Hickory Honey Ham

If I say the words, “toilet paper” and “2020”, I don’t even need to say any more words, do I?

You know exactly what I’m talking about.

We never imagined that would happen, did we?

That whole situation got a lot of attention.  Around here, we’ve faced some similar situations – just much more quietly.  Pretty recently, in fact…

To properly tell this story, I guess I should begin around Thanksgiving 2004. 

I have two younger brothers, both now veterans of the United States Marine Corps.  In November 2004, the older of the two had recently returned from a 6-month deployment.  Our youngest brother had just graduated Recruit Training.  The opportunity for any of us to spend time together – especially around the holidays – had taken on new meaning.    

Nothing makes you appreciate something more than knowing how NOT having it feels…

I can only imagine how true that felt for my brother, having just spent half the year half a world away from his wife and their beautiful little two-year-old girl, my first niece.  We had all so anticipated having them “home” at that special time of year.  Especially with my niece and my son, born 900-miles - but only 5-days – apart, at the adorable, fun age of two.  With distinct little personalities beginning to shine through, they played together and entertained each other, requiring far less “work” than they had together as two babies.    

For the first time, my sister-in-law and I had the opportunity to leave them both with my mom, steal a day, and go do something fun together!  We probably went Christmas shopping.  I don’t remember much about that part, but I definitely remember that we went to a movie:  Christmas with the Kranks.  And we laughed!  So much and so hard!  Especially at the scene where Luther meets Nora for lunch right after getting Botox.  No matter how many times I watch it, I still laugh just as hard.    

I know this because, all these years later, that movie still holds a top spot in our collection of favorites.  The ones we faithfully watch, at least once, every Christmas season.  In our home, those Christmas movies have become such a major tradition.  So much so, that we commonly quote or reference lines from many of them.  (Remember my Elf story from a few weeks ago??) The rest of the world might not always understand what we mean, but we get it. 

That happened in a memorable way last July. 

2020… (Looking back, I realize how prophetic the toilet paper situation really was…)

Each summer, we hope our garden will produce, in both quality and quantity, enough to enjoy and share the whole year through.  Walk into my house in August and September, and you should usually expect to smell a huge batch of fresh spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove and to see mason jars lining the kitchen counters.  That happened as normal in 2020, despite a very near-miss:  The shortage of lids for those jars. 

All things considered; I suppose one could make some sense of that shortage:  We all suddenly had to spend way more time at home.  Many of us tried to make the best of a bad situation by trying things we’d never had time to try.  Like gardening.  We also felt uncertain.  If we could suddenly find toilet paper unavailable – could food be next?  Not if we grow and preserve our own!  …I get it.  At the time, though, as someone just trying to do what I’d done for years and years, the lid shortage did take me by surprise.  Upon learning of it, I basically issued an APB on them with every member of my family: “When you do go anywhere – check for lids!” 

When I do something like that, my husband always fully commits to trying to help.  That is how, one day last July, he ended up coming home and telling me, “I had a ‘Hickory Honey Ham’ moment today…” 

Thanks to the countless times I’ve watched that scene in Christmas with the Kranks, I could vividly picture his story as he told it:  While picking up things he needed in a local farm supply store, he thought to check for lids.  Good idea.  Followed by a bad idea:  Asking a store associate, out loud and within earshot of another customer, whether they had any in stock.  She answered that they might still have a few and proceeded to lead him toward them. 

He recalled, “I started walking.  Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw this old man leave his cart and his wife and start walking that way, too…” He continued, “As I walked faster, so did he.”  Upon arriving at a shelf that did still hold three boxes of much-sought-after lids, he found the old man hot on his heels.  “I was only going to take one since I could tell he wanted some, too,” he explained, “but just as I reached for it, he reached IN FRONT OF ME, took ALL THREE, and turned to walk away!” 

I can absolutely picture my husband’s face as he offered his thoughts to that gentleman regarding exactly what he thought of his actions – which he did - and I won’t quote here... But the old man just took his three boxes of lids and kept on walking.  “I thought about following him and stealing them back out of his cart,” my husband said.  But he didn’t. 

We laughed.  We shook our heads at how unbelievably badly people can behave.  We also agreed that you just never know – maybe that old man truly depends on the food he cans from his garden to get by.  Maybe he or his wife were sick, and that was the last year they’d ever get to grow a garden and can together… You just never know.  We moved on.  We eventually found lids.  Everything turned out just fine.  We made another memory.     

However, we also know this: “Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it.”

Therefore, this year, I began shopping for lids in approximately February.  I’m glad I did, because even then, I didn’t find them abundantly available.  By faithfully watching for them, I did eventually find all I’ll need.  But, as of the time I’m writing this, I know that some of my gardening friends continue to search.  (If I have extra, I promise to share!) 

I don’t think you need me to tell you that 2020 left quite a wake.  Even though most of the biggest waves seem to have tapered off – ripples do still remain. 

That brings me to July 2021.  One evening this past week, in fact. 

I finished watering my flowers.  As has become our routine, a 9-month-old black lab followed closely behind me.  I placed my watering can up high and shook my head as I thought about WHY…

One beautiful afternoon earlier this summer, I had set up my office - laptop and paperwork - on the patio.  The very same black lab accompanied me.  He can occupy himself for a long time; watching the birds and whatever other activity catches his intelligent little gaze.  He’d done so for quite a while that day.  Eventually, though, he found my watering can in a corner of the patio.  Apparently, it doubled as a really fun toy.  He tossed it around and picked it up again, over and over.  “I should probably take that from him,” I thought.  “But he’s content, and I’m still getting work done.  If he ruins it, it’s not the end of the world.  Watering cans are cheap.  I’ll just get another one.”

He ruined it.

By the time I checked to see if it still worked, it would have made a much better colander than watering can. 

THAT is how I learned of another “Who Ever Thought This Would Happen?” shortage that has rippled all the way into 2021:  Functional watering cans! 

(Did you know that?  I sure didn’t when I willingly sacrificed my perfectly good one as a puppy toy.  But I do now.)

I don’t mean the pretty little decorative ones.  I see those everywhere.  I mean the big plastic ones that hold at least 256-ounces of water.  The ones that survive outside, year after year.  (Unless they become puppy toys…) 

I guess people who tried planting flowers while stuck at home last summer enjoyed it enough to try it again?  And commit to seriously watering them this year??  …Maybe a bunch of watering cans ended up wedged in the Suez Canal???  I don’t know.  But something happened. 

Different year.  Similar APB issued. 

Once again, my husband and I embarked on a shared mission:  Checking everywhere we went – just in case.  After several unsuccessful tries, he (evidently not remembering the past and risking the condemnation of repeating it) took a big risk and asked a store employee (out loud) if they had any watering cans in stock.  No old man chased him this time.  Because this time he was not invited to follow anyone anywhere.  This time, the employee laughed at him and said, (in a “Duh!” tone) “We haven’t been able to keep those on the shelves all year!” 

Weeks passed.

I spent many evenings really stretching a hose.

In places where I couldn’t do that, I filled and refilled a Rubbermaid pitcher…

Finally, one day last week, I opened a text from my husband to see the words, “Hickory Honey Ham”.  Attached, I found the image of a big green plastic watering can.  In a shopping cart.  In a parking lot. Pointed toward his truck!  The next text elaborated: “Top shelf where they store extra stuff, they were behind a bunch of junk.  A normal person couldn’t reach them!”  (It often comes in handy to have an “above normal” height husband.  It certainly did right then.) 

Another weird pandemic-ripple shortage:  HANDLED in our house! 

….

While fact-checking myself on the timeline in the beginning of this story, I pulled out all my letters and memorabilia from my brother’s military career.  I should do that more often.  What a powerful reminder of just how fragile, unpredictable, and not-guaranteed life felt back then.  I didn’t plan it that way, but it  perfectly closes the loop on why (aside from my ongoing mission to truthfully share ridiculous Real Life situations that make you chuckle and feel more normal in your own ridiculous Real Life…) I wanted to tell these stories in the first place.    

I think that when we have a thing – anything – for long enough, we inevitably end up taking it for granted. 

I’ve thought a lot about gratitude over the past week or so.  As much as I think I try to appreciate everything in life, I see so many places where I fall so short. 

Not only when it comes to things I’ve taken for granted until I lacked them:  Like toilet paper, canning lids, and watering cans.  But, more importantly, for all the times when I have worried about something, seen it resolved, and forgotten to remember how it felt to worry about it.  Forgotten to keep feeling grateful.       

What would I do without a God Who I know and can trust to always look after it all?  Even when I fail miserably at thanking Him for everything I mean to. 

I know how it feels to want, and I know how it feels to have plenty. 

I want to remember – and always feel grateful - that in that knowledge and trust: 

I always have plenty.