Great acceptances
We don’t need to be big or strong or colorful to be beautiful.
I photographed this pretty little bird at Crater Lake, Oregon, June 2000.
“Contentment, and indeed usefulness, comes as the infallible result of great acceptances, great humilities—of not trying to make ourselves this or that, but of surrendering ourselves to the fullness of life—of letting life flow through us.”
— David Grayson
I couldn’t help but find some comic relief in what I learned when I looked up the author of this quote; I kept coming up with articles on some guy named Ray Stannard Baker. It took me a couple of false starts before I read on enough to find that David Grayson was a pen name. My first thought was “Hey, what happened to what you said about not trying to make ourselves this or that?” Okay, so I’ve always been a bit of a smart alec. Regardless, I like what he says here.
The word “great” isn’t usually paired with the word “acceptance,” but I do find the concept intriguing. The fullness of life includes a lot of things for which we might not have wished or planned– otherwise life wouldn’t truly be full– but once we get over the bumps, acceptance can indeed be a blessing. If we are to keep life flowing through us, that means being open to the new while not hanging on too tightly to the familiar and comfortable.
What are the great acceptances of your life? Whatever that phrase might bring to your mind, I hope you are happy and content to be who you are, and where you are. I know I’m happy you are here! As my hero Fred Rogers was so fond of saying, “There’s only one person in the world exactly like you, and people can like you just the way you are.”
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
The house shelters
Early Morning by Moritz von Schwind (1858)
Public domain via Wikimedia Commons
“If I were asked to name the chief benefit of the house, I should say: the house shelters day-dreaming…the house allows one to dream in peace.” — Gaston Bachelard
I saw this quote from Bachelard on a Celestial Seasonings box of Sleepytime tea. I found it charming, and at first I agreed with it. Then I thought “Tell that to a busy mother…a house that allows one to dream in peace? Only if the kids are away at school!” Even if everyone is gone, our homes may continue to shout or nag at us, pointing out the paper piles, the dusty surfaces, the streaked windows.
But that doesn’t mean Bachelard is wrong about houses. The house can shelter daydreaming, if we allow it to do so. For some of us, this will mean putting the outward appearance to order with at least a bit of tidying up. For others of us, it will mean looking beyond the undone chores to see the beauty that always lies beneath, even if hidden.
And really, even the clutter can evoke reverie. The craft supplies and half-finished projects bring thoughts of anticipation at sharing our creativity with others. The dusty trinkets may bring back memories of an enchanting trip or a charming phase in a child’s life. Piles of old letters and photographs noiselessly sound the delightful din of loving voices surrounding our hearts with joy.
Most all of us agree there’s no place like home. When singing the praises of our dwelling places, we typically cite the solace of familiarity, the comfort of one’s own bed or sofa, and the pleasant busyness of self-chosen, self-directed projects in process. But perhaps Bachelard, in his wonder-filled wisdom, has seen something we may have missed. Maybe the sense of security that engulfs us when we return home is based, at least partly, on its being the haven for our daydreams; a safe cocoon where our hearts can bask in beautiful realities that are too fragile for the world outside.
Today, I hope you will take a few minutes to allow your home to be a sheltered place for daydreams.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Free and undivided
This Gettysburg monument honors the 262 troops of the 1st Minnesota Infantry,
who charged a force of 1600, buying time with an unprecedented 82% casualty rate.
“Let no vandalism of avarice or neglect, no ravages of time, testify to the present or to the coming generations, that we have forgotten, as a people, the cost of a free and undivided Republic.” — John A. Logan
Union General Logan was an important leader in the movement to recognize Memorial Day (then known as Decoration Day) as a national holiday. No doubt he carried a heavy burden of devastating memories, having seen first hand the tragedy of Americans taking up arms against each other.
Logan probably was not thinking of picnics and ball games and long weekends when he pushed for an official day of remembrance. But when I hear the words “Memorial Day,” those are the things I think of, along with hot dogs and warm weather and the resulting traffic nightmares as so many people hit the road to have fun.
Have we forgotten the cost that was (and is) paid to buy us our freedom? Sometimes it seems we have, and never more so than when our political discourse spirals downward into vulgar, often petty personal attacks. Are these sorts of controversies really worth squandering the unity that people died to save? Would our ancestors be ashamed of us?
Even today, it’s not hard to imagine that people who are facing genocide, epidemic disease, starvation and political oppression might see us as ignorant, or worse, decadent. Are we too distracted by diversions to care?
I’m not trying to rain on anyone’s holiday parade, but I hope that we will take a few moments today to reflect on the sacrifices of men and women whose lives were without the health, hope and happiness that we take for granted. Let’s honor them by remembering.
This post was first published seven years ago on Memorial Day. The re-posting of it has been changed by one day, so that it will appear on the holiday this year. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Quietly thrilling
The flower seed companies created beauty as well as jobs. Lompoc, California, 1992
“It is always quietly thrilling to find yourself looking at a world you know well but have never seen from such an angle before.” ― Bill Bryson
When I read these words from Bryson, I realized why I love photography so much. Through the lens of my camera, I look at things from all sorts of angles, and see what I otherwise might have missed. And he’s right, it is a quiet kind of thrill, but a thrill no less. It inspires wonder and gratitude. It wakes the mind up.
The great thing about photography is that you can experience that quiet thrill again years later when you look through old pictures you haven’t seen in awhile. That’s how I felt recently when I saw the photo posted here. I know, of course, that my memories of our time on the central coast of California are among my happiest; that our years there had a magical quality about them. But I had forgotten the almost unreal beauty of those gorgeous flower fields, until I saw this photo again while I was putting together Jeff’s retirement scrapbook.
Wherever you are right now, whatever you’re doing, I hope you’ll make the time to experience as many quietly thrilling moments as you can. The loud thrills may get all the press coverage, but it’s the quiet ones that add up to a lifetime of happiness.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
A magnifying glass
“You can think of a moment of crisis as an anomaly because it’s going to pass, and that’s true in one sense, but sometimes it can also be a magnifying glass that reveals to you what was going on underneath the surface all along.” — Anonymous in Becoming Duchess Goldblatt
“Most of the time, I think, the effects of my accumulated losses didn’t show. Or maybe they did; a lot of people ran away from me as fast as they could, so I guess the cracks in the façade showed in ways I couldn’t see…People didn’t want me around, and I understood why, sort of. The more I kept losing, the more I kept losing, and nobody wants to catch that disease.” — Anonymous in Becoming Duchess Goldblatt
“…she was…an untouchable. Not from scorn or fear, but from the obscenity of the loss.” — Bill Clegg
Some of you know that I’m writing a new post because I’m sitting around a hospital again, as I have been for a week now, with no end in sight except a horrible tragic one that doesn’t bear thinking about. I remind myself that I spent as much as three weeks at a time in the hospital with Jeff, but Matthew’s current situation is a crucible unlike any other thus far.
There is nothing more to say, other than letting the quotes speak for themselves.
Opening the gates
Step through the gates to exploration and discovery!
Poquoson Public Library, Virginia, March 2014
“Books. They are lined up on shelves or stacked on a table. There they are wrapped up in their jackets, lines of neat print on nicely bound pages. They look like such orderly, static things. Then you, the reader come along. You open the book jacket, and it can be like opening the gates to an unknown city, or opening the lid of a treasure chest. You read the first word and you’re off on a journey of exploration and discovery.”
— David Almond
Appearances can be misleading, can’t they? The static, orderly appearance of well-stocked libraries or neat home bookshelves give no hint of the endless adventures awaiting anyone who opens the gates to the wealth contained therein.
The joys of reading have withstood the tumultuous changes of century after century, binding us to each other across continents and eras. No matter our current circumstances, we can tap into this joy at little to no expense. What a perfect way to defeat despair!
Some of my favorite adventures have taken place entirely within my own mind, traveling as an invited guest to a front-row seat in worlds far removed from my own. And some of the most memorable characters I’ve ever had the pleasure to know are fictional; people whose virtues and faults are so familiar that they seem as true to life as any “real” person.
Today I invite you to step through those magical gates to discover people and places new to your life. Who knows what you might see along the way? Feel free to send us a few virtual post cards in the comments below.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
The opposite of availability
So many things compete for our attention!
Detail from artwork at Children’s National Medical Center,Washington, DC, March 2014
“The opposite of availability is not unavailability, but an overcrowded heart.”
— Sue Monk Kidd
Did any of you wince inwardly on reading these words? I know I did. It’s the sort of observation we know to be true even as we wish it wasn’t. So many of us have a hard time saying “no” to new opportunities, potential friendships, or additional experiences even though our lives are already filled to the brim with good things.
Choosing between good, better and best is no easy task. But on reflection, perhaps I don’t have to start there. Maybe there are a few not-so-great things taking up real estate in my overwhelmed brain. Is there any junk I can clear out of my home, heart and schedule? I must admit, there certainly is.
I don’t know what anyone else’s list might look like, but I can start with eliminating negative thoughts and worry, fretting over minor irritations, and berating myself (aloud or silently) for simple mistakes. The cumulative effects of these mental habits use up more energy than I might realize.
Moving on to more concrete items, I can easily live without glossy, attractive advertising for items I don’t need, or gossipy online “news” stories of dubious credibility. I can turn the telephone off for a few hours (or even days!) and check my phone messages once daily, or re-direct them to email, so as not to be sidetracked. I can take steps to minimize junk mail, junk TV, junk calls and texts, and junk food and drinks. These distractions consume countless small increments of time that add up to hours of life.
Once I eliminate all the things I will never miss, it might be easier to find time for what is really important to me. Sometimes this will mean decreasing the time allocated for certain activities, at least temporarily. Or it may mean learning to be comfortable with being totally unavailable for awhile, knowing that periodic unavailability for one opportunity opens doors to others.
Do you struggle with the conflicted emotions that go with having an overcrowded heart? What are some of your secrets for being available for the people and projects that matter most?
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
At this time and this place
Late spring is lovely here, as the cherry blossoms give way to azaleas. May 2016
“You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place. Like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.” —Azar Nafisi
Now that Jeff is retired, we can sell our Alexandria townhome and take up a less peripatetic existence in York County. That’s what we plan to do, gradually, but letting go of our part-time home here is more difficult than we imagined it might be.
Strange, really. One could argue that we should be eager to leave. We’ve had the most difficult years of our lives here; one heartbreak after another, devastating news followed by medical trauma followed by losses of loved ones and shattered illusions of permanence and security.
Yet there has been so much beauty too, and even joy. Our two grandsons came to life during this time, as did this blog. We’ve somehow survived more than we dreamed was in store for us, and managed to salvage countless moments of light happiness and laughter tucked in between the dreary days, glowing like tiny lighthouses, showing us that there really was shelter in the storm.
We’ve been so grateful for our kind and considerate neighbors here, and their delightful children and precious dogs and cats, and the lovely cherry blossoms and blooming gardens that somehow flourish in the crowded residential areas so close to a huge city. We’re thankful, too, for the friendships that have blossomed amid the chaos, and the ties that have been formed or renewed as people who care about us have enclosed us in a cocoon of compassion, prayers, and warm expressions of support.
Just as one can never step in the same river twice, no person or place can stay the same. Change is inevitable. The best we can hope for is accompanying growth, fond memories and bright new opportunities. Whenever we look back on our time here, I know we might wonder how on earth we managed to endure much of what the years brought. But we’ll smile, too, thinking of all the blessings. Thanks to each of you for being among them!
Even when we are not planning an upcoming move from one location to another, all of us are continually leaving behind the past and moving into new phases of life. What will you miss about this time and place? What will you hold close in heart today, as you savor each moment?
This post was first published seven years ago today. I ended up selling the Alexandria home in late 2018, and in 2021 I sold the York home that we once thought would be our permanent retirement home. Both homes I enjoyed to the fullest while I had them, and in each case, I knew the time was right to sell and close that chapter of my life. Because of this, I can say honestly that I have not missed either home, feeling only a deep gratitude for having had the blessing of these two lovely places for as long as we had them, and happy that I sold them when I did.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Like my own heart
Fancy or plain, tin or paper, my tea boxes are full of treasure. May 2016
…box of tea,
like my
own heart
you arrived bearing
stories,
thrills,
eyes
that had held
fabulous petals in their gaze
and also, yes,
that
lost scent
of tea, of jasmine and of dreams,
that scent of wandering spring.
Ah, no wonder I love tea so much! Once again, the poet distills deep wells of emotion into a few well-chosen words. As we sip our tea (or coffee) today, let’s imagine the miles those leaves and beans traveled to reach us, and silently give thanks for the hands that harvested the bounty that brightens our mornings. Let’s savor the scents that linger, redolent of faraway lands and adventures we only dream of in our daily lives. I raise my cup with you in a virtual toast to refreshing moments that indulge the imagination as well as the senses. Santé!
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
How beautifully difficult
Twins Bailey and Braxton take a stroll together.
Photo courtesy of their parents.
“A child is a guest in the house, to be loved and respected– never possessed, since he belongs to God. How wonderful, how sane, how beautifully difficult, and therefore true.”
– J. D. Salinger
As I think about it, “beautifully difficult” is an excellent way to describe what it’s like to have children around. I don’t know any parent who would describe that role as being an easy one.
Caring for anyone or anything on an intimate and daily basis can inspire the sort of possessive attitude Salinger warns against. The line between responsible care-giving and inappropriate control can become perilously thin, and most of us will err on one side or the other at least a few times in our lives. Fortunately, most humans are resilient, and this trait apparently begins at birth.
When I read this passage, I was struck by the juxtaposition of the words “wonderful,” “sane,” “difficult,” and “true.” I seldom see these concepts associated in such close proximity, but on consideration, they are practically interdependent.
Whether or not you are a parent, you are almost certainly called to one or more roles that could be described by all four of these adjectives. With that realization, I wish you a day of wonderful sanity; of difficult truths that bless your life with the joys, laughter and sober understanding that go with having a child in the house.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
A very astonishing place
Drew was thrilled to look at the world from behind a waterfall.
Westlake Park Fountain, near Pike Place Market, Seattle, 1993
“If you can sustain your interest in what you’re doing, you’re an extremely fortunate person. What you see very frequently in people’s professional lives, and perhaps in their emotional life as well, is that they lose interest in the third act. You sort of get tired, and indifferent, and, sometimes, defensive. And you kind of lose your capacity for astonishment — and that’s a great loss, because the world is a very astonishing place…What I feel fortunate about is that I’m still astonished, that things still amaze me.”
— Milton Glaser
As enthusiastic as I’ve always been, I have to admit that Glaser’s words are relevant to my own life. Often– especially lately– I find myself tired, indifferent, defensive, or all three, even throwing in grouchy and pessimistic as bonus categories. I agree with Glaser that it’s a great loss to allow this to happen.
Over the years I’ve been teased on more than one occasion for being too easily impressed, too eager, too excited about things other people find ordinary. I’ve never minded this; I’ve taken it as a compliment. I think the capacity for astonishment is a sign of intelligence rather than its opposite. In my opinion, anyone who is constantly too busy to be astonished is not all that bright in any of the ways that really count.
Even the most upbeat among us do get exhausted, and disheartened, and sad. These states are normal, but I think we must be vigilant to keep them in the passenger’s seat and not the driver’s seat. Sometimes, we need to let other people drive while we reflect, refresh and recharge. And we need to cultivate a working knowledge of what shakes us out of our low moods, and prioritize this crucial form of self-care. The means of rediscovering our enchantment with life will be different from person to person, but we can learn a lot from each other by sharing our spontaneous moments of joy and pointing to the rays of sun that break through on even the worst days.
Right now, I’m noticing the beauty of green in the trees and grass, and how it never fails to calm me. I’m hearing the sweet chirping of the birds. I’m savoring the last few sips of my second mug of tea this morning as I plan to make a third– what flavor will I choose this time? I’m glancing around at the many tokens of love and affection that have been strategically placed where I can see them every day. These things, and many others, sustain my interest in this astonishing life.
How about you? Are you still astonished at life? When your enthusiasm flags, do you have any reliable ways to generate fresh energy?
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
In the noise and whip
Amid chill winds, wildflowers bloom on the rocky shore of Captiva Island, January 2013.
…It is lonesome, yes. For we are the last of the loud.
Nevertheless, live.
Conduct your blooming in the noise and whip of the whirlwind.
This post is for anyone who has ever felt alone in a crowd.
It’s for anyone who speaks in a voice trembling with grief or rage, while hearing silent reproaches screaming inside the mind: What is it with you, anyway? Why can’t you just get over it– chill out– get used to it? Why don’t you just sit down and shut up?
It’s for anyone who has ever longed for a quiet hour, a normal day, a boring week, an uneventful month, a healthy, prosperous, consistently happy year.
It’s for anyone who endlessly waters other people’s gardens while wondering when her own life will have a chance to take root and bloom. The answer is: it already has.
Brooks hit the nail on the head. For some of us, it’s never going to be “So now, live happily ever after!” It won’t ever be “At last! A real life!”
For some of us– I suspect, possibly even for most of us– our earthly task is summed up in her two powerful words: “Nevertheless, live.”
A lot of people won’t get this post at all. That’s OK.
For those who do get it, remember: we have poetic and historic and literary and spiritual proof that it’s possible to bloom even in the most ferocious storm. You’re actually part of quite a magnificent garden. When you feel lonesome, remember that.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Only one thing to do
The Little Biplane that Could: obsolete or not, it changed history.
Fairey Swordfish by By Tony Hisgett, Birmingham, UK. CC BY 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons
“We are so outnumbered there’s only one thing to do. We must attack.”
— Sir Andrew Browne Cunningham
Admiral Cunningham spoke these words before the Battle of Taranto, in which a small number of obsolete planes (the Fairey Swordfish biplanes) conquered a mighty fleet of ships and ushered in the ascendancy of naval aviation. I loved this quote the first time I ever saw it, but in recent weeks, it has become especially meaningful to me.
History has shown that underdogs can overcome extraordinary odds, and it happens in many endeavors other than warfare. One of my favorite authors, Malcolm Gladwell, often writes about well-known events and people as seen through a different lens than typical journalism offers. In his book David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants, he discusses how courage, ingenuity and determination can win the day against all reasonable expectation.
The first week of this month Jeff and I were preparing to go on a transatlantic cruise I had reserved almost a year ago as a celebration of his retirement after 30 years in the Air Force. We knew at the time that he might never be able to go, but we looked forward to it in hope, and as the time drew nearer, it seemed as if the dream was going to come true. We were excited, but nervous; would Matt be OK while we were gone? Would Jeff and I relax enough to enjoy it?
We were never to find out. On April 6, Jeff was diagnosed with a large brain tumor that was affecting his balance and vision so dramatically he could hardly walk. Our dream of celebration had become a nightmare in the form of an exceedingly rare metastasis (Jeff’s type of cancer, we had been told, almost never goes to the brain, but his had). I asked the doctors why they had told us in the beginning that there was no need for brain scans because the cancer would not go to the brain. They answered, “People with his diagnosis and situation rarely live this long. So we don’t really know what might happen at this stage.” After facing the grim prognosis of colorectal cancer that spread to the liver and lungs, Jeff now has yet another battlefront in the long fight for his life.
Fortunately, the doctors at Walter Reed have come to know him well enough to be confident he might be able to beat the odds yet again. Though patients are seldom offered neurosurgery in such situations, there was immediate consensus among the oncologists and neurosurgeons that surgical removal of the tumor was an appropriate course.
Jeff had an hours-long craniotomy on a Monday, and left the ICU on Tuesday afternoon. The post-op MRI and scans confirmed the neurosurgeons’ opinion that the tumor was completely removed. It astonished me that they released him to go home on Wednesday, less than 48 hours after the surgery. By Saturday morning he was cooking breakfast and doing laundry (despite my having done three loads myself the day before), determined to live as normal a life as he can, for as long as he is able.
Jeff is up against very daunting odds, but in the final analysis, we all are. Each of us, in some way, is called upon to make the best of less than optimal circumstances, and for some of us, we’ll be called to do that again and again. The next time you feel outnumbered and hopeless, remember that improbable victories can only happen when underdogs refuse to surrender.
This post was first published seven years ago today. As it turns out, it’s one of those posts that seems to be re-appearing at a time when I most need it, as I face my own uphill battle in surgery next week. (By the time this publishes, my surgery will be behind me, for better or worse.) Fortunately, my life is not at stake, as Jeff’s was when he made the remarkable recovery that I’m now glad I captured here. But long odds are still daunting even when life is not directly threatened, and most of us will have many times when we face long odds before the final, life-ending battle comes, as it will for all of us. In the coming days, every time I feel nervous or pessimistic, I’ll think of the Fairey Swordfish. I’ll think of Matthew. And I’ll think of Jeff.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
The trick is growing
Ever seen a pinwheel bouquet? If not — now you have!
My day was made considerably brighter by this colorful surprise, April 2016
“The trick is growing up without growing old.”— Casey Stengel
Let’s just say it had not been an easy day for me. I know I say that a lot, but if you have followed this blog for very long, you probably know why. Then– when I least expected it– I got an instant sip from the Fountain of Youth.
There was a mysteriously lightweight package at my doorstep, addressed to me. Hmmm, what could it be? I enjoyed the suspense as I saved it for later. That evening, after Jeff and Matt were in bed, I tore open the lid and have never been more surprised and delighted by what I found inside. Yep, it was a whole BOX full of glittery mylar pinwheels! Be still my heart!!!
There was this little note inside, by way of explanation:
Ever since childhood, I always loved pinwheels, but somehow managed to own pitifully few of them. In fact, the eight pinwheels I got in that box were probably four times what I’ve had in my whole life. I think I must have laughed aloud even though nobody was awake to hear me. Then the next day, I took about a zillion photos of them from every angle before putting them on display in a bouquet that brought smiles even from Jeff (whose skull had been cut open to remove a brain tumor less than four days earlier). Our kitchen now has bling!
The generosity, creativity and originality of people who read this blog never cease to amaze me. Every time I think about how much fun it was to get this fabulous treat, I am more impressed. What a totally unexpected joy. Between the rainbows shooting all around the room from Pauline’s handcrafted light catcher, and the glitterfest of these pinwheels, I have mood-lifting color to greet me every single day!
Today, I wish for you a wonderful, jack-in-the-box moment that reveals you have grown up without growing old.
This post was first published seven years ago today. In the years since then, I have shared three of those pinwheels (as Susan suggested in her message– and yes, this is the same Susan you often see in the comments section) but I still have five of them in a bouquet in my craft room, and they are as pretty as ever. I’m sad to reflect that Pauline, also mentioned above, has left this life– but I still have her light catcher too, and think of her every time I see it.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Water always goes
A goose goes with the flow of the Potomac River, Washington DC, March 2016.
“Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it…If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.” — Margaret Atwood
Deceptively powerful and endlessly mesmerizing, water permeates almost every aspect of our lives. It can be dangerous, even lethal, and many people have an instinctive fear of it. Yet its sights and sounds calm our souls, lulling us into deep reverie or lighthearted playfulness.
If you are feeling overwhelmed with too many tasks, or agitated by worry, try a bit of water therapy. Sit and gaze at a flowing river or placid lake. Take a nice warm bath and enjoy a bit of splashing about as a child does. Or simply indulge in a few quiet minutes listening to the sounds of rain, a gurgling stream or fountain, or a kettle simmering with water for tea or coffee.
Whether your visit with water happens literally, virtually or in your imagination, think about Atwood’s description of its gentle tenacity. Water offers us many lessons. If things get tough today, I’ll try shifting to a calming mental picture of its steady rippling beauty. I’ll try flowing on, not resisting, but finding new pathways when I come to obstacles. I invite you to join me in tapping into the fluid power and grace of this everyday element by taking a few minutes to focus on its agile strength.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
To save the world
“Saints Peter and John healing the lame man” by Nicolas Poussin, 1655.
Image shared online by the Metropolitan Museum of Art
“I have never met anyone who wanted to save the world without my financial support.”
— Robert Brault
OK, it’s comic relief time here at Defeat Despair, and what better time than election season to take note of the fact that even when our other gifts go unwanted and unrecognized, there is always someone who will appreciate whatever money we can come up with.
Have you noticed our tendency to assume it takes gobs of money to make any sort of big or meaningful change in the world? Sometimes I think looking for solutions in wealth (usually someone else’s wealth) is just another way of letting ourselves off the hook for NOT doing the little everyday things that can make a huge cumulative difference. We might not be able to save the world with a smile or a kind word or a small act of compassion that few will ever know about. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be doing these things anyway.
There’s a wonderful story in the Bible, the book of Acts, chapter 3, in which a man who had been unable to walk from birth asks Peter and John for money. Peter tells him, “Silver or gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.” For the first time ever, the man was suddenly able to do just that. He had asked for money, but got something far better. Maybe there’s a lesson here for us. Maybe more than one lesson.
It’s easy to assume that money would solve most of our problems, and it definitely comes in handy in a great many situations. Moreover, it’s far too natural an impulse to want to hang onto whatever we get, and not share it, dreading some unforeseen future crisis. Yet it’s not wise to trust in money as a defense against disaster. So the point isn’t that we don’t need to give financially; I’m convinced that we do, for many reasons, among which is for our own psychological and spiritual benefit.
But how often do we seek money when what we really need is something that no amount of money could ever buy? How many times have we gotten what we really needed, not what we thought we wanted? Do we ever “sell out” for financial gain, only to find that we have bartered away something priceless for something ephemeral, even worthless?
There are a great many worthy and unworthy people and organizations who “want to save the world” with our financial support. Sometimes it will be a good thing to give it. But give wisely, and don’t let it discourage you if you don’t have money to give. Maybe what you do have to give is worth more than anything that could be bought.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Like butterflies
This butterfly appeared to be dying, but its beauty was still remarkable. March 2016
“We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it is forever.” — Carl Sagan
Ah, but Mr. Sagan, you of all people should know that infinity is poorly understood, even by humans. Perhaps our most profound mistakes occur in our perceptions of finality, in our willingness to accept the limits drawn by what we can immediately perceive with our five known senses. The tiniest visible particle contains within itself unseen worlds with complexity to rival the galaxies that were your life’s focus.
One of my church sisters spotted the butterfly pictured above while we were on an early Saturday walk on a woodland trail. It seemed apparent to us that this lovely creature must have been dying, for it did not fly away when we approached. Gently, we lifted it from the trail and placed it in the shaded area beneath a tree. As we left it behind, it was still nearly motionless. But in a sense, it will live on in the photographs I took, which I am sharing with you now. This same butterfly may be visited days or months hence by other blog readers, its beauty extending beyond its ability to flutter, leaving us with a renewed awareness of brevity intersecting with lingering presence.
Eighty-eight years ago today a baby boy was born in the humble home that was the birthplace of his own mother, a home that still stands today. He would go on to live a fairly typical American life, normalcy touched with flashes of astounding wonder. He taught his children more about infinity than any astrophysicist could have, and on the day he died, he left behind him on this earth three unborn great-grandchildren to add to the seven already blessing the world with love and laughter.
Some of us believe there is more to life than the brief day described by Sagan; that every person’s journey on earth carries within itself, hidden as the atoms and particles that are no less real for their invisibility, the forever that may not be an illusion at all.
This post was first published seven years ago today. And as I wrote then, the memory of this butterfly lives on, in my mind and in this post. It is now 95 years ago today that my beloved Daddy was born, and nearly eight years since he left this earth, but his presence is as real in the lives of his four children, his eight grandchildren and his ten great-grandchildren as it ever was.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Such a secret place
A place of countless tears: Drew contemplates Dachau, August 2005.
“I did not know what to say to him. I felt awkward and blundering. I did not know how I could reach him, where I could overtake him and go hand in hand with him once more. It is such a secret place, the land of tears.” —Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Whether or not one is alone, grief is a solitary experience. Very few are comfortable with being present in someone else’s sorrow. Words fall short; actions seem inadequate or misguided, and it is all too easy to withdraw from bearing witness to great suffering, not least because the stark reality of mortality erodes complacent illusions of control and well-being.
Just when connection is needed most, people mired in heartbreak tend to withdraw from others as well, doubling the gap that already confounds. Pride, despair or fear of painful rejection stymie any requests for practical help or emotional support which might give others a map for offering the assistance they desperately want to provide.
Yet there are determined souls who manage to meet each other across this yawning gap. There are those who risk failure or rejection to reach forth, feebly or fiercely, to connect despite the obstacles. Like a life preserver tossed into the darkness of a stormy sea, an act of solace may reach a person drowning in anguish and fear. No miracles take place; no dramatic resolution calms the storm or lights the sky, but in the cumulative power of even the smallest acts of hope and love, one may grasp the hand of another and be pulled toward gradual healing and survival.
The land of tears is indeed a secret place, but not impenetrable or impervious. I’ll meet you there.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
With little effort
It’s almost as much fun to photograph fruit as it is to eat it!
I couldn’t resist stopping to snap a picture as I put groceries away, August 2015.
“Whatever the season, and with little effort, your kitchen can be as headily fragrant as groves, orchards, gardens…bakeries, brasseries, coffeehouses, and tearooms. If you view food and beverages as simply substances to be eaten and drunk quickly, you’re missing more pleasure than you could imagine.” — Sara Ban Breathnach
Let’s just say I’m no gourmet cook. Fortunately, I don’t require gourmet food, and neither does my family. During the appetite-intensive years when there were two hungry male teenagers with parents who could eat about as much as they did, my cooking ran heavily (no pun intended) to classic comfort menus with lots of recipes that contained Campbell’s cream soups. For special dinners I’d make yeast rolls from scratch, and Jeff kept fresh cookies baking on a continual basis. We ate voraciously and quickly. Life was good.
Life is still good, of course, but things in our home have changed considerably on the food front. At nearly 60 years old, I’m here to tell you that everything you’ve heard about weight gain getting worse as we age turned out to be entirely true for us. Jeff’s cancer has meant that he now struggles to keep weight on, not off, but chemo does cruel things to the appetite, so there is no such thing as a typical meal in our home anymore. For different reasons, neither of us can eat as we once did.
It has not been as bad as it sounds. The changes in our food habits– habits being the prime influence on my eating patterns– have been beneficial in many ways. I eat less now, and feel satisfied more easily. I pay closer attention to what and how I eat, and try not to eat quickly. But I had to acquire these practices gradually after 40 years of never having to worry about my weight, other than during childhood when I was mercilessly teased about being a skinny beanpole. Getting over the “more = better” mentality took some time.
On the plus side, I’ve learned to savor food and maximize the enjoyment of each and every calorie. I’ve developed a taste for fresher ingredients. I focus more on the sight, aroma and texture of foods and drink. I sometimes browse in grocery stores as in the library, reading about exotic foods I have no real intention of buying or eating. As with much that is beautiful and wholesome, food actually becomes more enjoyable when we back away from viewing it only through the lens of craved consumption, and contemplate its nutritional role as a crucial facet of our appreciation.
As Kelly (aka Boomdee) could tell you, I can happily live on a diet of nuts and tea, but I do love to indulge in the endless variety of flavor and fragrance that is so bountifully available to us. It’s really true that little effort is required, though I admire people who are gifted in the culinary arts. For those of us less talented in the kitchen, we can still fill our homes with the delicious sights and smells of freshly brewed coffee or tea, sauteed fresh vegetables, or cheese toast melting under the broiler. What’s cooking at your place today?
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Plotting
A random sample of your happy plotting– see me grinning?
“I’m a kind of paranoiac in reverse. I suspect people of plotting to make me happy.”
― J.D. Salinger
I’ve often identified with this quote, and never more than in the past three and a half years, since starting this blog. Some of the world’s nicest people have landed on this page, and it’s a wonder to me.
See all those fun things in the collage above? They are just a random sample of the delightful surprises I’ve received in the mail from blog readers. If you’ve been part of the Defeat Despair family for very long, you know how much I believe in the power of kindness to help us survive “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” Your warmth, good wishes and presence here have helped me more than you know!
Some of you send me unique, handmade treasures or tiny gifts chosen just for me. Some send photos of places I’ve wanted to see but never been able to visit in person, giving me a personalized virtual tour of what I might otherwise miss. (Thanks, Raynard, for letting me see the Philadelphia Flower Show for several years in a row now– not to mention more virtual cakes than I could ever have eaten in person. Most of the fun, none of the calories!)
Some of you send me kind thoughts and reminders that we are in your prayers, a form of support that we need and cherish. Some of you leave your Gravatars in the “like” section of the blog so I know you were here, which is a gift that keeps on giving. Some send encouraging comments and personal stories that keep me and other readers focused on happy and inspiring things. Some of you send me handwritten notes via postal mail, a tradition I love to keep alive, which always brightens my day.
However you show your friendship and good will, rest assured that you make a difference in my life, as I know you must in all the lives that you touch. Isn’t it fun to engage in happy plotting, finding ways to shower blessings on those who are greatly in need of them? Keep up the good work and let’s continue in this congenial conspiracy to make the world a better place.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Not so poor
At Walmart for a quick ordinary purchase, I found this marked-down hibiscus plant.
It brought beauty to our summer for many weeks. Now it’s budding again. August, 2015
“Grace is not so poor a thing that it cannot present itself in any number of ways.”
– Marilynne Robinson
Have you ever gone into Target or Macy’s or Piggly Wiggly with one particular purchase in mind, and been so distracted by other fun or pretty or tasty things that you bought more than you intended, or forgot what you came for? That happens to me a lot, and I thought of that when I read this quote by Robinson. Maybe being distracted by abundance is not always a bad thing– especially when it isn’t costly.
We go through life with some pretty clear ideas of what we want, and often we do achieve the goals on which we focus. It’s a powerful asset to have the drive and persistence to reach goals through diligent effort. But there is so much more to appreciate and enjoy along the way, too. It would be a shame if we are so intent on a few aspects of life that we miss the countless benefits that are free for everyone to enjoy, every day.
For those of us whose lives did not unfold quite the way we may have thought they would, it’s wonderful to realize that happiness can sneak in through doors and windows we didn’t even know were there; that grace stays with us in thousands of ways that can never be stolen. Whenever I am mindful of all the blessings that surround me (beginning with the lovely sound of birds early in the morning, and ending with a peaceful evening at home, or a full moon glowing in the sky) I understand that grace surrounds us all the time whether or not we are aware of it.
Today, grace will present itself to us in any number of ways. Which will we notice, and savor?
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Tea being made
We have cherry blossoms, not peach, but they must have heard the tea-making too…
They were peeping through our window in April 2013, and they’re here again now.
“The sounds of the tea being made invite the peach blossoms to peep in through the window.” —Sasaki Sanmi, Sadô Saijiki
If you are reading this anytime between 6:30 a.m. and 9:00 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time, chances are I have the kettle on, or just now made tea, or will be making tea in a few minutes. Assuming Sanmi is right about the blossoms, I’ve got an invitation going out pretty much all day every day. Blossoms of all kinds are welcome…and so are you!
Are you joining me before noon? You might like to share some of my favorite black teas for the caffeine energy boost. Today I have something very special to offer. Our friend from Nepal has given me a box of delicious Tokla Tea, grown and produced in his home country, and I’ve been enjoying its rich flavor almost every day lately. I highly recommend it, but I also have other choices including several varieties of Earl Grey and English Breakfast tea. And of course, I have plenty of the spicy chai flavors that are among my favorites.
For those of you popping in during the early afternoon, let’s indulge in an extra healthy cup of green tea. After years of mixing it with black tea, I finally have cultivated a taste for green tea on its own, though I still usually mix it with black. Shall we try some of the jasmine green variety? Or a fruit flavor such as raspberry or peach? Or we can have unflavored green tea in one of my favorite brands, Ahmad, which never fails to produce a tasty cuppa.
Assuming you drop by in the evening, we have lots of caffeine-free options. In addition to your choice of fruit or herbal flavors, we can try some Rooibos; it’s available in ever-increasing varieties, all delicious. One of my recent favorites is the lemon hibiscus green rooibos that Jeff recently gave me. I had never even heard of green rooibos, but one great thing about being a tea lover is that there are continual new discoveries. A disclaimer: these are unsolicited recommendations for which I get no remuneration. I mention the specifics just to prove I’m not making all these fabulous flavors up.
How fun to have so many choices! And I haven’t even scratched the surface. What will you be having? If you can’t make it in person, I’ll gladly send you a tea bag or two of your choice (except for the green rooibos, which is running low). We’ll cover the dessert teas (such as chocolate raspberry or marshmallow macaron) some other time. The blossoms showed up early this year so we’re all set…
Friday evening, March 25, 2016– from our bedroom window on peak bloom day.This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
A sentinel all around
Daddy took this photo early one tranquil morning at Chiemsee, Germany, November 1972.
“…if we starve ourselves of mental junk and replace it with what is true, admirable, right, pure, beautiful, and attractive, peace will stand as a sentinel all around our feelings and thoughts, creating an impregnable fortress of calm and tranquility.”
— David Murray
Could you use some calm and tranquility right now? I know I could. I’m writing this in the wee hours of the morning, having been unable to go back to sleep after being awakened in the night. It’s an all-too-common situation; I fall asleep exhausted, but if I wake up (whether on my own, or due to environmental noises) I often lie awake fretting over all the cares that await me as soon as I get up.
I’ve dealt with insomnia long enough to know that lying in bed worrying is not a good precedent to set, and can become an escalating threat to future sleep, so I try to switch gears and look at it as a gift of time. Often I’ll choose to get up and go to work in the blessed quiet of those predawn hours, promising myself an extra-early bedtime later.
This morning, though I had planned to tackle a few projects I had been dreading, I ended up getting distracted by looking through some happy photographs The transformation from self-pity and anxiety to a feeling of gratitude and joy was remarkable. I’m sure I’ll be yawning in exhaustion this afternoon, but I hope that the mood-boosting reminders of abundance will stay with me. The problems that had me lying awake aren’t going to vanish, but I can choose to make them better or worse, depending on what I pay attention to and how I react.
I invite you to join me and “just say no” to a mental diet of junk. As with healthy food, exercise or other aspects of wellness, it might take awhile to cultivate a taste for what is admirable, right, pure and beautiful; we live in a world that seems determined to focus on doom and gloom and useless hand-wringing. But I think the rewards of setting up sentinels to guard our minds and hearts are well worth the initial effort.
What thoughts, activities, poems, prayers, or practices can you rely upon to give you a quick attitude adjustment when you most need it? Feel free to share your favorite joys with us, and let’s build that fortress of calm and tranquility, one intentional moment at a time.
This post was first published seven years ago today. I’m happy to say that one gift hidden in the trauma of my injury of one year ago has been the “re-setting” of my sleep habits. I’m sleeping better now than I ever have. In the beginning it was sheer necessity; my stamina was gone in the exhaustion of multiple doctor appointments, surgeries, adjustments in diet, and the healing taking place on many levels. But now, prioritizing an early bedtime has become a good habit– one I intend to keep.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
A bridge with people
This bridge in Captiva, Florida, led through lush green paths to the sea. January, 2013
“When I stopped trying to block my sadness and let it move me instead, it led me to a bridge with people on the other side. Every one of them knew sorrow. Some of them even knew how to bear it as an ordinary feature of being human instead of some avoidable curse. Watching them ride the waves of their own dark emotions, I learned that sadness does not sink a person; it is the energy a person spends trying to avoid sadness that does that.” — Barbara Brown Taylor
There’s a lot of pressure in our culture to be fit, healthy, educated, happy, perfect. All these states of being are blessings (except for perfection, which is an unattainable illusion) but I think we fall into a trap when we imagine we can achieve consistency in any of them. Health can disappear abruptly no matter how fit we stay, and education is in a continual process of becoming outdated. Life holds no guarantees, and it’s a rare person who never has to deal with great sorrow.
I was drawn to Taylor’s description of sadness as a bridge to other people, because I have found it to be true. It’s an oversimplification to say “misery loves company.” As I see it, sorrow opens my heart to others because I become aware of how much each of us carries around inside us, and that understanding binds me to people with whom I might otherwise (mistakenly) believe I have nothing in common. Merely to be human is to share a great deal with every other person I meet. To some people that probably sounds trite, but for me, it has become a formidable defense against feeling alone and isolated.
This blog would not exist if I believed it was healthy to wallow in despondency or self-pity. But the burdens of life are real and inescapable, and in facing them squarely, there are paradoxical consolations– among which is the equalizing realization of the universal encumbrances of mortality.
Many have observed that going through some disaster or adversity binds people together in ways that prosperity never will. If you are facing sadness or setbacks in your life, I hope you will find solace in the unique bonds you form with fellow travelers on similar paths. Taylor is right in asserting that sadness does not have to sink a person, and indeed, it often transforms into a kind of strength that can change a life…or an entire world.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Begin transforming
Ever been to Ireland? I haven’t, but I hope to go someday.
Public domain photo of the Ring of Kerry by Christian Menz, via Wikimedia Commons.
“St. Patrick’s Day is an enchanted time – a day to begin transforming winter’s dreams into summer’s magic.” — Adrienne Cook
That sounds good to me. Let the transformation begin! Help me brainstorm some ideas to get us started. How shall we prepare to welcome spring?
Maybe we can visit a nursery or hardware store and pick up some seedlings to care for indoors, or plant outside, depending on where we live. How about sitting down with a calendar to pencil in some of those fun events we never seem to get around to– lunch with a friend, a day trip to an interesting place we’ve never been, a craft class or nature walk with a local community group. Imagine any of dozens of other things to enjoy as the weather warms up (or cools down, if you live below the equator) and we are inspired to get out and about again.
What sorts of winter dreams did you cook up this year? What magic do you hope to find in the summer? Celtic lore is full of enchantment, but the Irish certainly don’t have a monopoly on it. Even if you don’t have one bit of Irish ancestry, I hope you can join in the refreshing spirit of springtime that is linked by the calendar to St. Patrick’s Day. And if you do manage to head outdoors today– may the road rise to meet you!
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Defeat Despair 