Living Happily Ever After
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Blog Articles

Speaking of Patience…

Date: May 22, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Knowing trees, I understand the meaning of patience. Knowing grass, I can appreciate persistence.” (Hal Borland)

Riddle of the day: What isn’t grass, but is not quite a tree? A bush. In my world, a peony bush—to be exact.

I wrote about my peony bush several posts ago; the bush I authorized my husband to remove for its failure to bloom (because life is too short to waste time not blooming!) Later I heard from a blog reader that I may have been too hasty, a little too impatient, with my slow-to-bloom bush as peony plants can apparently take 3-4 growing seasons after transplanting to bloom again. Oops. I guess I have more to learn about patience, huh? And a realization I’d come to, too little too late, to be of worth to my garden.

However the other day I was in the corner of the Utah garden where my peony bush had failed to thrive…and there it was! Bigger than ever, with flower blossoms looking ready to burst open at any time. (I’m not sure what plant my husband removed, but clearly it wasn’t the peony bush!) It goes to show, again, that, ”A little more persistence, a little more effort, and what seemed hopeless failure may turn to glorious success.” (Elbert Hubbard)

Pink and fluffy. Beautiful to behold. Lasting.

So if you haven’t achieved your happily ever after yet, don’t abandon your quest. Hang in there, work to bloom a little longer and it will happen. I know it. My peony bush, and my own unexpected life, are proof.

The First Adventure

Date: May 16, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

“For there is a price ticket on everything that puts a whizz into life, and adventure follows the rule. It’s distressing, but there you are.” (Leslie Charteris)

One adventure of my most recent business trip, was the opportunity to address a crowd of several thousand people. As I manage the philanthropic efforts of my company, my topic was service to others and making the world a better place. Here’s an edited excerpt:

“On the plains of Texas and Oklahoma, trees were sometimes rare and precious things and there was a tradition that recognized the responsibility of one generation for the next. Homesteaders, once their house was built, the well dug and the first crops harvested, planted their ‘grandchildren grove.’ Farmers read scores of seed catalogs to select a particular type of pecan tree—hardy and strong, able to withstand deep winters and torrid summers—and sent off carefully hoarded money.

In due time, a tree hardly larger than a switch arrived. The farmers placed the roots in water, dug a hole, planted the trees, and watered them carrying bucketful after bucketful from their wells. The pecan trees weren’t for their benefit. Pecan trees grow very slowly, the farmers would be dead and gone long before the groves they planted provided substantial shade or nuts. Some felt work that went unrewarded for generations was a waste, but farmers who planted pecan trees weren’t planting the trees for themselves. They were creating a legacy for others.

In the 1870s, my great-great grandfather left his native country of Denmark for Utah and established a homestead. He built a dwelling on the property, worked the land for a number of years and eventually it became his. He built this house—lived in a tiny upstairs accessed by a ladder on the outside of the structure while his sheep lived in the room below him! His effort sustained his life and became a legacy.  Who can predict the value of one person’s life well-lived, the service they provide or the impact of a legacy? In my experience, you can’t, because it’s limitless.

I was reminded of that fact 140 years after he established his legacy, because his legacy literally saved me when I unexpectedly became single—without a home, money or assets—the sole parent and support of my four children. What began as a little homestead and then became his legacy, sustained me and my children for a time and helped us get our start in building and creating a new life.

What is your legacy? How are you demonstrating your commitment to making a difference in the world, making the world a better place? Your legacy is the service you provide, the mark you make on the world while you’re here and the one you will leave behind when you are gone. Although our days are numbered, may our good works never be!”

After the speech ended, I went about my other business duties at my company’s event. But as usually happens after a speech, I met people who recognized me as the woman who spoke on stage, they’d introduce themselves and we’d have a great discussion about the impact of service, making the world better or they’d share how someone had touched their life by serving them. What I didn’t expect was any discussion about anything else. But as I’ve said before, in life, you get unexpected adventures.

A man approached, introduced himself, told me how much he’d enjoyed my remarks and what an amazing woman I was. He was quite effusive in his praise, it made me start to think, “Wow, my speech must have been even better than I thought!” And then the man moved on to the topic of being a single parent, surviving hard things, told me we had a lot in common, what a strong woman I must be, how much he admired me and how nice it was to meet me. (I know, I know, I’ve always been slow to catch on to these types of things, haven’t I? And apparently two times through the singles scene, in the 1980s and again in 2009-2010, didn’t make my instincts any sharper!)

It suddenly dawned on me that the man was single and apparently thought I still was! He continued to talk (and compliment me) and I began to notice he was still holding my hand from our initial handshake. And then his talk turned to the idea of destiny, including that it was more than a coincidence that we were involved at the same company, at the same event, and that it was fate that we meet.

I withdrew my hand as politely as I could, thanked him for his kind words, told him it had been a pleasure to meet him and added, “And what a blessing it is to get through those hard times! It’s so nice to be out of mine, to have life move on and to have it all come together again in great happiness.” (Or something like that. I was kind of flustered about the man’s mistaken impression and was almost panicked that I’d apparently given an auditorium of people the wrong impression about my marital status—despite the fact I’m very open about my marital status and I stood there wearing my wedding ring during my speech AND while meeting the single man!)

I went back to my work duties, laughed at that “unexpected” adventure and quickly forgot it. Until the next time the man sought me out. And the next time. And when his next conversation began with, “Can you believe we keep running into each other like this? It must be more than destiny!” (all the while, he’s clutching my hand in his) I began to think it was more than destiny too. I thought it was like many other travel experiences I’ve had—trips to Disneyland, cruises, whatever—where I’ve noticed the same person/family or run into the same person/family over and over again for a STRANGE reason (usually because they stand out because they’re “odd”!) I emphasized, again, that I was married and didn’t run into my new friend again after that. Adventure over.

Until I got home, returned to work, checked my email and had a new Facebook friend request! From you-know-who!

“Boldness be my friend.” (William Shakespeare)

Garden Report 2011

Date: August 29, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

Neighbors have begun sharing the bounty from their gardens. My co-workers are bringing their home-grown produce for lunch. Looks like it’s time for a report on my attempt at gardening this year. (Note the foreshadowing.)

Of the four almost two-year-old fruit trees I began the growing season with…two were chopped down by my youngest and his friend wielding toy swords. The third tree, loaded with approximately 30 little apples when I left on vacation earlier in the summer, was stripped bare 10 days later when I arrived home. (No sign or trace anywhere that there had once been the hope of fruit. I don’t know if little neighbor boys, birds or some other force of nature deserve the credit!) The fourth tree currently has 5 small nectarines clinging to two of its delicate branches; my husband is considering offering our youngest a cash reward if the fruit is allowed to remain there until it ripens!

The surviving peony bush (one of three hauled to Utah in orange Home Depot buckets from my Colorado yard in 2009 and transplanted in my Utah yard shortly after my arrival) still hasn’t bloomed. It has now been two years. I cut it some slack last year, wondering if perhaps it was still in shock at the upheaval and turmoil it had endured (I could SO relate!), but no fluffy pink flowers yet.

Of the flowers purchased by me and my husband at a local nursery earlier this year, the hanging basket (as I reported earlier) died within weeks; the rest were planted in three different pots and placed on the front porch. One pot died within a month, one is half dead, and the last bunch, though struggling terribly, is still hanging on.

Our pumpkin plants grew huge, beautiful leaves and approximately 75 blossoms (more blossoms than I’ve ever seen on anything.) The bounteous green vines are mounding and spreading…yielding, so far, two small light orange pumpkins and one tiny green one!

The zuchini starts we planted never did anything—in fact, they look about the same as when we bought them. The 8 tomato plants are all still alive, although two never blossomed or grew anything, one we harvested 4 small tomatoes from and the rest appear to be loaded with green tomatoes. Of the 6-7 lettuce plants, we made salad out of 3 of them before the rest died.

You know, life is like a garden. Some years, the growing conditions are easy-breezy; other years are more challenging. Some years plants thrive. Some years, not much appears to survive. The point is to keep watering and weeding, acknowledge every bit of growth or progress and to never quit planting. Always make the best of the plot you’re blessed with.

“I want it said of me by those who knew me best, that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower where I thought a flower would grow.” (Abraham Lincoln)

Life Lesson From The Ski Hill

Date: November 2, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Too bad Lassie didn’t know how to ice skate, because then if she was in Holland on vacation in winter and someone said, ‘Lassie, go skate for help,’ she could do it.” (Jack Handy)

You can’t grow up in Colorado without learning to ski. And you can’t be raised by a ski enthusiast (like I was) without skiing practically every weekend of the year that the resorts are open–blizzard or shine. Such was my childhood, such was my life. I just had no idea it was preparing me for the real thing.

I was about 4 years old when I rode my first poma lift and experienced my first bunny hill. I didn’t grasp a lot of the concept of skiing, mostly I just rode my skis between my dad’s and held on for the ride. I remember the day was pleasant and sunny, and I remember what I was wearing: maroon knit stretch pants with stirrup straps on the bottom, and a turtleneck sweater. You may think it’s strange I remember what I was wearing that day, despite my young age. But I remember because of what happened.

“Stretch pants – the garment that made skiing a spectator sport.” (Author Unknown)

When I tired of skiing, I played in the snow and around the lodge while my dad got in some real runs on slopes more advanced than the bunny hill. In my wanderings, I saw a dog that looked exactly like Lassie. I LOVED Lassie and made a beeline for her before my mom could stop me. “Lassie” bit a hole in my ski pants that cut all the way through to my leg; it was then I realized she was no  Lassie. I went home tired, dog-bitten, tear-stained and not entirely in love with the sport–not to mention upset that the ski pants I loved were ruined.

My dad didn’t let me quit. The next year, he took us skiing again. This time I skied on my own. My memory of this ski trip exists solely of following my dad down the hill and falling into the  horizontal “splits” position, face down in the snow. I’ve never been flexible, not even as a child; I was in pain, and I couldn’t move. In trying to help me, my mom and my sister ended up in the same position, splits, face down in the snow. And we had to stay that way for the time it took for my dad to hear us calling him for help; for him to stop and yell encouragement to us to rescue ourselves, and finally, for my dad to side step all the way up the hill to help us when we couldn’t help ourselves.

But again, my dad didn’t let me quit.

It was 1974. I was in second grade. And this time, my dad hired a private instructor named Bruce to teach my sister and me how to ski. I was only seven years old, but I had such a crush on dark-haired, tan-skinned, patient and nice, happy and handsome Bruce. And it’s a good thing I loved him, because I didn’t love what he taught me. I did as he instructed, but I did everything not for the love of skiing, but for the love of Bruce. For example, my entire first day of skiing consisted of side-stepping up hills on my skis! Not fun. But you have to endure the “hard stuff” to get to the ease of the downhill experience.

Eventually I learned to ski. I skied anywhere and everywhere my dad led me. In fact, I was in college (and skiing alone for the first time, without my dad) when I learned ski hills were rated for difficulty. My entire life I had simply followed in my father’s footsteps, or ski tracks, to be exact.

So there I was, in 2009, breezing down the slopes of life when an avalanche hit. I was knocked off the mountain of my life and buried under the heavy snow of a disaster of epic proportions. But I couldn’t quit. I had the beacon of a lifetime of teachings and parental example to guide me; I knew what was expected of me; and I never considered anything but digging myself out of my misery.

Because in life, as in winter, when snow falls, you shovel it. You clear pathways so you can get around and continue to live your life. You endure the storm that brought the snow. You wait out the cold. You have to admire the beauty of the snowy landscape–even if you don’t love the storm that brought it. And eventually, the snow melts and life returns to normal…until the next big storm hits. When you fall, you don’t quit skiing. You pick yourself up, side-step up the hill if you need to, but you always get back on the slopes.

How grateful I am for a dad who taught me how to ski; who didn’t let me quit when the going was rough, painful, or cold; who led by example and made it easier for me by carving tracks down the mountains all I had to do was follow. Who made me expert in navigating rocky terrain. And who prepared me for any and every slope, not matter how steep or the amount of moguls, I’ve ever encountered.

“Skiing combines outdoor fun with knocking down trees with your face.” (Dave Barry)

And I think it’s an apt description of the unexpected life, too.