Sign, Sign, Everywhere A Sign

 

Randy had a regular doctor's checkup not too long ago. We were escorted back to an exam room, and we ended up waiting quite awhile.

As usual, I had brought a book. I try not to be irritated by delays because I hope the doctor will spend the time needed for me, so why should I wish differently for another patient? If I have a book, I can pass the time and be happy. However, I also gawked at my surroundings.

There was a sign on the door, politely telling family members who were there during a loved one's appointment to keep their comments to a minimum. I didn't take a photo of that sign, though I did abide by the directive.

But I did pull out my camera to snap a shot of another sign that hung near the exam table:

10 WAYS TO LOVE

 

Listen 

without interrupting

Speak

without accusing

Give

without sparing

Pray

without ceasing

Answer 

without arguing

Share 

without pretending

Enjoy 

without complaint

Trust

without wavering

Forgive

without punishing

Promise

without forgetting

I don't always go to Randy's appointments, so I'm not sure how long the plaque had been a part of the room's decor. But I thought it was significant enough to take a photo. 

Was it hanging there before the Covid-19 pandemic? Before the last election? I don't know. But the sign seemed to have a message for me during this time when there are so many different voices, espousing so many different opinions, more often shouting than speaking conversationally.  

I could certainly hone those 10 ways to love. I do some of them better than others. I imagine most people do. 

These days, I sometimes censor myself, trying to avoid those uncomfortable situations. I have avoided posting photos to social media from K-State football games this fall, knowing there are people who will think we should not be in a stadium with friends, family and strangers.

  

Same goes for the Kansas State Fair, where we presided over a meeting ... but also enjoyed a grandstand show.

Before the vaccine was released, I even hesitated to share photos during the few times we gathered with our kids or granddaughters.

"What will people think?"

"Are they going to judge me?"

It made me think of the song from my teenage years:

Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?

The "signs" are confusing these days. Just like the Five Man Electric Band song said, "Do this." "Don't do that." We shake our heads (if not our fists) and shout, "Can't you read the sign?"

But the sign may seem like you're going past it at 75 miles an hour and viewing it through a dirty windshield. It's kind of blurry. There may not be a "right" answer. But it is very likely the answer IS "right" for you and your family. And that's OK.

 

Taken on our way home from the K-State game 10-2-2021. Most were blurry like this!

Signs don't have to just be ones that you can read. I've seen plenty of "signs" all around me as I continue my role as chief "go-fer" around here during wheat planting. Some of those signs don't make a lot of sense either. For the second fall in a row, I have a few lilac blooms on bushes that typically bloom in the spring. 

 Last year, I used a different analogy. Here's just a snippet from that blog post:

It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world. 

I realize that statement can be taken a variety of ways. It certainly seems plenty of people are "mad" in 2020. It's true whether we're talking about anger "mad" or chaos "mad" during this year that everyone is calling "unprecedented." From a pandemic to a hotly-debated election, there's plenty of madness to go around.

So I guess I wasn't surprised that our lilacs are going mad, too. Not a single one bloomed this past spring. We figured that a frost had nipped them in the bud - literally. 

However, last week as I returned to the farmstead after umpteen trips to the field as go-fer, I noticed a few purple blooms among the greenery.

Taken October 6, 2021, after my second trip to the wheat field that morning.

Not much has changed. People still seem mad. And one persistent purple bloom in the lilac bushes south of my driveway is bravely brightening my day as I drive in and out on yet another farm errand. 

Even in this world that often seems awfully dark and full of vitriol, there are prisms of light. 

 We just have to slow down and see it.

And even more important, share it ...

 To live and LOVE in new ways.

Dueling Road Signs

Sometime in the past couple of days, a new road sign appeared at the corner south of our house. Cue up the "Dueling Banjos" song: It's been going in my head since I saw the contradictory mile markers at the corner.

According to the new Stafford County sign, I live on NE 150th Ave., just north of its intersection with NE  40th Street.

But Reno County put their signs up several years ago. For the longest time, I thought I'd been living  on South Salt Marsh Rd., just north of the intersection with West Illinois Ave.

I have a Sylvia phone, but a Stafford address. Sort of. I have a Reno County street address, but a Stafford zip code. Confused? Welcome to my world.

Let's hope the Reno County sign stays together. Randy and I noticed that there's yet another street name sandwiched between the Salt Marsh designation. If that front sign falls off, I guess I'll be living on Trails West Road ... just not really.

It's not the first time I've had to explain this anomaly. I live right on the Stafford/Reno County line, but our house is on the Reno County side. 

The latest explanation came when I voted early at the Reno County Courthouse prior to the primary election. When the election workers looked at my driver's license, they said, "You live in Stafford, but you can vote in Reno County?"

Yes. I can. Most of the time, I vote in Sylvia, and they are used to my mixed-up world. In all honesty, I'd prefer to exercise my patriotic duty in Stafford County because I'd rather vote on the school board elections where our kids and Randy went to school. I'd rather vote where we go to church, do our banking and other business. But, that's just life on the County Line.

The good news? With all these signs, I should be able to find my way home - at least for the moment. No telling what will happen if the signs all fall over. (I think I'd be OK. As a farmer's daughter and a farmer's wife, I've pretty much lived in the land of no street signs my whole life.)

(If you now have a hankering for Dueling Banjos, there are plenty of versions on YouTube. Click on the link to see Steve Martin and Kermit the Frog's version.)