Why Is My Book Called Flying Cheese?

More Than Party Games

What's the biggest compliment you've ever received?

That was the question I had to answer during a party game played over dinner with some girlfriends not long ago.

I sat there for a minute trying to think of something.

"I can tell you the worst 'compliment' I've ever received," I told them.

"Once a woman came up to me and said, 'I'm sure you hear this all the time, but do you know who you look like?'

" 'No,' I said.

" 'Susan Boyle,' she said with great enthusiasm.

" 'Oh,' I said to her, while thinking, You mean I look like the woman who became famous for being unattractive?"

My friends around the table laughed with me, and they quickly assured me I do not look like Susan Boyle (though I can see a resemblance, curly hair, round face).

It's funny how our minds work, isn't it? I could quickly think of a non-compliment, but I struggled to remember something someone said to support and encourage me.

My friend, Ann, sitting next to me at the table, gave me a wonderful compliment. "Becky spoke at our women's retreat a few years ago. She was down-to-earth, I felt like I could relate to her. She had me laughing one minute and crying the next," she said. That was really nice.

When I had time to think about it, I remembered other times people said things that helped me believe in myself a little more.

I remembered my friend, Chris, telling me I was her favorite writer. I found it hard to believe—her favorite? But it meant a lot to me.

I remembered my junior high choir teacher writing in my yearbook, "You are full of potential." I'd only been in his class for one semester, so I was surprised he'd write that. Maybe he said it to everybody, but I remember thinking, He sees potential in me? Wow!

I remember my father talking to a new family at our church when I was in junior high. They had a daughter my age, and my dad, not knowing I was standing behind him, said, "She'll enjoy my daughter Becky. She's a 

lot of fun." What a nice thing for my dad to say.

My friend Jane signs her emails with a quote from one of her teachers: "You never know whom you'll influence nor when nor how" (Sue Mousseau).

She's right. But while you may not know how or when you might influence someone's life, you can be sure you won't make a difference if you never say anything nice to someone. So do it. Today. Tell someone they did a good job. Acknowledge a strength. Pay someone a sincere compliment—one they'll remember even in the middle of a party game.

Bling!

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Last December, I attended a few Christmas parties, and for each one, I dressed up a little bit. Just a bit. Black slacks, sweater, jewelry. For one party, I decided to wear a necklace I'd picked up at a second hand store a few months before. It has six or seven rows of faux pearls, shiny beads, and chains. My friend Michelle calls it my "bling." It does make a statement.

It's pretty, but it is heavy. The last time I wore it, the weight of it on my neck gave me a headache. I didn't want to risk a headache at a Christmas party so I got creative. First, I pinned the necklace to the collar of my shirt. That just made my shirt ride up the back of my neck.

Then I had a stroke of genius. Or a stroke. Not sure which. I decided to tie the necklace to a belt loop on my slacks.

Like I said, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I got the fishing line from the desk in the kitchen and measured off a length of nylon string to run from my necklace, down my back, to my belt loop.I tied the string to my belt loop, and then tied the other end to my necklace. Once I got the necklace on, I discovered the string was just a tad too long. I called on Abby to help.

"You want me to do what?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's heavy. It might give me a headache," I explained.

"You could just take it off if it starts to give you a headache," she suggested.

And have no bling? I thought. What kind of statement would that make?

"Just retie it to my belt loop," I told her. "Make it a little shorter."

She did as I requested and sent me on my way to work.

I was so proud of myself. I made a point to sit down carefully, so as not to over-stress the string. Everything was fine. I looked blingy, and no headache worries. I was a genius.

Yes, everything was fine. Until I needed to use the ladies' room.

I soon realized my genius plan wasn't quite so genius. I ended up taking off the necklace, feeding it down my back, and sticking it in my pocket. When I returned to my desk, I cut off the nylon string and decided to risk getting a headache. Besides, I could always take it off if I started to get a headache. Why hadn't I thought of that before?

So, yeah, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

The Miserable Ones

SPOILER ALERT: If you haven't seen the movie Les Miserables, this may spoil a few surprises for you. And if you don't know the story, some of my comments won't make sense. So just go see the movie.

Back in the late '80s, Doug, his cousin Kim, and I saw the stage version of Les Miserables in Chicago. It was one of the most moving "art" experiences of my life. The man who played Jean Valjean moved me to tears when he sang "Bring Him Home."

Yesterday, our family saw Les Mis the movie, and it moved me to tears, too. The difference was that the stage version brought me to tears with the music while the movie brought me to tears with the story.

Without the restrictions of a stage, movies are able to recreate both the gritty and glorious elements of the real world. The movie makers took advantage of the tools offered them with wide, sweeping views of Paris (no doubt computer generated) and intimate (sometimes painfully prolonged) close ups. I believe the directors knew that storytelling would be the focus of the movie, so they opted for fine actors who were adequate singers rather than fine singers who could act. Some of the supporting roles seemed to be filled by genuine singers--like Marias and his band of brothers--but I found the other voices to be good enough, not spectacular.

I loved the homage to the stage play in the casting of Colm Wilkinson as the priest. He is the man who originated the role of Jean Valjean in London and Broadway. He played this small part well--with simplicity and sincerity.

As I analyzed the more technical aspects of the movie, I also asked myself what the two male lead characters might be saying about God. Valjean, the compassionate parole breaker, dedicated his life to God after a kind priest showed him mercy. Javert, the righteous police inspector, believed God was on his side in pursuing justice.

Does one of these characters personify God better than the other? I asked myself. I decided both men showed the danger of embracing an incomplete view of God.

Valjean, who showed kindness, self-sacrifice, and devotion, kept secrets from those he loved most. He was always one step ahead of the law, always looking over his shoulder. Without submitting to the law of the land, he never knew complete peace or rest.

Meanwhile, Javert was so focused on fulfilling the requirements of the law that he knew nothing of kindness.  In fact, the conflict between the justice he pursued and the grace shown him by Valjean was more than he could bear.

Our Divine Father is perfectly just and perfectly compassionate. He understands that both qualities are necessary. We cannot expect him to turn a blind eye when our attitudes or behaviors violate his clearly defined standards. But at the same time, we need not fear that he will respond to our wrongdoing without love and compassion.  He treats all of Earth's miserable souls with perfect justice and perfect kindness.

And His mercy (His compassion and kindness toward the miserable and afflicted) is on those who fear Him with godly reverence (Luke 1:50, Amplified).

Still Bravely Singing

I recent years I’ve come to love a poem entitled, “In Flanders Fields.” It’s a WWI poem, apparently quite famous in its day. It voiced the heartbreak of those who had lost loved ones in the conflict, and the importance of completing the task to which those soldiers sacrificed their lives.

For a writing project a few years ago, I researched the poem, learning about the author and his inspiration. The poem was written by John McCrae, a Canadian physician. When World War I broke out, McCrae was sent to Belgium as a field surgeon in the Canadian artillery. In 1915, he was in charge of a field hospital during the Second Battle of Ypres [e-pray]. McCrae’s friend Alexis Helmer was killed in the battle, and his burial inspired the poem. In 1918, while still serving in the field hospital, McCrae caught pneumonia and meningitis and died.

Flanders is a region in northern Belgium. The poppies referred to in the poem grew in profusion in the fields where war casualties had been buried. Poppies have since become a symbol of remembrance for fallen soldiers. The poem reads:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

    That mark our place; and in the sky

    The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

     Loved, and were loved, and now we lie

     In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hand we throw

     The torch: be yours to hold it high.

     If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

     In Flanders fields. 

Through the years people have penned various responses to McCrae’s plea. One of them is America’s Answer by R.W. Lilliard.

Rest ye in peace, ye Flanders dead.

The fight that ye so bravely led

We’ve taken up. And we will keep

True faith with you who lie asleep

With each a cross to mark his bed,

   In Flanders fields.

Fear not that ye have died for naught.

The torch ye threw to us we caught.

Ten million hands will hold it high,

And Freedom’s light shall never die!

We’ve learned the lesson that ye taught

   In Flanders fields.

From The Best Loved Poems of the American People, compiled by Hazel Felleman, Doubleday, 1936.

http://www.amazon.com/Best-Loved-Poems-American-People/dp/0385000197

This One’s for Ruth: My Thoughts on The Sound of Music

I had an unpleasant illness recently (are there pleasant illnesses?) that prompted me to spend an unusual number of hours in bed. Between naps, I watched TV and a couple of favorite movies. One of them was 1965’s The Sound of Music. It took me two days to get through the three-hour musical, but I enjoyed it, again.

Each time I watch it I’m struck by the same things:

Julie Andrews’ voice. Such expression, such effortlessness. I recently researched her life journey and learned that her step-father discovered her four-octave range when she was eight years old. Most of us can sing two octaves; many trained singers can cover three. She described it as “freakish,” calling it “an adult voice in a little body.” Sadly, vocal cord surgery in 1997 forever altered her clear soprano.

A personal connection: My father, who had a beautiful tenor voice, had a similar unsatisfactory result from vocal cord surgery. He didn’t sue anybody, but it was sure sad. Meanwhile, my husband, with a rich baritone, has had seven surgeries on his vocal cords—and can still sing beautifully. I think the conditions and treatments were different, but I’m still amazed and extremely grateful each time I hear my hubby sing.

The Alps. The mountains aren’t just a beautiful setting, they’re an important character. Could the story have been set anywhere else, at any other time in history? Without the Alps, there are no “hills” to be alive with the sound of music. Climb Every Mountain becomes a less meaningful analogy. And the movie would lack its dramatic conclusion—the escape by foot over the mountains.

The Nuns. I’d love to sing in a multi-part ensemble like that, singing lowest alto. One of the nuns, Sister Sophia,is none other than Marni Nixon. Who is Marni Nixon, you may ask. She’s the talented singer that dubbed the singing voices of several notable film actresses of the day. She sang for Deborah Kerr in The King and I, Natalie Wood in West Side Story, Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady. In the DVD commentary for The Sound of Music, director Robert Wise comments that audiences were finally able to see the woman whose voice they knew so well.

Edelweiss. A lovely song that became a school choir standard in the ’60s. I distinctly remember my third grade teacher (1966-67) saying, “We are not singing Edelweiss for the parents’ program.” We sang Windy, made popular by The Association. My third grade teacher was too cool for school. She also had a blonde “beehive” and wore miniskirts and pink lipstick. She’s the woman who first inspired me to be a writer. I think of her when I hear the song Edelweiss. And silently thank her.

My favorite line. A Nazi sympathizer, Herr Zeller, attends a party at the Von Trapp home. In a tense conversation about Hitler’s suspected invasion into peaceful Austria, the Captain says to Herr Zeller, “If the Nazis take over Austria, you will be the entire trumpet section.” 

 Zeller responds, “You flatter me.” 

And then, the Captain says my favorite line in the movie: “Oh, how clumsy of me. I meant to accuse you.” 

So polished, so dignified, but so cutting.

Liesl is pretty, but pitchy. The dear soul was flat most of the time. If I can hear it, couldn’t the musical directors? Why didn’t they re-record her parts until she got it right? This really bugs me.

Which child is my age? I’ve always wondered which of the children is closest in age to me so I finally looked it up on the Internet. I’m the same age—a month younger—as the littlest girl, Gretl, played by Kym Karath (born August 4, 1958). Makes ya feel old, doesn’t it?

It’s nice to have a few movies I can watch again and again “when I’m feeling bad.” They’re like old friends that know just what to say to make me feel better, to help me “sing once more.”

This movie also makes me think of my dear friend Ruth who claims it as her favorite. This blog post is dedicated to her.

Step Out of the Traffic

I recently read an interesting article called, “Want To Be More Creative? Get Bored.”

http://www.fastcompany.com/1829462/martin-lindstrom-buyology-marketing-branding-creative-thinking-creative-pause?partner=homepage_newsletter

The author talked about the value of being bored, of having time to let your mind process problems, time to “do” nothing and just let your brain work.

He said, “I’m not referring to killing time on your smartphone, your iPad, or your laptop. I’m not even talking about paging through a book. I mean bored as in doing absolutely nothing.”

His “bored” time is his daily swim.

“As I power up and down the lanes, I rethink what I've learned. I now have the time and space to solve whatever problems have arisen. It’s an important meeting with myself, and I keep it religiously. Because the day I lose it, I've lost myself.”

I’ve noticed this same phenomenon, but rather than “bored” I’d call it “quiet.” I can remember times when quiet produced some great ideas—things to write about, ways to solve a relationship problem, or even a new way to handle the clutter at my house. These quiet moments usually come in the middle of the night. And I don’t lie awake at night very often. Sleeping is one thing I do very well.

My world is rarely quiet. And I’m entirely to blame. I turn on the TV when I’m getting ready for work. I play the radio in the car. I turn on music when I’m cooking. Why is that? What am I so afraid of?

The only time I listen to the quiet is when I take a walk. I don’t have an mp3 player to take music with me wherever I go. But I dislike quiet so much that I sometimes take a book along and read while I walk. It’s a skill I’ve mastered over the years because I don’t like the “do nothing” feeling I get when I’m walking. I also dislike waiting without something to do. Maybe I need counseling.

God understands the need for quiet. Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still and know that I am God.” (King James Version). Look how it’s worded in other versions of the Bible:

“Cease striving and know that I am God” (New American Standard).

“Let be and be still, and know (recognize and understand) that I am God” (Amplified).

“Step out of the traffic! Take a long, loving look at me, your High God.” (The Message).

So now what? Do I promise to create some quiet, “boring” space in my life? I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. But I tell ya what: I’ll try. But keep it quiet.

[A Google search for “quiet place” surfaced this clever exercise: http://thequietplaceproject.com/thequietplace I don’t know anything about the source, so please don’t consider this an endorsement of anything weird.]