Eldred Gray

My high school self spent summers working at the family company that my dad took over and eventually shut down to a small (tiny) consulting business.  The Eldred Company was created by my great grandfather to design and create efficient machines for the glass industry.  Our family called it ‘the shop’.  And at the shop they would create machines that added the perfectly placed paint on Pyrex measuring cups. They would add the bead of glass around the rim of cups so that you didn’t go all Julia Child with a ‘mere flesh wound’ cut with every sip.

I guess that’s cool. I was young and was the shop’s 1 (only) woman, bathroom cleaner, grass cutter, tree trimmer, phone answerer, metal scrap sweeper, part painter, catch all.  
At the time, I felt bored.  I dreaded waking up early and driving to work with my dad and then staying late.  I remember the hours when my work was done but my dad’s wasn’t.  I passed the time lazily spinning in the dirt ridden office swivel chair watching my evenings slip by in a 50s style shop on the South side of Columbus. 
It turns out that a high school girl can learn a lot from a machine shop on the South side.  Even if she doesn’t realize it at the time. 
1.  Doughnuts do make things better.  Emotional eating, high cholesterol, sugar fix, no nutritional value aside doughnuts actually deliver a swift morale boost.  On Fridays we would stop at Jolly Pirate Doughnuts on the way to work and order up a dozen(ish) sweet round sprinkle dough balls of goodness.    People love getting treats- even (especially) adult people. 
2. Learn from people around you.  Ez was the most punctual efficient gentleman I have ever met and I was assigned to be his assistant working on parts.  He started the company with my great grandfather and closed it with my dad.  He said ‘slick ’em’ instead of oil and pronounced  aluminum like al-ja-min… just like how it’s spelled. Ez taught me about taking the job seriously and a few things about the machines.  Although,  I wish I would have learned more from Ez- but my summer brain didn’t retain all that much.  
3.  Efficiency matters (to me).  I discovered that I wanted to do the job not fill the time.  If I could find a quicker way to do the job just as well, I wanted to do it that way.  I wanted to work hard, manage my own time, and prioritize my own projects.  It was the first sign that I wanted my own sandbox to play within.  I’m best when someone tells me the boundaries and the goals and then steps back and let’s me figure it out.

4. They still make Lava soap.  While at the shop, my role was to paint each part “Eldred Gray” before it was put to work at it’s final destination on the machine.  There were always parts to paint.  My skincare routine consisted of scrubbing with Lava soap and rinsing with Mineral Spirits. I think both products have age defying properties 🙂

5.  Marketing 101: Eldred Gray paint builds a brand.  Once a company discovers its branding icons, they become staples.  The kind of thing that you don’t ever deviate from.  The kind of thing that you put on every single piece of your product.  It stands for something.  Eldred Gray paint color was our thing at the shop- every single part that went into the whole was painted Eldred Gray.  Period.

6.  Find your people.  During the difficult years at the shop when it began it’s decline, my dad worked really long hours.  I saw him work though difficult leadership issues.  He took over the company from his father, who still maintained his office but with dementia starting to set in his sole responsibility soon became checking the mail.  My dad had one person to work through company dynamics with- Rolland.  Rolland was smart and an advocate for him.  He needed that.  For my dad, Rolland was his ‘people’.  Wherever I am in life, I’ve always sought out my people.  

More on what I learned at Eldred later…. this blog post is long enough. 

A Bull in Both Directions

I’m reading the memoir, Wild by Cheryl Strayed.  You know how sometimes you watch a movie and identify with a character in deep ways but don’t exactly know why.  Maybe the character puts language to things that you’ve thought, or does things that you wish to be true about you, or has some kind of trait that is so apparent in them that you feel lying dormant in you.  I feel that way about this book.  There is something about how Cheryl tells the story of finding herself through a 100 day hike on the Pacific Crest Trail.  She’s stubborn but has a resilient spirit despite her brokenness.  She’s honest.  She’s thoughtful.  And she’s underprepared for her trip.

Within the first week of being on the trail she was charged by a raging bull.  As it raced towards her, she grabbed her whistle (which she opted for instead of any kind of weapon), closed her eyes, and blew  the whistle as loud as she could.  When she opened her eyes the bull was gone.  The only problem: she didn’t see which direction the bull went.  
There could be a bull in either direction.  It seems that often we are forced to a decision knowing that whatever path we take has the potential of raging bulls along it.

“The thing about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, the thing that was so profound to me that summer—and yet also, like most things, so very simple—was how few choices I had and how often I had to do the thing I least wanted to do. How there was no escape or denial. No numbing it down with a martini or covering it up with a roll in the hay. As I clung to the chaparral that day, attempting to patch up my bleeding finger, terrified by every sound that the bull was coming back, I considered my options. There were only two and they were essentially the same. I could go back in the direction I had come from, or I could go forward in the direction I intended to go.” –Wild, Cheryl Strayed 

In my life, I see people around me settle in and not actually move in their intended direction.  I don’t blame them, it’s easy to settle in and not move forward.  As I observe the world, I hear a lot of talk about discontentment but I see little action.  That makes me sad.  It makes me sad to think that the possibility of a bull in either direction paralyzes humans to a point that we just become content.  And I know there are reasons for not moving, they’re usually rational good reasons.  And I use those reasons from time to time. But what if we took action like there weren’t any bulls–like we were free to move forward, unstuck-like, in self-determination and growth. 

A Bull in Both Directions

I’m reading the memoir, Wild by Cheryl Strayed.  You know how sometimes you watch a movie and identify with a character in deep ways but don’t exactly know why.  Maybe the character puts language to things that you’ve thought, or does things that you wish to be true about you, or has some kind of trait that is so apparent in them that you feel lying dormant in you.  I feel that way about this book.  There is something about how Cheryl tells the story of finding herself through a 100 day hike on the Pacific Crest Trail.  She’s stubborn but has a resilient spirit despite her brokenness.  She’s honest.  She’s thoughtful.  And she’s underprepared for her trip.

Within the first week of being on the trail she was charged by a raging bull.  As it raced towards her, she grabbed her whistle (which she opted for instead of any kind of weapon), closed her eyes, and blew  the whistle as loud as she could.  When she opened her eyes the bull was gone.  The only problem: she didn’t see which direction the bull went.  
There could be a bull in either direction.  It seems that often we are forced to a decision knowing that whatever path we take has the potential of raging bulls along it.

“The thing about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, the thing that was so profound to me that summer—and yet also, like most things, so very simple—was how few choices I had and how often I had to do the thing I least wanted to do. How there was no escape or denial. No numbing it down with a martini or covering it up with a roll in the hay. As I clung to the chaparral that day, attempting to patch up my bleeding finger, terrified by every sound that the bull was coming back, I considered my options. There were only two and they were essentially the same. I could go back in the direction I had come from, or I could go forward in the direction I intended to go.” –Wild, Cheryl Strayed 

In my life, I see people around me settle in and not actually move in their intended direction.  I don’t blame them, it’s easy to settle in and not move forward.  As I observe the world, I hear a lot of talk about discontentment but I see little action.  That makes me sad.  It makes me sad to think that the possibility of a bull in either direction paralyzes humans to a point that we just become content.  And I know there are reasons for not moving, they’re usually rational good reasons.  And I use those reasons from time to time. But what if we took action like there weren’t any bulls–like we were free to move forward, unstuck-like, in self-determination and growth. 

CCR

Creedence Clearwater Revival just came on the radio.  The first notes of the song morphed into a time machine and I was taken back to high school.   Just like that, the thoughts of who I was and (sort of) still am came flooding.  I stopped mid step in a nostalgic trance.  Maybe that’s what acid flashback is like.  Although probably not.  I never did acid.

In my non-acid trance, I thought about the late nights with nothing to do but drive around with my best friend, Leslie.  Sometimes we’d just drive hours away from our town and then hours back home.  We would smoke Marlboro Lights. We would listen to classic rock.  We’d sing loud.  I was in love with Leslie’s teal blue honda with a sunroof and an infinite musty smell that she covered up with limitless Bath and Body Works products.  Cool.

We were cool cats.
We pretended that we were too cool for school.  And we were.  Sort of.

We were non conformists who found that ‘getting out of this town’ dreams came by way of finding parties and buying cigarettes.  Although, I fake smoked because deep inside I still thought of myself as runner. I couldn’t shake loose my middle school cross country glory days.

I thought we were normal.  I thought the high school escapism that we did was normal.

Now I’m not so sure what normal is.

Leslie and I haven’t talked in years.  I’m old enough to say that- ‘… in years’.  How did I ever get to be old enough to say that?  I guess that’s the gift of time.

Somewhere along the way, we grow up and we find out that we’re broken.  I guess that’s the gift of time and curse of the universe. Growing gives you strength and the universe gives you humility.  It gives you a bunch of wishes to have done things differently… But moving forward takes courage to stop wishing life revealed itself in the way you wanted it to.

I don’t know normal.  But your normal will most definitely not be my normal.  Your story is not my story.  You have your own path and your own humility to discover.

I never lost one minute of sleeping
Wondering ’bout the way things might have been.  

CCR, Rollin’ on a River

CCR

Creedence Clearwater Revival just came on the radio.  The first notes of the song morphed into a time machine and I was taken back to high school.   Just like that, the thoughts of who I was and (sort of) still am came flooding.  I stopped mid step in a nostalgic trance.  Maybe that’s what acid flashback is like.  Although probably not.  I never did acid.

In my non-acid trance, I thought about the late nights with nothing to do but drive around with my best friend, Leslie.  Sometimes we’d just drive hours away from our town and then hours back home.  We would smoke Marlboro Lights. We would listen to classic rock.  We’d sing loud.  I was in love with Leslie’s teal blue honda with a sunroof and an infinite musty smell that she covered up with limitless Bath and Body Works products.  Cool.

We were cool cats.
We pretended that we were too cool for school.  And we were.  Sort of.

We were non conformists who found that ‘getting out of this town’ dreams came by way of finding parties and buying cigarettes.  Although, I fake smoked because deep inside I still thought of myself as runner. I couldn’t shake loose my middle school cross country glory days.

I thought we were normal.  I thought the high school escapism that we did was normal.

Now I’m not so sure what normal is.

Leslie and I haven’t talked in years.  I’m old enough to say that- ‘… in years’.  How did I ever get to be old enough to say that?  I guess that’s the gift of time.

Somewhere along the way, we grow up and we find out that we’re broken.  I guess that’s the gift of time and curse of the universe. Growing gives you strength and the universe gives you humility.  It gives you a bunch of wishes to have done things differently… But moving forward takes courage to stop wishing life revealed itself in the way you wanted it to.

I don’t know normal.  But your normal will most definitely not be my normal.  Your story is not my story.  You have your own path and your own humility to discover.

I never lost one minute of sleeping
Wondering ’bout the way things might have been.  

CCR, Rollin’ on a River

Just Under the Radar

I’m a safe person. I’m sort of average and not overly excitable.  I don’t mean that in a self deprecating way.  It’s just the truth. I’m not any more or less interesting than anyone else I know.  I like to cross the street at the cross walks and I’m usually in bed by 10:30.  I like to fit within the rules, for the most part, when the rules work for me.

It has most recently come to my attention, in a most subtle way, that most of my safety guidelines for life are forcing me to mostly settle. For the first time i believe it.  I notice the things I think that protect me from putting myself ‘out there’…. wherever ‘there’ is….

I’ve been living just under the radar. Excelling enough to creep by without anyone thinking I’m a slacker. But every time I muster up my courage and say in my loudest inside voice: I’m doing my own thing.  I’m giong to take more action!, I end up bumping the top of my head against self enforced ceiling. Then slowly I sink back down into mediocre.  I’m just below getting noticed, below taking a real chance, below risking.  It’s a safety thing.  It’s self protection.

If I only half put myself out there, I will only half get hurt.  If anyone challenges me or criticizes me, I always have security blanket of thoughts that tell me that I wasn’t ever fully invested anyway.

Years from now, when I look back over my life, I’m not sure I’ll be okay if this is all I did… if this is all I contributed.  Right now my contribution feels like a cold puddle of discontentment that I keep jumping into.

And so today is the first day that I’ve realized that I’ve been living under the radar. Quietly and safely.

Any advice for non under radar living is appreciated.

Just Under the Radar

I’m a safe person. I’m sort of average and not overly excitable.  I don’t mean that in a self deprecating way.  It’s just the truth. I’m not any more or less interesting than anyone else I know.  I like to cross the street at the cross walks and I’m usually in bed by 10:30.  I like to fit within the rules, for the most part, when the rules work for me.

It has most recently come to my attention, in a most subtle way, that most of my safety guidelines for life are forcing me to mostly settle. For the first time i believe it.  I notice the things I think that protect me from putting myself ‘out there’…. wherever ‘there’ is….

I’ve been living just under the radar. Excelling enough to creep by without anyone thinking I’m a slacker. But every time I muster up my courage and say in my loudest inside voice: I’m doing my own thing.  I’m giong to take more action!, I end up bumping the top of my head against self enforced ceiling. Then slowly I sink back down into mediocre.  I’m just below getting noticed, below taking a real chance, below risking.  It’s a safety thing.  It’s self protection.

If I only half put myself out there, I will only half get hurt.  If anyone challenges me or criticizes me, I always have security blanket of thoughts that tell me that I wasn’t ever fully invested anyway.

Years from now, when I look back over my life, I’m not sure I’ll be okay if this is all I did… if this is all I contributed.  Right now my contribution feels like a cold puddle of discontentment that I keep jumping into.

And so today is the first day that I’ve realized that I’ve been living under the radar. Quietly and safely.

Any advice for non under radar living is appreciated.

Hoping for God's Grace

I guess I’m having a hard time coming to terms with myself. Sometimes I am joyful and grateful for the gifts that God has given me.  There are times when I see those gifts shining bright and I feel the good things.  I feel God’s spirit like a warm breeze doing the waltz through my hair.  But there are other times, when God’s spirit feels far away.  When I see the ugly things that are deep within me come out.

To keep moving forward and getting over the ugly things, I’m practicing this new rule for my life that encourages activities every day that fuel me.  So my fueling activity for today: getting a book from the library.

I know it’s simple and easy but I have always loved the library. Being so close to so much free information makes me smile.  I wish I could eat my way through the library bookshelves, page by page, so that every piece of information in every book would be in me.  Sometimes I wish my fantasies were less libriarian-ish.

As I walked myself to the library, I crossed a busy intersection.  A car was turning and had to stop to let me cross.  Once I was in front of her car, the driver honked at me.  I hate horns, I hate road-rage drivers and most of all I hate how I responded.  I dropped no less than 10 very loud f-bombs on her in that middle of that intersection- one after the other feel out of my mouth. I couldn’t hold them in.  It was like each word was a heave of horrible energy that I didnt know was lying deep within in me.  There is no doubt that my bright orange shirt and prolific profanities caught the attention of all 9 lanes waiting for their green light. Once I realized my own intensity over a horn, I turned to walk away as she yelled the last word to me as she drove off.

Hands shaking I walked past the train station to regroup.  But my thoughts were interrupted by a group 20-somethings standing in the hot August sun vomiting up their lunch.  Loud spewing noises echoed off the buildings and I thought of the ugliness that humanity is… that I am.

My pace picked up and I found my way to the library and was thankful the restrooms were at the entryway- as I’m not sure how much longer my tears and anger would stay quiet.  I was thankful the smell of the bathroom–its lingering smell of thousands of books and old paper…and industrial soap. I hid in the stall and did my ‘hold-it-together-I’m-not-really-okay’ crying.  In the minutes spent in the bathroom, I went through my blaming, I went through things I wish I would have said, I went through the I hate people thoughts, I went through the embarrassment of being a Jesus-lover and responding that way.

This story is embarrassing to me.  It’s one of those things that makes me cringe when I think about what I said to another human.  It’s one of those stories that makes you come to terms with who you are and with your own brokenness.  It’s just that next time, I hope to respond better.  Maybe God’s grace will still find me today.

Hoping for God’s Grace

I guess I’m having a hard time coming to terms with myself. Sometimes I am joyful and grateful for the gifts that God has given me.  There are times when I see those gifts shining bright and I feel the good things.  I feel God’s spirit like a warm breeze doing the waltz through my hair.  But there are other times, when God’s spirit feels far away.  When I see the ugly things that are deep within me come out.

To keep moving forward and getting over the ugly things, I’m practicing this new rule for my life that encourages activities every day that fuel me.  So my fueling activity for today: getting a book from the library.

I know it’s simple and easy but I have always loved the library. Being so close to so much free information makes me smile.  I wish I could eat my way through the library bookshelves, page by page, so that every piece of information in every book would be in me.  Sometimes I wish my fantasies were less libriarian-ish.

As I walked myself to the library, I crossed a busy intersection.  A car was turning and had to stop to let me cross.  Once I was in front of her car, the driver honked at me.  I hate horns, I hate road-rage drivers and most of all I hate how I responded.  I dropped no less than 10 very loud f-bombs on her in that middle of that intersection- one after the other feel out of my mouth. I couldn’t hold them in.  It was like each word was a heave of horrible energy that I didnt know was lying deep within in me.  There is no doubt that my bright orange shirt and prolific profanities caught the attention of all 9 lanes waiting for their green light. Once I realized my own intensity over a horn, I turned to walk away as she yelled the last word to me as she drove off.

Hands shaking I walked past the train station to regroup.  But my thoughts were interrupted by a group 20-somethings standing in the hot August sun vomiting up their lunch.  Loud spewing noises echoed off the buildings and I thought of the ugliness that humanity is… that I am.

My pace picked up and I found my way to the library and was thankful the restrooms were at the entryway- as I’m not sure how much longer my tears and anger would stay quiet.  I was thankful the smell of the bathroom–its lingering smell of thousands of books and old paper…and industrial soap. I hid in the stall and did my ‘hold-it-together-I’m-not-really-okay’ crying.  In the minutes spent in the bathroom, I went through my blaming, I went through things I wish I would have said, I went through the I hate people thoughts, I went through the embarrassment of being a Jesus-lover and responding that way.

This story is embarrassing to me.  It’s one of those things that makes me cringe when I think about what I said to another human.  It’s one of those stories that makes you come to terms with who you are and with your own brokenness.  It’s just that next time, I hope to respond better.  Maybe God’s grace will still find me today.

Am I Good?

One of Frida Kahlo’s first encounters with Diego Rivera was during her time at school.
She showed well-known artist, Diego her work.
He acknowldeged her natural ability.
He encouraged her art…
He encouraged her as an artist.
Frida eventually rose to become one of the most famous female Mexican artists.

I like the simplicity of someone seeing potential in another and encouraging it.

Like the child screaming for attention, ‘Watch me, watch me!”,  I long for the validation that another person offers. Without that validation, I flounder wondering how how good or mediocre I actually am at a particular task.

We don’t always know how good we are until someone sees something we cannot see in ourselves–and reflects back to us. Like a mirror, there are people who shine back the light they see in you. Don’t hide from those people. Their shimmer will help you grow.