I try to keep this blog upbeat. (Plug in 'Pollyanna' in my search box at the top left and scads of posts will pop up). But it's hard to be upbeat today and well, there is that 'weeping with those who weep' thing, after all.
I'm talking about the death yesterday of John and Kelly Travolta's 16-year-old son, Jett. This one hit me hard, which may sound odd, but stick with me.
Years ago I was channel surfing and landed upon the Montel Williams Show , the episode with Kelly (Preston) Travolta. She told how she and John had taken their 2-year-old son to the hospital after his having a seizure (I believe it was that).
At first, the doctors were mystified, but eventually they diagnosed him with Kawasaki disease. They said he'd have to take seizure medication the rest of his life.
But I also remember Kelly saying that she, along with other parents of Kawasaki children, were given an extensive survey to fill-out, one designed to discover any possible causes of this disease. The only thing all the survey results had in common? Each of the households had used carpet cleaning services-- I believe both professional and the type you rent from stores, yourself. That was it, the only common factor.
Kelly said she felt so guilty that she'd been such a clean freak after her baby arrived and how, now, because of that, her son would have to take medication forever. And how this could affect the types of jobs he held as an adult, as well, and who knew what else?
I felt horrible for her. I vowed never to use carpet cleaners again (not chemical-laden ones, anyway) and renewed my efforts to keep using baking soda and vinegar as household cleaners. In fact, Kelly was, at that time, traveling around the Country, spreading the word about chemical dangers in the home, advertising a line of natural cleaners as well. Soon after, she appeared on Oprah for that reason.
I told Naomi about that episode of Montel and the carpet cleaning solution thing and, about a year later, she called me from her job to remind her of the details because a co-worker planned on having her rugs cleaned and she had small children. I also told a few other people, but well, you know, that sort of thing can go either way. You find some people who take you seriously and then there are others who say, "My mother had her carpets cleaned, like, every week and look how I turned out. I'm fine!"
But whichever type of person you may be, I'm just saying--because I feel I must--please take chemicals seriously. Try to use as few as possible in your home, especially around children. Especially around yourself or anyone else you may care about.
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Read the article about the Travoltas' son here.
Please pray along with me that this couple will turn to Jesus at this devastating time for the comfort only He can give.
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So this morning I began reading a 1960 teen romance called The Look of Love, by Denise Cass Brookman, a specially-requested book on my Christmas list, one Tom gave me. And as I read the following two paragraphs I thought, aha! This is why I don't like parties:
"What it amounted to was that you just couldn't afford to be either stupid or smart. And study-smart or easy-smart was being too smart for your own good.
Candy didn't know what her own particular good was. She knew that it was supposed to be what everyone else's was--being middle. Feeling it, acting it, talking it. Feeling only a middle feeling, nothing at either end, no great enthusiasms, no great depressions. You acted middle, foolishly sometimes, but never radically. You talked middle, too, which was the same as being silent because you never said anything really--just things like Don't get carried away, and Don't stick your neck out, and Don't do any more than you have to do, and Don't try for two when you've already got one..."
Debra here again:
Yep, it's that grey and boring middle conversation ground at parties which I dread. People reaching only for the least common denominator chat amongst the crowd--how the washing machine broke down or the neighbors fought again or the new spaghetti place that opened down the street. Grey stuff. And I'm talking about church parties since that's the main type I've attended the last, oh, 30 years. You know, potlucks, ice cream socials, birthday parties and such.
For forever I've preferred high roads and stretching my mind and dreamy topics or deeper, serious ones. Not conversations with uncomfortable conflict, either, but ones which take you someplace and drop you off there, changed. Talks which open your eyes to a person's heart or teach you something great which you didn't know before you entered the room.
I'm certainly not trying to make anyone feel this this way--I'm only explaining how I feel.
You may not understand much of this or agree with any of it. In fact, two weeks ago I tried to explaining this to a good friend over lunch and she just did not get it. She adores church parties, always has, always will and the subject just fizzled away.
But I'm sure some of you have felt as I do and well, I just want you to know that if you, too, are a Dreader of Parties, you are not alone.
And too, it occured to me that I'm more grateful than ever to have this blog where I can jot down my beliefs and feelings--things which for eons (it seemed) I wasn't free to share with anyone other than Tom. Blogland has proven a great place to reach out with my not-suitable-for-parties chatter, if only tentatively, to others who understand and need me to understand them, as well.
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Happy new dreams and adventures in making them come true
Happy new diets and losing weight
Happy new lessons and all they teach you
Happy new changes and making things better.
Happy new colors upon your walls
Happy new books and reading till late
Happy new friendships and lovely times
Happy new starting all over, anew.
Happy new photos from your camera
Happy new travels and sights
Happy new stories for all your blogs
Happy new year to each of you!
