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A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,000 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 33 trips to carry that many people.

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I did during the Christmas break. It requires a trampoline and at least two people. The more the merrier, and yes, I’m aware, more dangerous. 

While watching my 20 year old and his 18 year old brother bouncing around with their youngest cousin – a 7th grader – I saw way too much fun in progress. I yearned to participate but considered the cost it might exact from me. I found myself wanting to be there – even if the three decided to disembark!

First, I logically reflected upon my recently rehabilitated ankle. I pondered the physical therapy that had gotten me to this stable season in my life. Gone were the grimaces from ankle woes that had stripped away my confident stride. Gone was my syncopated limp. In fact, it had been months since I had even considered my ankle. It was then I realized it was rather enjoying its new found healthiness. Yet my passion to pounce remained.

The kids were jumping and jostling and just having fun. I couldn’t just stand by!

Next I contemplated my successful family rollerskating adventure the day before. The annual skating episode was a rite of family time during Christmas. The rink held momentous memories – of teenaged employment, of fantastic friends who created the social nucleus of our lives, of being a shared experience most of us could still enjoy.

My confidence was high as I left mom’s house to join awaiting family at the rink. And then, she said it. The two words that caused me to cringe and re-evaluate my reasoning for this risk.

“Be careful,” she said as I left.

I guess falling down at 49 would have implications that would impair my middle school teaching. It’s hard enough to get to the five different classrooms in which I teach WITHOUT an injury.

Do I REALLY want to skate knowing the potential for pain? My heart said yes so I plowed straight ahead laughing in the face of uncertain safety. Being with my family mattered and if I did kiss the floor and become crippled, at least I’d have a good story. Besides, I was relatively sure my family would call 9-1-1 after they had finished laughing.

Buoyed by the consecutive successes mentioned above, I claimed my moment. 

“My turn,” I yelled as I shed my shoes and sat in the center of the trampoline. My sons were dumbfounded and my nephew unsure how to react. I sensed a momentary hesitation but they could tell I was serious. I wasn’t budging from my criss-cross applesauce position until I had gone airborne and their jumping justified my zeal for zaniness. So the bouncing began. I landed on my right side, then my left. I found deeply stored silly screams emerge and I HAD FUN.

Why is it that we talk ourselves out of fun? Out of “playing popcorn” when circumstances dictate or NOT? I don’t know.

But I hope you think of me next time you weigh the risks because being serious is highly overrated.

I’m gonna do a lotta livin’
In the days and weeks I’m given
I’m gonna do a lotta lovin’
Through the cookin’ and my oven

I’m gonna do a lotta listen’n
In between the tears and whisprin’
I’m gonna do a lotta prayin’
God knows the needs, I’m sayin’.

Among the clouds and rainbows
I resolve to make life matter
Between the texts and messages
The noise and endless chatter

I can hear a faint refrain
The tune of truth remains the same
As I do a lotta’ livin’
In the days and weeks I’m given

I’m gonna do a lotta lovin’
Through the cookin’ and my oven
I’m gonna do a lotta listen’n
In the between the tears and whisprin’

I’m gonna do a lotta pray’n
God knows the needs, I’m sayin’
I resolve to make life matter
Between the texts and chatter

I still hear the faint refrain
Of His tune that stays the same
I’m gonna do a lotta’ livin’
In the days and weeks I’m given.

(This poem is dedicated to my friend Bob Coggin.)

The approach is not one that earns Grinch points. It is one of sincerity, kindness, thoughtfulness and giving of self. It doesn’t mean I’m taking a pious way “out” of  NOT doing, going or giving in usual or customary ways. It probably means I will have to think more about the next 23 days. I’m not sure I’m up to THAT but I’m going to try.

The main question I’m asking myself this year is this: What DON’T I have to do to?

Here are some answers:

I DON’T have to be rude – especially to store staffs who work tireless and many times thankless hours as grouchy people buy to have a “merry” Christmas. The gift of patience requires something of me. Who cares that I don’t personally know the person handling my transaction? Am I only supposed to be nice to people who know me? Somehow to me, it just doesn’t add up. Now I’ll warn you, math was NOT my best subject in school but I think you see which way I’m headed here.

I DON’T have to beep my car horn impulsively if the car in front of me doesn’t start moving in 2.2 seconds. The gift of patience might be just what the driver ahead needs. Yeah, it bugs me when drivers talk on the phone but maybe they will realize their distraction if I wait.

I DON’T HAVE to encur debt to help others know I love them. Maybe the self control I’m learning in spending will encourage them to consider changes in their spending habits and end up helping them see hope for their own financial frazzle. The gift of simplicity can be powerful.

I DON’T have to let others’ moods be the steering current as I navigate another season with new family configurations and experiences. The gift of graciousness and acknowledgment can be balms of peace. I may never see the results but I DON’T have to contribute to the stress and hightened emotions holidays can bring out in all of us.

I DON’T have to have my calendar so jammed up that I end up not seeing my family until Christmas Eve at church or Christmas morning for “family time.” The gift of limited availability provides the ability to really make ordinary moments matter, to have the time to extend a kind word, a hug or to actually make eye contract and listen to whomever is making an effort to communicate with me.

I  DON’T have to manufacture merriness just because everyone else has an extra dose of holiday spirit and mine seems a bit less in volume this year. The gift of honesty with myself can allow me and others around me to experience genuineness – happy or sad. Being a risk taker isn’t easy but I know that faux faith isn’t helpful to anyone – especially people who aren’t sure why we get so jazzed about a baby born a couple thousand years ago.

I  DON’T have to be the center of attention or “high need.”  The gift of consideration exerts new dynamics and while I can’t guarantee outcomes, I know that by using it I will end each night knowing I chose to not be a burden or require people to cater to me.

I could go on but I DON’T have to tell you what this approach might mean in your life. Discomfort? Perhaps. Challenge? Of course. The unexpected. Let’s hope!

After all, Jesus has many names recorded in the Bible but He is the hope of the world. My hope is for others to realize this very intangible, but life-altering gift. And the best part? One size truly fits all!

What would I do without electricity? It would keep me from one of my most pleasurable tasks – cooking – and bring able to see what I write. What would I do without gasoline? I’d probably be in better shape by riding my bike, but reality predicts a tougher way to get to my employment. I could become an expert bus map reader but let’s put it this way. I should have paid more attention in geography to have better map skills. Let’s just say, with three men in my family, I took the lazy way out and simply asked, “Are we there yet?”

Without technology, my writing students might actually have to hand write all their assignments but they would live.. Camping type cooking isn’t bad. Hey, I haven’t verified this and it might be urban legend, but I heard that Vikings (not the football team) used their metal shields as makeshift grilling surfaces. Now that sounds fun…sort of. So technically, I could survive. Without technology, I couldn’t cook with the ease I do know – or write in the light with my colored ink pens

Recently I went to a women’s dinner with my mom. About 100 ladies were there to hear a woman tell us her story. She was humorously funny in a sarcastic sort of way and she told about how she met God personally. As she spoke, each table of ladies was instructed to pass around a cute makeshift “lava lamp” made from a large bottle filled with water, vegetable oil, and food coloring. As the lamp headed your way, you were to “feed it” with Alka Seltzer tablets to make it do its thing. A fun ice breaker, and made me wish I had now paid more attention in science class so I knew the reasons behind the chemical reactions taking place. Saying, “Wow, that’s cool,” really didn’t express much depth, but I digress.

So how did the team of ladies responsible for the evening and its 70s theme decorations determine this lava lamp idea? They “googled” it, of course.

What’s funny to me is that I didn’t even know the word “google” 10 years ago and now it’s a verb! AND I “google” regularly. What’s a “skinny” recipe for Thanksgiving? Where’s a photo of the Inuit people I can show in my writing class? Where’s a video I can embed in a presentation to demonstrate for them the word undulation? You really should check out Utube video demonstrating undulation by using a robotic salamander.

So there. Googling is the answer – to most things. And while I realize that there are differences in the comparison I’m fixing to draw, I’m hoping you will go with me as I elaborate.

Instant information. Seas of statistics. Volumes of video. They’re great. Really. I’m using them in various parts of my life, but I’m drowning.

What I’d like to think about for a few minutes is that God, in his everlasting loving ways, stands ready to meet us with answers to the even more important questions of life. No, he wouldn’t define undulation but he gave me a brain to use my tool – a dictionary. I think you understand where I’m going here.

I could google myself into oblivion, fill my mind with important and unimportant information but the fact is….God was….present….before the technology…before the sun shone the first time…before the fish swam in their first schooling pattern.

So while I’m thankful for technology, today I am MORE glad to know God. For years I knew about him, measured my “worthiness” by my sweet intentions (which of course were numerous AND generous)! I am glad to know that God knows what it is like to lose a loved one. My grief over my sister’s passing last year is no surprise to him. He understands. The Bible says he even stores my tears in jars. I’m counting on an ample inventory of those! In fact, his son even died. I can’t imagine the pain of losing a child. Heartache is no stranger to God.

I’m glad God understands my highs, my lows, my goals, my dreams – and yes I still have goals and dreams although I’m about to crack the half-century mark. About 5 years ago, God spared my life in a 5-car highway pileup where I was in the middle, with my kids and our car totaled. No other cars sustained much damage. I remember seeing the hood of my car folding itself back and forth like an accordion folk and heading toward the windshield. I also sensed God’s invisible hand of protection as if He said to the car, you can only come to here. I’m sparing her.

I’m glad God created music. Coincidence is not the word I use to describe the many times the songs I’ve heard have made my spirit lighter, my face smile and be a vehicle for tears to finally escape.

I’m glad God goes before me and behind me and is with me. The Bible says His ways are not our ways and I certainly believe that. That ability is an impossible one for humans and all the time He does this, He makes sure we are not alone because He makes sure to be there as well.

So, while I love Google and the wide, wide world of information and computers, I still believe I love God more. Yes, it can be a drawback sometimes to not physically be able to see Him but I have also lived long enough to see evidence of His love through perfectly timed words, prayers and other amazing circumstances in my life.

All I want to do is spend a $50 gift card I recently redeemed with credit card points. So far I’ve spent probably three days shopping online. Somehow that seems out of whack.

At first, I was after athletic shoes since I work out regularly. However, once I saw the average prices I quickly decided that I didn’t want to spend more than the card’s value. That decision ended that idea.

Next I decide to  simply replace my near-empty fragrance. It’s one I have come to really enjoy for several reasons: 1. I didn’t have to shop for it 2. It was a gift and 3. I didn’t have to shop for it.

Have I mentioned how much I don’t enjoy shopping? Probably. I’ll move on. So after abandoning the shoe idea, I search said site for women’s fragrances only to discover 725 options. I’m way too tired after teaching middle school all week to consider 725 fragrances – unless, someone has invented “scratch and sniff” computer screens thereby eliminating my need to go to a store.

Why does this weird apprehension overtake me? I ask myself. Just make the decision. Order the replacement fragrance and be done with it.

Nope. There’s a new dilemma. That little bottle of “smell good,” as my grandfather would have called it, costs $4 more than my gift card plus shipping and …

“Get over it,” I’m sure some readers are saying.

“What’s wrong with her?” others are reading while rolling their eyes.

I don’t know! It’s just that I grew up in the 80s, I’m re-evaluating my definition of The American Dream (see my previous post)  and $19.99 is my price point. There’s something psychological about all those nines. It makes the price seem…reasonable. But that was until dress jeans, designer jeans and distressed jeans came on the scene.

I’m the one who’s distressed now!

Did I ever mention that my nephew took the guessing out of distressing and did it himself? No highpriced mangled denim for him! After carefully spreading out his new jeans on the driveway, he procured his father’s tools and took away to tearing and ripping. The results looked great and he saved money.

So here I am today – still in possession of the gift card that won’t go away and no closer to spending it.  Guess there’s always the secondary market: sell it for less than face value. It’s a thought.

At least there’d be no shipping, I think.

There’s lots of talk these days about The American Dream and how it’s “under attack.” There’s lots of talk these days about The American Dream and how it may actually take a different form than homeownership, a steady job (what’s that?) and enough “margin” to charge meals consumed outside the home.

Maybe it’s time to redefine it. I’m thinking about that for my life. What about you?

What happens in life when stuff or its management isn’t so encompassing? What happens in life if I’m actually open to the possibility that what I’ve thought I’ve needed isn’t really that at all? What happens if I start to re-consider all my attitudes toward spending, saving and giving decisions and base those decisions on something or someone other than myself? I don’t know the answer to all those questions but I am starting to see examples of  real live people considering how their lives can be more when they have less.  Let me give you an example.

Through October 20,  our city is taking part in what the Jacksonville Public Library calls The Community Read: Jacksonville Turns a Page Together. It’s an effort to have those interested read a common book. Several years ago, it was Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. This year, it’s The Power of Half: One Family’s Decision to Stop Taking and Start Giving Back by Kevin and Hannah Salwen, a dad and daughter team from the Atlanta area whose book is about their family steps to incorporate radical re-evaluation into their lives.

You’ll be surprised at what they chose to do and then how that impacted the lives of others. In fact, residents can listen to the actual story about how Kevin believes the “power of half” idea can translate in communitywide change. He is a small business expert for Yahoo!, wrote for The Wall Street Journal for 18 years, and is also a writer and entrepreneuer. He will be a guest Thursday, Oct. 20 at the Main Library at 11 a.m. in the Hicks Auditorium. By the way, it’s free, but you should RSVP.

I’m hoping to hear what he has to say and even to take my middle school students to hear him. If you’re interested, see jaxpubliclibrary.org/powerofhalf.

The whole idea of defining life in different terms intrigues me. What about you? All I know is that for something to change, something has to change.

Profound, I know!

There are three types of responses to the monthly mandatory fire drill. The strong silent students routinely are not phased. They get up and are in line waiting for the overresponders to get it together so we can escape the “burning building” before we all “die.” Then there are the screamers who levitate themselves about six inches out of their seats in response.  The third group tries to play it cool but they’re really screamers. It’s just that they add an audible laugh afterward to kind of “shoo away” the fact that they’re, well, screamers.

The orderly procession of students “escapes” the building; they wait in silence outside and then backtrack to their respective rooms – all the time enjoying the mandatory break from note taking and between-class hallway drama.

Recently, I escorted my 6^th graders out during an unannounced drill – one that did interrupt a test. They had been deeply thinking and contemplating the universe during my open-note quiz when the alarm jolted us all to action. Screamers screamed. The other screamers screamed and then laughed. Simultaneously, others rose silently, got in line, and waited for the screams and laughs to stop.

The usual exit ensued. The “all clear” was given and just about the time everyone had gotten out, lined up again and had been accounted for we did an about-face to head back in. On the way, one of my 6^th grade boys hustled up to me to ask a question. It’s not one I would have been comfortable asking a teacher of the opposite sex so it sent me into a momentary dumbfounded stupor.

It was then that he whisper-asked, “Hey Mrs. Lemine, have you ever peed in your pants during a fire drill?”

I hate these types of questions. How am I supposed to respond to something like that? Couple that with the fact that spontaneous responses are not my strong suit – but don’t tell me students that.  I assured him that I had not had that misfortune despite the fact that I drink a gallon of water a day (yes, of my own accord.) They know it’s true and see my huge insulated water mug each day.

And then, as if his question wasn’t enough, I got even much information as he continued.

“I did, once,” he said. “In first grade.”

So now my life is complete and you know a tantalizing tidbit about fire drills and what they really involve.

Fortunately, our students are well trained because we practice drills regularly. That is, unless they’re asking their teachers odd questions like the aforementioned.

After resuming our pre-drill activity but before resuming his quiz, another male student beckoned me to his desk. Oh, no, I thought. What now?

I hesitantly headed his way.

“Hey, Mrs. Lemine,” he said. “Did you know that fire drill was gonna happen?”

Whew, I silently breathed in relief.

“I can’t say,” I responded in my teacher-like tone. “It’s a teacher secret. If you grow up to be a teacher, you will know!”

“Some of my teachers tell us ahead of time,” he forthrightly continued – sort of in a questioning way like I’m supposed to clear up that discrepancy.

So what’s a teacher to do? I don’t know but I think my water’s kicking in!

So, with the highly anticipated visit upon me, my nest now empty, I now find myself reprogramming what used to be automatic “Not Now” replies. Now when someone wants to “get together” I’m more likely to ask for a time and place.

So there I was the morning of the meeting. I retrieved my trusty little Mr. Coffee Jr. and got to brewing. I’m not exactly a Starbucks barista so I was hoping my friend’s coffee fixing would not require “shots” of anything. I don’t know how to do those! So inebriated with the exhilaration of domesticity, I grabbed a cookbook to make a simple coffee cake before her arrival. The only thing missing was whistling while I worked. Hate to admit it, but that’s not in my talent repertoire.

I laid out the ingredients on my counter making sure that I put each to the side after using it. During one of my ultra-super organizational phases several years back, I tired of the visual clutter from original product packaging and went to clear containers on which I marked the contents. The only problem with that system was that I grabbed a dry erase marker instead of the ole’ dependable Sharpie. Not a shrewd move. And that’s how the story begins.

As I progressed through the recipe, I was pleased to find how much fun it was to cook again. I grabbed each item, salt, sugar, flour, eggs, cinnamon, baking powder, etc and began my kitchen symphony. Did I ever mention how alike sugar and salt look?

And then, I poured the batter into the pan. Beaming with pride at my efforts, I spread the soon-to-be-miracle – or tried to. I’m not Martha Stewart, Paula Deen or any of their remotely distant relatives but I have cooked enough to know something was awry. My visual inspection of the batter-to-pan process confirmed an anomaly. Gloppy, yes. Smooth and flowing, no.

The raw batter should not go untested, I thought. Any psuedobaker knows the thrill of eating dough that contains raw eggs. I swiped my index finger across it anxiously awaiting what I knew would have to be the world’s best homemade coffee cake.

And then I choked. Seriously.

I couldn’t spit the dough out soon enough. I ran for water. I sounded like a cat hissing at a piece of prey on the other side of the glass divide. In teenspeak, it was an epic fail.

Horror of horrors! Time for a do-over and I began the process again. This time I doublechecked to make sure I added sugar in the correct amount instead of adding salt in its place. It was an unintended mistake but I’ve found in my life that confusing “look-alikes” can create unintended consequences. In this case, the result was a culinary disaster. I’m glad it was not a more earth-shattering situation.

The new coffee cake made me proud. My friend was impressed with my coffee making ability and the visit was worth the wait.

From now on, the Sharpie marker STAYS in the kitchen junk drawer! And I’m keeping the salt and sugar far away from each other.

And then they grew. They started to care about what they wore and voiced their opinions. Since I had the checkbook (if you don’t know what that is you are too young to read this blog!) I cast the winning vote. I did consider the comments.

A few years passed and then my husband and I provided a clothing allowance. Within the agreed upon conditions of clothing style appropriateness, I was no longer hostage on retail hunting expeditions. I just handed over the dough, awaited a receipt and sang hallelujah.

Now those two are in college, buy their own underwear (oops, too much information) and are making their own way in life. I would have let them choose my way but I already took it so it’s a good thing they’re creative.

So today, when I found myself in a local clothing store, I was lost. All the automaticity I had developed during the last 20 years is worthless! I found myself actually looking at the store signage. Boys 4-7. Don’t need that. Infants. Ditto. Womens. If I HAVE to.

The goal: jeans and shapewear. For those of you who don’t know what THAT is, you are too old to read this blog. Think updated girdle and on you’re on the right track. I came armed with my newspaper flyers, scratch-off cards and coupons. Heck, they’d even deduct at least 15 percent of my total purchase if I put it on my store card. YIPPEE.

I amazed myself, honestly. I jostled my way within reach of the clearance clothing and with precision I paused at each denim item – first checking the size and then the price. Pass or Play? I’d decide and move on. By the time I made it through the racks I had 15 garments hanging over my right arm. I could have used a store buggy but that would have been too hard. I would have had to think about getting it and then actually retrieve it.

I was relieved to see that the Trying on Room Dictator was not present to count my clothing items. I quickly snagged a room, hung my purse and began the clothing parade. Most of the items were voted “off the island” and banished back to their racks but I did find the jeans, the shapewear  I needed (and I won’t get too specific here) and even a new black blazer to replace my other. I even shocked myself by purchasing a pair of pants that were too small. Not too, too small, mind you, but a few more pounds away small. I called it incentive. It didn’t hurt that it was 80 percent off.

In case you’re wondering, I did re-hang the rejects and put them on the provided rack before heading to check out where I almost died from amazement. No lines and no waiting. The nice cashier patiently smiled while I narrated. “These are 50 percent off. Can do you a price check on those? I’ll keep them. Thank you.” And on it went. She hit the total button, I handed her my charge card and another $25 came off. I may not be an extreme couponista but I know good prices when I see them.

The thing that ruined the whole successful experience for me though was when the nice cashier (who shall not be named because I didn’t read her name tag) announced quite loudly that I had SAVED $195 and only SPENT $125.

“Dang,” I thought to myself. “You mean I could have paid $320 for all those items and NOT saved a thing? What’s wrong with me?”