Going...going....

Gone.

The past weekend, the wife and I helped with an auction out in the middle of the cornfields. Now, we don't usually hang out in cornfields, but on this day, we were surrounded by some of the tallest corn I've ever seen. That's probably not saying much as there wasn't exactly a lot of corn growing on the streets of the industrial suburb of my youth. For all I know corn is supposed to be nine feet tall at the end of July. A few of the farmers mentioned how tall the corn was, so it must've been at least semi-impressive.

Here's a photo of said corn. I found a strong urge to take photos of the corn. Perhaps it was seeing cobs on the stalk that intrigued me, even more than the height of the stalks.

They are called stalks, aren't they?

It was really talk, really green and really powerful looking. I don't know how corn can look powerful, but it did. It was rather amazing. I even took selfies in front of the corn.

Back to why we were standing in a place surrounded by corn. We didn't exactly decide, "hey, let's hang out in cornfields today." We had a mission.

Our friend was in the midst of having her family home auctioned off to the highest bidder. Being from the Chicago suburbs many a decade ago, I was unfamiliar with the idea that one would auction off anything, let alone a house. It was so foreign of a concept to me that I really didn't grasp the idea until I actually witnessed the process. I've heard of auctioning off houses that had gone into foreclosure, but never an auction "on purpose."

For the record, I would bet dollars to donuts that watching your childhood home--the only home you've ever known--be auctioned off would suck.

Suck royally.

Not only did she watch her house be auctioned off, she watched every item from in that house get sold. From furniture to cleaning supplies, it was up for grabs, often for ridiculously low prices.

It bothered me. A lot. If it bothered me, I can't imagine what she felt.

Just because this is a foreign concept to me does not mean it is a foreign concept at all; in fact, everyone at the auction seemed quite used to the approach. Some people have garage sales... some people use eBay.... some people have auctions.

In the midst of the pre-auction waiting (I was supposed to be guarding the Precious Moments collection), I found a lot of cool things; for instance, this canister set took me right back to the 1970's. I'm sure my mom will recall owning this canister set, complete with mushroom salt and pepper shakers, in the days of Bread, The Carpenters and Blood, Sweat and Tears. I do believe she had the mushroom clock hanging over the kitchen sink.

I wanted to bid on these not because I actually wanted them but because of nostalgia. I have to say, nostalgia is a very powerful thing. Thankfully, I was slapped back into the 21st century when I realized the wife would not have let me bring these in the house. Who can blame her?

It would have been fun for the Christmas White Elephant, though.

I loved the 'old' stuff. I don't know what qualifies as antique, so I'm going to call it "old," no offense to actual antiques. I loved the tarnished silver this-or-that, the history of found on the covers of old newspapers, the trinkets that must have filled the drawers. I was stunned to find an old key chain that had the name of my childhood town on it; after all, we were NOWHERE near the place of my youth. I mean, why was there a car wash key chain from Franklin Park in the middle of a corn field? I wanted to buy that but then I remembered the wife's words to take photos instead of buying items. So boring but true.

I didn't end up bidding on anything. I left the auction so I could go do a scheduled baptism. (Yes, I do baptisms. I'm branching out.) I left behind the wife and the corn without nary a raise of an auction number (no paddles-- just card stock with large numbers).

I've never seen so many farmers in one place at the same time. How do I know they were farmers? They were all wearing pants despite the 90 degree heat. I've decided that farmers do not own shorts.

The farmers were very nice. Friendly. Older than not. I didn't see any young farmers. I take that as a bad sign. Maybe the young farmers were out tending the tall corn.

This newspaper is from 1872. Wow! That's 100 years older than the mushroom canister set. Oh, how I wanted to bid on this. No reason--I just thought it was amazingly cool to see something from 1872. (Click on the photo if you want to see the details on the newspaper.)

In the end, the house, land and belongings sold for less than I would have thought...which is a weird statement, as I have no idea how much things should actually sell for in the middle of what this city slicker would call "the middle of nowhere." I would assume our friend sobbed at the end of the auction. I know I would have. Selling something is one thing but, like I said, watching everything fade away in front of you seems like a whole 'nother thing.

In the end, I have my photos of old newspapers, key chains and corn. I have my chuckles over the key chain and the corn. Our friend has photos and a few trinkets. She certainly has memories. Lots of memories. Lots of happy childhood memories. Lots of growing up on a farm stories. But, having to watch your home become a thing auctioned off to a stranger? I can't imagine that makes for a very happy memory.

For that reason, I am sending her happy thoughts for the rest of the week. I hope you will, too. Send out a happy shout to the universe in her honor. If nothing else, please think of her when you eat your next serving of corn on the cob. I know the farmers and our friend would appreciate it.

Oh no you didn't

During recent dinner conversation with two friends, one of them mentioned a radio interview in regards what not to talk about during a dinner party. After determining this was NOT her polite ways of saying she wished I'd stop talking about various things, we hooted and hollered about what the list actually included. Our dinner companion couldn't remember all of the interview details or the interviewee's name but remembered just enough to know that the list lady found dull and self-indulgent behavior inappropriate for the dinner party. This concerned me, as I'm mundane, gauche, inappropriate and self-indulgent every day of my life. 

My take on inappropriate, gauche dinner discussion is either embrace it....or, get new friends!! Why not talk about subjects that are deemed not appropriate as subject matter for ANY conversation? What if none of us talked about poop? How would we know what was good or bad, normal or not, terrifying or mundane? What if there is corn in your poop? Don't you want to tell someone? I want to tell someone, especially if I haven't eaten corn in months. What if you made the perfect morning swirly? If you can't take a camera phone photo (to post on Facebook, of course), at least tell someone. What if you poop and when you look down there is nothing there? I always want to hear a good "ghost poop" story.

Here's a semi-sorta list of topics of which not to speak when at a dinner gathering, along with my thoughts about said list. It does not include all the topics off-topic but you get the idea. By the time you are done reading, I KNOW you will want to invite me to all your parties.

Apologies to the list lady and the broadcasting radio station. I have no idea about either topic, I think I won't talk about not knowing any of this as not knowing this sounds like something off-topic for a dinner party. Whoever she is, I bet her facebook status updates are REALLY boring....nothing like this: 

As I am here to educate readers and save all from certain embarrassment at the next dinner party, I suggest you ignore this list lady and listen to me.

Sleep: What's wrong with talking about a bad night's sleep? Or, a really good night's sleep? It is important to know if someone slept well or not. First of all, it might explain those giant black bags under their eyes. Secondly, maybe you know a good drug or liquor that will help people sleep. What if someone needs a new mattress? Maybe you are an expert on that "number" mattress. Maybe you are looking to sell your bed frame. Perhaps you have information on bed bugs--everyone needs to know about bed bugs. The only time I don't speak about sleeping is when one of the dinner guests is sleeping. No need to talk about anything to someone who is sleeping. I find it a whole lot worse to be sleeping at the dinner party than talking about your bad night's sleep due to unrelenting hot flashes. 

Dreams: Oh, to have everyone talk about dreams. As a therapist, I wish everyone would talk about their dreams so I could secretly diagnose them...Crazy or not so crazy? I'll be the judge of that.

Diets: If we're inviting you over (which will almost never happen for dinner as we don't cook unless forced at gunpoint) or going to dinner with you, it is important I know if the guests are lacto-intolerant, gluten-free, paleo-tonic, kosher, semi-kosher, pretend-to-be kosher, vegan, peanut-restricted, raw-diet-only and/or diabetic-laden persons. What if they don't like chocolate? If I talk about it and they disclose they don't like or eat chocolate, I will know to un-invite them. As for talking about weight loss or other non-dinner-party-invitation-diet topics, I say we honor such discussion. I want to know if someone found the secret to youth via a nutri-blended concoction which includes berries from a third-world country, is currently in the bulimic stage of their eating disorder or knows how to include ice cream at every meal.

Also, I find it imperative that all dinner guests recognize the importance of NOT putting ketchup on their hot dogs. As one who was raised in the land of no ketchup, I daresay this is VERY important dinner conversation. And, for god's sake, get rid of that stupid brown mustard. Although not half as gauche as ketchup on a hot dog, brown mustard is wrong. If you are in Illinois, you eat yellow mustard. If you are a Cheesehead living in Illinois, you eat yellow mustard or you go back to north of the Cheddar Curtain Yellow mustard, not ketchup. Take that, dinner list lady.

Health: Okay, you know where I stand on this one. EVERYONE should share stories about their first colonoscopy. Everyone. Issues/questions/concerns/ideas/stories about poop and general health conditions must be honored, especially if the conversation is held by persons over the age of 45. Photos of procedures are encouraged. What fun is this lady making this list? She must be a really boring attendee at dinner parties. If Oprah can talk about her "va-jay-jay" on national TV, we can talk about our bunions.

Periods: Why on earth was this lady thinking about her period? Probably because she was having hers. I vote we talk about menstruation, peri-menopause and menopause at any given moment, provided squeamish men are in attendance and/or a hot flash is in progress.

Money: I suppose it is best not to talk about money, religion or politics but that really leaves topics like bad TV sit-coms and your favorite car wax to contemplate. I say, If you have it, flaunt it. If you don't, get some. If you have money to share, share it with me because I'm willing to talk about it. So not gauche.

Routes: The list lady finds that talking about the route you took to the dinner party to be inappropriate fodder for the party. Why would that be? It's the perfect ice breaker. Other guests might have endured the same construction, detour, blinding weather. They might have experienced the loss of GPS signal, just like you, leaving them terrified. What if you are a rich and famous star who had trouble finding the party? I'd love to hear about that. You put your pants on one leg at a time, just like me. Who doesn't want to know someone rich and famous got lost along the way to your gauche dinner party? I'd like it even better if a map or a photo of the GPS-induced route is included as part of the discussion. If you have an actual map (you know, old school Rand-McNally map), I will probably ask your hand in marriage, as there is nothing better than a "real" map.  Nothing.

If I had it my way, all dinner parties would include discussion about chocolate, bodily functions, Netflix shows and mystery hair sprouting as time goes on. I would encourage talking about the next meal while eating the current meal. I would encourage anything that makes people laugh, cry, argue. I would love to talk about the pros & cons of Madonna going on another world tour. As long as they keep eating and have a great time, who cares what they are talking about? 

My final thoughts are this: We live in America, home of the proud, free and brave. We have freedom of speech, so speak of what you will at dinner parties, no matter the location, no matter the meal. Whether you are in a progressive city or a backwater swamp, speak as you will. 

Of course, if you are in doubt about this, just remember:

Ooze Joy, Choose Joy

Last week, I had to give a talk at church. I know, I know--that ruins my reputation just saying that. Well, someone has to talk when the master pastor is away. Anyway, I decided to talk about "joy." Not a person named Joy; rather, the feeling/being of joy. (I do know a woman named Joy, who actually fits her name quite nicely. Funny how that happens.)

I thought I'd share some excerpts with you, mainly because I want you to have some joy. 

Everyone should have some joy.

[Side note to the Not-so-joyous-folk: I'd venture to say you are thinking this blog is going to suck if you are not feeling at least a wee bit of joy at this particular moment. Fear not. We all have joy hiding deep down inside. It may be on vacation or furlow or in a different time zone right now but I promise joy is still within the depths of your very being. Don't be skipping this blog if you are in a bad mood or grieving or so sad you can't see straight. You can read this and keep scowling, crying, shaking, lamenting. It's okay. Joy will wait for you.]

...Joy is defined as a feeling of great happiness, of great delight. To rejoice, be elated, be filled with jubilation. It is a source or cause of great delight. We speak of glee, of an underlying truth, a feeling from the soul. Most of us can think of things that have brought us great joy or of a time we experienced joy. Even at the darkest of times, joy hangs around the corner and waits for us to count the smallest of our blessings.

Joy is not frivolous. It is a need.

(I love that.)

Joy lives and moves within our very being.  

Joy is both a state of mind and orientation of the heart.

Mother Teresa said, "Joy is prayer. Joy is strength. Joy is love. Joy is a net of love by which you can catch souls."

Joy is about passion and enthusiasm. One of my favorite authors is Jack Canfield. In his book, The Success Principles, he notes “no doubt you have known or have met people who are passionate about life and enthusiastic about their work. They can’t wait to get up in the morning and get started. They are eager and energetic. They are filled with purpose and totally committed to their mission. This passion comes from loving and enjoying work. It comes from doing what you were born to do. It comes from following your heart and trusting your joy as a guide.”

Joy, to me, is about doing things, about events, about people, about feelings. Joy is not about material things.  Joy is not in getting a bigger or better or house. Joy is alive—it is celebrating, communicating, sharing and giving.

Joy is an event.  

It is the little things in everyday life—little things which are really the big things—that bring me joy. The wife always says that I’m a simple girl and perhaps that I find the most joy in the simplest of things. Actually, I seem to find the most joy via food.  Chick-a-hello’s Fruit fluff brings me unimaginable joy. While on vacation last week, I ate the most delicious, most amazing, by far the best-ever veggie burger—it was so good that I did not speak one word during that meal nor did I share one bite. It was a happening, not a meal.

The wife's Lemon Cornmeal Cake brings tears to my eyes. 

Weeding uninterrupted for an hour brings me profound joy. Going to work so I may serve those in need or doing something—even the simplest of things—for someone who is unable to do so--reiterates how much giving leads to a most wonderful ignition of joy. It borders on ridiculous how much I love what I do for a living. It brings me great joy to work with the people who cross my path. All this brings joy bubbling up to the surface. 

Joy may be found in using your good china for a weekend carry-out dinner or when talking to a five year old about why the sky is blue instead of some other color. I invite all of us to contemplate what joy means—AND BRINGS—to you.

Personally, I can’t watch Ellen DeGeneres dance without experiencing ridiculous amounts of joy.

James Dillet Freeman wrote “to enjoy things is not to possess them or to be possessed by them but to USE them. The joy of anything is in the use of it.” He writes, “The joy is not to have a beautiful dress in your closet, but to wear the dress to make the day or evening colorful and bright and interesting to you and your friends or to even give it away when you will not wear it. The joy is not to have a book upon a shelf, neat and perfect in its shining clean dust jacket, but to read the book and rejoice in its information or its inspiration, even to scribble in its margin, or lend to friends to read, even friends who never return it. Things are made for life, not life made for things.”

I invite you to consider what brings you great joy and then go do it, find it be it. Don’t wait to use it, to find it, to be it.

Give thanks for everything, for Gratitude and joy go hand in hand.

And, thus ended my spiritually-inspired excerpts. See? Not so bad, not too preachy.

Writing this blog brings me joy. Thinking of all you hanging out in the Addiverse brings me joy. My dogs bring me profound joy. The wife is a ball of joy. Chocolate IS joy. The birds in the back yard bring joy on wings.

Make your own ode to Joy today.