The Corner of Spirit & Brave

Let's Get Our Butts On The Ride! by Pennie Hunt

7/29/2022

My husband and I both have a fear of Ferris wheels. There is something about being suspended in mid-air, with our legs dangling from a bucket as it swings and rotates that is not our idea of fun.

Recently, while visiting Atlanta, we planned a day of site seeing. We walked from our hotel to Centennial Olympic Park to visit the attractions in that area. With a little time before our first tour, we stumbled upon something that was hard to miss. The SkyView Atlanta Ferris Wheel. This isn’t the average carnival Ferris wheel. This is 20 stories high; an impressive sight to see.

We read the sign about how it rotates 4 times, the buckets are actually enclosed air-conditioned gondolas and the ride takes about 15 minutes. None of this lessened our fear of Ferris wheels… and this was a big one. There wasn’t a line and we had some time, so we decided if we were going to do it we better get our butts on the ride.

Without hesitation, we bought our tickets, jumped in and heard the door lock. Suddenly we gave each other the what-have-we-done look! I’m not sure about my husband, but for the first rotation my eyes were closed, my breath was held and fear took over.

Reaching the top of the second rotation I opened my eyes. The view was incredible! It felt like we could see the entire city. By the third rotation we were both smiling. After the fourth we were glad to put our feet back on the ground, yet happy for the experience.

Isn't life so often like this? We stand by silently wishing we could jump on the ride, yet we hesitate and hush our enthusiasm. Our fear takes over and we play it safe by just watching instead of participating. The time isn't right, what if we would get hurt or fall off and of course we will do it another time.

Life isn't always a smooth ride. It can go round and round with monotonous predictability, then suddenly everywhere we turn we are hit, jerked and slammed like bumper cars jolting back and forth. It can be dangerous to ride life’s roller coaster up and down through the peaks and valleys.

On the ride of life, it is inside the bumps and jerks that we learn our biggest lessons. Without the valleys of fear and desperation we can’t appreciate the peaks of being on top where the view is incredible. If we stand on the sidelines we may never know what we missed.

If we had thought about our fear we wouldn’t have gotten on that Ferris wheel. We would have missed the experience. The second chance may have never come.

Now, Let's get our butts on the RIDE!
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Pennie's Life Lesson:
"Don’t stand on the sidelines of life – jump in and enjoy the ride!”
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YOUR TURN...
Share your thoughts and experiences relating to this post in a comment below. And please feel free to email me at:
[email protected].
Thank you!
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Copyright © 2013-2022 Pennie Hunt
This was written and produced by Pennie Hunt.
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HOW SHARP IS YOUR KNIFE? by Pennie Hunt

7/18/2022

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It was just an English muffin.

I've cut hundreds of them. This time I used the new knife. The one with a lifetime guarantee of sharpness.

I began slicing slowly back and forth and then in a blur it slid quickly through the muffin and my finger. A temporary numbness circled my finger until the blood, spilling over the cutting board, triggered my pain sensor. Dropping the knife, the blood trailed me to the sink where the pink water ran cold down the drain.

No explanation was needed as I walked into the Urgent Care Office. One wave of my bandaged hand told the story and a clipboard was passed through the glass window.

Waiting on the examining table silently scolding myself for being so careless, regret turned to anger for buying the new knife. The old one had worked just fine and if I hadn't been using that new sharp one I wouldn't be sitting here now. I would throw it away the minute I returned home.

Snapping on her rubber gloves she squinted as she peeled open my amateur attempt at bandaging.
     "Ouch," she said. More squinting. "New knife?"

My head nodded while I bit my lip. She unemotionally prodded my self-inflicted wound. Expecting a cautionary lecture about using sharp knives, she surprised me with quite a different piece of wisdom.
     "You should only use sharp knives."

That gained my attention. She continued.
"When you use a dull knife all the time you lose respect for it. You blindly push hard on it without fear of cutting yourself. Then when you do use a sharp knife, you’re shocked at the power and speed of it. If you always use a sharp knife you stay aware. You pay attention.”

Simultaneously, her lecture and the stitches were complete. Gloves were snapped off.
  “You should only use sharp knives." She restated her point and left the room.

I was on my way home, still stunned by the whirlwind of the last hour, the stitches in my finger and the wisdom I received. The wisdom went much deeper than the cut to my finger. Just as I had lost the awareness of the sharpness of the knife, I realized many times I live my life with dulled awareness. I needed to sharpen my senses. I needed to see and touch and taste and hear and feel with more mindful awareness. The doctor's message was not wasted on my cutlery.

I washed my new knife, threw my dull ones away and began sharpening myself. The toaster now held a new English muffin. It filled my kitchen with the smell of comfort.

Feeling the sensation returning to my finger, I touched my bandage with compassion. The day looked clearer. Now, I felt a new awareness and appreciation for my own lifetime guarantee of sharpness.

Although this event happened years ago, I have never forgotten the lesson. All my knives remain sharp!
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Pennie's Life Lesson:
By sharpening your attention you will enjoy mindful awareness
   in every moment.
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ARE YOU BRAVE ENOUGH TO JUMP THE WAKE? By Pennie Hunt

7/16/2022

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I grew up on a boat. Well, I didn’t live on a boat, but we always had one. The first memory I have of a boat is of our family camping trips. My dad built a plywood camping box that fit on the luggage rack of our white Pontiac station wagon. He painted it red and filled it with our tent, sleeping bags and supplies. It was quite a sight to see our family driving down the road. A white ‘66 station wagon with a long red coffin-looking box on top, three kids and a dog inside.

After setting up the campsite, my parents loaded snacks, blankets, fishing poles and three kids in the boat and took us night fishing for trout. Once the trolling lines were untangled and the cowbell strings were dangling in the water, my dad steered the boat slowly back and forth across the lake. The moon created sparkling diamonds on the water as the waves slapped the sides of the boat. My brother, sister and I were wrapped in blankets and snuggled together under the bow of the boat with just enough space for everyone. The vibration of the motor mesmerized us to sleep. It was magical.

As years went by, our tent turned into campers and our boats became bigger. Water skiing became our pastime. I remember rushing to the lake with my brother just as the sun was coming up and the lake was smooth as glass. That was the best time to ski- before the other boats broke the glass. As a young beginner, I would hold the rope tightly, concentrating on staying right behind the boat while my brother would motion with his arms for me to jump the wake and ski to the side.

I was afraid. The wake seemed so big. I knew the outside of the wake was smooth, fast and fun, but I was afraid I would fall. I was afraid to make the jump. I ignored him.

My brother was proficient at slalom skiing. He would jump the wake with ease and ski to the side as if racing the boat and then leaning back to allow the slack in the rope to catch up he created a rainbow spray twice as tall as he was. It was impressive. I was in awe.

Then one day it was time. I was skiing like I always did, white-knuckling the handle of the rope and then I tried to make the jump. It was a spectacular fall and the splash was impressive. My fear was validated.

I tried again. I’m not exactly sure how many times I tried before I made it successfully to the other side. I hit the smooth spot, I raced the boat, I made a small spray. I did it. I don’t know how many times my brother and I skied together over the years, but I will never forget the first time I jumped the wake.

Since then, I have jumped wakes in life many times. I’m not always successful. It isn’t always pretty. I’ve had times when the fall was painful. But it takes courage to try. You are not always going to hit the smooth spot and create that magical spray of water that surrounds you with the awe of others. It is in taking the risk, that you build the confidence to try again and again.

I have never matched my brother’s level of skiing. In life, there will always be those who jump the wake higher, race the boat faster and send a larger spray of success across the glass.

In life, there will always be those who grip the handle staying behind the boat happily enjoying the safety inside the wake.

In life, there will always be those who never get in the water, but they love to navigate the boat while cheering for the skier.

Which one are you? There is no one right answer. We need all three. Without the navigator no one could ski. Without the people skiing on the outside of the wake there would never be giant sprays of success. And without the ones who stay between the lines of the wake we wouldn’t have a zone of safety to lean into.

And even within those three choices there will always be someone who is better (and worse) at the task than we are. This is what causes balance in life. This is what creates space for everyone. This is what makes life magical.

Pennie’s Life Lesson: In life we get to choose which space to hold.
We get to create our own magic.

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I CAN SEE FOR MILES AND MILES AND MILES by Pennie Hunt

7/8/2022

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I hadn’t seen her in over 10 years. Occasionally her name would appear in a comment on my social media posts. A smiley face here -A thumbs up there - Once in a while asking me to call her. When I tried to call the number she posted, it was incorrect, and I was met with a recorded message that the number had been disconnected.

Months went by and she again posted the correct number and asked me to call. I did and left a voice mail with my phone number in case she wanted to call me back. She never did.
A couple of weeks ago another familiar name caught my eye in a comment under one of my posts. This time from her sister that simply said, “I don’t know if you heard but….”
My friend had passed away.

I was stunned. I sat back in my chair reading the sentence over and over. The sentence that took me back to 7th grade when we were best friends. When we spent summers swimming at the local pool and talking about boys. The nights we would walk around our neighborhood and look at the stars. The shopping, movies, phone calls and giggles.

One day we were at a park and I climbed to the top of the playground slide. I held the sides of the ladder, looking out across the countryside and sang a song by
The Who,
“I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles…. Oh yeah.”

She laughed and laughed – partly at my horrible singing and partly because we really could see that far across the never-ending field and that far into the lives we had ahead of us. It was her laugh that I heard as I sat back in my chair not believing what I had just read.

Interestingly a month earlier, I had been contemplating how friendship can be deep and yet time, location, and so many circumstances can change the dynamic of the relationship. I wrote about the ebb and flow of friendships and how difficult it is to keep these deep connections through the years.
(You can read that writing here.)

I regret not trying harder to call when she asked me to. I regret all the disconnected years since we ran through that playground.
I feel the loss. The loss of a person who knew my teenage secrets. The loss of the person who stood up with me at my wedding in 1976. The loss of a friendship. The loss of that laugh in my life.
I hope my sweet friend is in a place where she can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles…. Oh yeah.
Pennie’s Life Lesson:
“Make the phone call. It may be the last chance you get to hear your friend laugh.”(Click here to TWEET!)
**If you don't know the song - here is a video.

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THE ICE CREAM BUCKET By Pennie Hunt

7/1/2022

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Summers are known for picnics, parades and fireworks. The rituals and traditions passed from generation to generation are an important thread in the family history that many of us cherish.
Family gatherings include favorite stories and food that burn memories into our minds. Objects become triggers that take us back to a smell, a space and a time from long ago.

When I saw the ice cream bucket, I was there.
I was back in my grandmother’s kitchen watching her turn the hand-powered eggbeater. She whipped the eggs into a yellow foam before adding the vanilla, brown sugar, warm creamy milk and junket tablets.

When the oven door opened the house was filled with the smell of chocolate cake. As the ice cream mixture cooled, she covered the cake with her homemade brown sugar frosting. This was the way we did family gatherings in the hot, humid summers of Illinois.

When the cake was complete and the milky mixture cooled, it was time to bring out the guest of honor. The ice cream bucket. Then the ceremony began.

The ice cream mixture was poured into the tall metal inner canister. The canister was slid into the bucket and surrounded by ice and rock salt. The handle was assembled, and a blanket was folded on top.
The rusty handle fit every hand.

The hand of my grandfather as he turned and churned the milky richness inside.

The hand of my uncle as he packed ice and salt in the open space between the wooden slats and the metal cylinder, then taking over the chore and pleasure of the cranking.

The hand of my father as he impishly pushed his brother-in-law from the crank so he too could take credit for blending the anticipated delight.

My hands and the hands of my cousins, brother and sister joined as we struggled with joyous giggles, layering hand on top of hand to create the strength to turn the crank. Taking turns, we sat on the blanket covered throne watching the melting ice turn to cloudy saltwater and drizzle down the side.

And then, when all capacity to budge the handle even one more turn became impossible, more blankets were layered on top to allow the ice cream to become solid and our anticipation to grow.

When the time was right, the bucket was uncovered. My grandmother’s bony hands pulled the frosted silver chamber from the bucket, opening it to reveal the deliciousness of my childhood.
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Pennie’s Life Lesson: The simplicity of life becomes the boldest of memories.
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Let's Get Our Butts On The Ride! by Pennie Hunt

HOW SHARP IS YOUR KNIFE? by Pennie Hunt

ARE YOU BRAVE ENOUGH TO JUMP THE WAKE? By Pennie Hunt

I CAN SEE FOR MILES AND MILES AND MILES by Pennie Hunt

THE ICE CREAM BUCKET By Pennie Hunt

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