This morning a theme dawns on us

While we were drinking coffee together in the gray light of morning, Bill and I began to discuss our philosophy of decorating. It's not a very common topic for us. Mostly because our life seems overfilled with other things. But I recently finished my next book and I'm waiting to hear the first comments from my editor. Typically this is the time of the year when I get my annual medical check-up, visit the dentist, embark on a new exercise routine and think about other things, like decorating.

I love to watch the cable channels with their home makeover challenges. It's amazing how they can make a room unrecognizable in 72 hours. But now that I think about it, my kids were able to do that in twenty minutes. Decorating is all about style and color and theme. Theme is BIG in the lexicon of decorators. It gives a home, a room, a handle to grab on to. Everything in the room should fit into it and enhance it.

Bill and I were thinking that in our house is lacking in theme, or dare I say, theme-less.

When we married in 2001, my little bungalow was pleasantly full of furniture, knick-knacks, treasured history and objects d'art. Some of it I'd bought, some came from the homes of my parents and grandparents. There are even pieces whose origin is lost to history. (Was this my sister's or did my college dorm mate leave this when she moved out?)

Bill was living in a house just down the street from mine. He had plenty of things as well. And when we plighted our respective troths, well it got pretty crowded around here. Over time we've managed to "outsource" a number of things to kids, friends and Goodwill Industries to the point that we no longer have to clear a path to walk in and out the door.

We have established a rule, that neither of us can buy anything that we don't already have a place for. This works pretty well, but there are still the unexpected additions. This week one of the kids is moving and dropped off a bookcase end table that he no longer wanted. The sturdy piece, constructed from old growth walnut was built by my father in his high school shop class. It was a fixture in my grandparent's living room for perhaps sixty years. My grandfather kept his reading material there and when Grandma got too much for him, he was known to turn down his hearing aid and lose himself in Salvation Army Magazine, the Reader's Digest or the poetry of James Whitcomb Riley.

When my grandparents died, it became mine and it has fitted itself into the numerous apartments and houses with purposes unique to each locale. I'm not sure exactly how it ended up in my stepson's bachelor pad, but it's nice to have it home again and living among those who might occasionally dust it.

Because it is dark wood and has the bookcase feature, we decided to put it here in my office. It fits in nicely and already looks as if it has been a part of this room forever.

So Bill and I sat here, sipping our coffee and admiring it, imagining the wood being carefully cut on the table saw at Oilton High in 1937. Thinking of how proudly Dad might have presented it to his parents, his grade 'A' marked in chalk on the underside.

I remembered it covered with a crochet doily, as the location of the button jar in my childhood. And sitting next to my big reading rocker in my first home in Tulsa, the one with orange shag carpeting.

We speculated on the books that had filled its shelf in the last 73 years. Maybe 1st editions of Cimarron and Grapes of Wrath, a dog-eared copy of The Greatest Story Ever Told. And my own reading history, when Girl of the Limberlost made way for graduate school texts on librarianship, which got replaced by What to Expect When You're Expecting and then Curious George.

That's how, in a discussion of decorating, we figured out our theme. Our decor revolves around memories. It's about looking at our life, and the lives of people we love, in the long term. And everything in every room encourages and enhances that theme. Some day maybe our grandkids will see it the same way.

Attempts at being a better person

Most people who know me know that I'm a Christian. Most people who know me pretty well, know that I'm not that good of one. I love a nice glass of wine and hardly ever pass it up when it's offered. And terrible Anglo Saxon curses have been known to escape my lips. I laugh at unseemly off-color jokes. I've even told a risque tale or two.

Admitting that, I also must confess that from time to time I make attempts at being a better person. So far the results have been mixed.

Several years ago I determined to give up gossiping. Now gossip did not make the Bible's top ten list, unless you consider it "false witness" which I think is really lying. However, the New Testament is very sternly opposed to it and for undoubtedly good reasons. So in a moment of self-betterment, I decided to give it up. My vow lasted about a week. A very silent week. I realized that without sharing what I knew or what I'd heard, I suddenly didn't have anything to talk about. A gal has got to have conversation!

My next improvement project was inspired by a Sunday School teacher who urged his class to pray for our enemies. I was momentarily caught up short. I couldn't think of any particular persons at the time that I would consider enemies. I probably could manage a better list now. But after some thought I eventually chose a fellow writer who had dissed me at a conference. I didn't know the woman and what her motivation might have been, I couldn't imagine. But she had angered and embarrassed me in public. And I would have very much enjoyed throttling her. But of course, I didn't. Instead I picked her to be the enemy I prayed for.

I was diligent about it. I kept it up. And I have to admit I had expectations. I thought I would eventually feel forgiving toward her. That I would learn to care about her. And that somehow, some way, that care would translate into some sort of explanation of what happened.

Well, nope on all counts.

I think my mistake was one that I often make. Maybe it's one everybody makes. I feel that when I do something good, something kind, something unselfish that over the course of time I get all that back. We even have a saying for it. "What goes around, comes around." If you're into Eastern religions, it's called karma, I guess. My late husband, Mr. Morsi, would have quoted an Arab proverb about salt on the water. It always comes back to you.

I, however, have decided that is wishful thinking. An act of altruism that maintains a selfish component isn't really altruism. It's just hedging a bet. In order to be truly good, kind, charitable, you simply cannot suppose you will profit from it in any way.

Of course, when you take out the profit motive, the number of participants dwindles significantly.

I was talking with friends the other day about Bill Gates and Warren Buffett and the billionaires trying to give away half of their wealth. I admire them for that. Even if they do have so much money they will never miss it, giving half is very significant and very much needed. And it's even better that they're trying to encourage other billionaires to do the same. Now, it's not lost on anyone that these guys have more money than they could spend in a dozen lifetimes and that they can't take it with them. By giving away their money now, they get to control where it goes. They get to take bows for the good that it does. And they get all the positive tax consequences they are entitled to.

I sure wouldn't want to discourage that.

And the "goes around, comes around" thing can also be good if you're a recipient.

My Uncle Bob has been having some health struggles lately and he's received so much assistance, not just from family, but also from the folks who live nearby. Their caring has been so generous and consistent that it's difficult for him to accept. He gets all teary-eyed about how kind people are to him. I've tried to make it better by pointing out all that he's done for others over his lifetime. He was always there when somebody needed him. The difference now is that he's the one in need. I think that made him feel better. And I don't doubt those neighbors do it with no sense of ever having it reciprocated by anyone. Then again, I'd hope that if they ever need help, someone...maybe someone like me, will be there.

Maybe that's the whole deal about community. The truly selfless are so rare, that they would be completely overwhelmed were it not for us sort-of-self-interested folks.

There's a saying that I can't quite remember something like, "a drowning man doesn't judge the hand that reaches out to him." That's not quite it, but you probably know it better than I do. It's a more sophisticated version of, "don't look a gift horse in the mouth." For those of you not typical horse recipients, translate that to "don't look for faults in something freely offered."

Doing the kind thing, the nice thing, the best thing is such a positive to our families, our communities, our world, that whatever our motives might be pales in significance

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Oh, and that author that dissed me? She became so fabulously successful that she's practically a household name. I take some credit for that. I'm sure my prayers helped.