But especially not to the right.

I had caught a brief glimpse of her face as she arrived and her expression was one that is hard to describe; calmness, shadowed by sadness, yet determined - and yes, I could see a hopeful obedience in her countenance.

She had no idea what a witness she was to me in that moment.  Not because of something she said, for she did not speak.  Not for something she sang, as I could not distinguish her voice among all the others.  Nevertheless, she was to me, on that morning two weeks ago, a profound witness to the faithfulness of God to his people and of his people to one another.

Just a few days earlier she had arrived home from a quick trip downtown to do some shopping.  I am told that she walked into the living room and found her husband of many years lying on the floor.  He was already gone and he was only fifty-nine years old.

Now, here she was, sitting in her regular pew.  But she did not look to the right.

On the platform, to her right, stood a young man of perhaps thirty playing the bass guitar, along with the other musicians in the worship band.  He must have known where he was standing, as he kept his eyes downcast and never looked out at the congregation that morning.

For many years her husband had stood in that very spot - he was the bass guitarist.  I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for her to see another standing there.  Or how hard it was for him to stand there; but there he was, doing his part, quietly, reverently.

And there she was, doing her part.  Showing up.  Despite the sudden shock of terrible loss, despite the newness of widowhood, despite the fact that another stood in her loved one's place now.  There she was - still showing up.

And as that young man played, she sang with us these words:

                      Until He returns, or calls me home,
                      Here I stand in the power of Christ.
                     
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Will I?  Will you?  When sudden loss, or heartache comes, will we "stand in the power of Christ" until He comes or calls us home?  Will we carry on, faithfully, doing what we know to do, until then?

That is my determination.  May we allow God to give us the grace to carry on, for not only our own sake, but for the sake of those who may be watching our example.  Your faith, and your example of living it out in the real world, matters more than you know ... to someone who is watching.
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God bless you today as you carry on.  Your fellow traveler ~ Marsha

Hissy-Fits and High Drama

In my last post I mentioned that I would tell you more about my experience with the rules for visiting the White House.  One would rightly assume that they are pretty straightforward and non-negotiable.

That fact alone made what happened right before our very eyes so unbelievable.

We received a set (as in several typewritten pages) of emailed pre-visit instructions.  These were very detailed.  They covered things such as:

• where to park if you were driving in, 
• where the nearest Metro station was, if you were taking a train into the area,
• how long you might expect to wait to enter once you were there, etc.

The guidelines were not just detailed, they were granular in their specificity.  Just to further assure that there would be no misunderstandings, a few of the instructions were bolded and underlined. For example:

• Bring current photo identification.  
• No overcoats.  Suit or sports coat, permitted.
• No hats.  
• No purses, bags, totes or wallets. 
• No cameras.  
• No backpacks.
• No weapons, registered or otherwise.  
• Be prepared to be frisked and go through metal detector. (I'm paraphrasing here.)

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I honestly do not know what more they could have done to make clear what was required to have a successful visit.

Imagine our curiosity then, when the following day, we found ourselves in line behind a husband, wife, and two teenage children with the mother carrying a large tote-type leather bag, in addition to a smaller purse.

K. and I looked at each other as we inched slowly forward, and gave each other a look which said, "This should be interesting." One portion of the instructions which had been bolded and underlined was No purses, bags, totes, or wallets. 

The lady in question breezed right up to the table whereupon a security officer - very politely - said to her, "Maam, you cannot take those items into the White House."

She looked at him, only slightly puzzled, and simply shrugged off his comments and proceeded to lay her tote bag and purse on the table, as she moved toward the walk-through metal detector.

Quietly, but deliberately, a second security officer stepped in front of the metal detector before she could step through, his hands clasped loosely behind his back in an "at ease" posture.

She turned to the first officer, who was still behind the table facing her, and said testily, "Is there a problem?"

"Yes, maam, there seems to be.  You cannot take a purse or any other kind of bag into the White House.  The instructions we sent to you made that clear."

"Then I will leave them here and come back and get them after the tour."

He explained that was not allowed, due to the one-way nature of the tour; no loop-around back was allowed for security reasons.

Now quite testily, she responded, "But that is my purse. And you are telling me that I cannot take it with me and I cannot leave it here.  What do you expect me to do with it?"

Now it was his problem?  And she fully expected him to either make an exception for her, or provide some other solution.

He continued to reply calmly, politely, but firmly as she became increasingly irate. Now her voice was raised, her demeanor not entirely ladylike, and we could see her husband and children getting impatient.

Clearly they had seen this show before and they knew how it usually ended.  Mom threw a hissy-fit, someone made some kind of adjustment or accommodation, she got her way and they all went on with their day.

However, this time, it was not happening.

No matter how many times the officer told her she could not take the belongings into the residence, she continued to act like he was speaking to her in Mandarin. Finally, she nearly shrieked at him, "How am I supposed to take this tour, if I cannot take my purse and bag with me and I cannot leave them here?"

Enough was enough.  I imagine that there is either, a) a time limit, or b) a set number of times through the denial loop, after which the officer goes to Plan B.

"You don't understand, maam.  You will not be taking the White House tour today.  Please step aside and allow the people behind you to move forward."

She spluttered, she huffed and she puffed, but as two additional officers, with side arms in full view, began to move toward her, she grabbed her bags off the table, sharply bid her family to follow, and stomped off.
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This living example of people who think the rules are for "other people" has really stuck with me.  It was not just her arrogance or her complete lack of consideration for either the officers or those in line behind her, it was the fact that she obviously believed she was entitled to special treatment.  It really was all about her.

Sadly, her self-centered attitude meant that her entire family missed out on a wonderful experience that day.  I doubt I will ever get to tour the White House again. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
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I cannot help but ask myself, however, what may I have missed out on, simply because I was too self-involved to pay attention to what was right in front of me?  Probably more than I will ever realize or would care to admit if I did know.  How about you?
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Dear Lord, deliver me from hissy-fits and high drama.  Hope you do not witness any such thing today and I'll do my best not to demonstrate  one.  Until next time, Marsha