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.
One surge at a time
“The waves rolling in from the Atlantic today were high and white and threatening. Then, later in the day, the ocean was suddenly very quiet again, very much itself and at peace with the world. I couldn’t help thinking what a life lesson there is in that kind of undulation, in that kind of natural upset…peace is not a state of lifelessness…Peace is what comes to us after we negotiate the roiling, pounding waves of life lived one surge at a time.” — Joan Chittister
When the stormy times hit, one of the best emotional survival strategies I’ve learned over the years is to focus on a mental picture of riding the waves as they rise and fall, concentrating on keeping my head above water and avoiding over-reaction or panic.
It’s a sensation I experienced during my college years when I foolishly agreed to try body surfing with friends at Jones Beach, New York, the morning after a hurricane. I have no idea why a lousy swimmer such as I would go into rough waters. I suppose I felt safer because two of our group were lifeguards who were off duty. Good thing, too; it took me no time at all to get into trouble out there.
When the guys noticed I was floundering, they swam alongside me, one on each side, and held my upper arms, coaching me through every wave until we got back to shore. I was freaking out at first, but they would warn me as a wave approached, and reassure me as they held fast to me, lifting me up and and helping me stay with it while it passed. By the time I was safely on dry land I had learned a few things, one of which was a healthy respect for the power of high waves.
I don’t think I’d ever intentionally put myself in that position again, but I have thought of that day many times as an analogy for the psychological aspects of the most harrowing moments of my life. When such moments come, I try to focus on staying as calm as I can while I wait for the worst of it to pass, as it inevitably will.
Yes, usually there will be more waves to deal with, “high and white and threatening,” but Sister Joan wisely reminds us that we can– and must– negotiate those waves one surge at a time. And often, we will find the saving grace of support from friends who will ride the waves with us, showing us how to survive the storms.
Today, if you are in one of those blissful states of calm between waves, enjoy it! Relish the lack of pressure and the refreshing sound of silence. But if you are riding a huge and frightening wave, take heart; it will pass. I wish you the life-saving presence of many who care: folks who will lift your spirits with warm words, kind deeds and fervent prayers. Remember you’re not alone out here.
This post was first published seven years ago today. Reading back over it, I can’t help but reflect how those waves just keep coming in all the years since I wrote these words. It sometimes feels relentless, but so far, I’m keeping my head above water.
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.
Your vision
Let the distant vision enhance the beauty of where you are now.
Drew on a road in the Yukon, June 2000
“Your vision of the future is not intended to keep you living in a ‘someday’ mode. It is as much a guide to the way you live out each day in the present as it is to direct you toward the future.” — Mark Brunetz
This quote from Brunetz pinpoints the difference between getting stuck in unrealistic delusions about the future versus focusing on a destination that will be the inspiration for a worthwhile journey. Just imagine a glorious landscape far in the distance, at the end of an appealing but decidedly less glamorous road. Should we sit idly in a wayside meadow and speculate on what details might lie beyond our ability to see from afar? Or will we set out in that direction, determined to discover it first hand, and meanwhile enjoy the sights along the way?
It took me years to get up the nerve to talk about my desire to be a writer. I felt embarrassed because I knew I was not good enough yet to let anyone know that was my goal. Somewhere along the way, I began to wonder whether I actually liked the idea of writing better than the the writing itself; whether I was making excuses for myself rather than facing my fears.
I shared my misgivings during a brief conversation I had with the writer Michael Blake, who spoke at our base library while the very young Drew and Matt played in the children’s area. When I confessed my confusion about my writing ambitions, he admitted that there were quite a few people who were more enamored with the thought of being a writer, than with engaging in the activity itself.
Then he gave me some very good advice. Seeing my children and realizing the time constraints I faced, he told me what I needed to do for now was “keep a relationship with the written word.” He explained I could write every day, in whatever form: it could be letters, journals, diaries, brief essays or articles, anything that would keep me in touch with expressing myself through writing, and for the present time, that would be enough.
“Then you will find that writing will always be there for you, if you want to pursue it more extensively in the future,” he told me. His words made sense to me. I found it easy to take his advice; it felt so much less threatening than aspiring to write a best seller.
Soon I was working as a stringer for the local paper and writing a column for a military spouse newsletter. Not long afterward, I sold a travel story and two photographs to an international travel paper. But even when I made no money from writing, or very little, the writing itself become its own reward.
Eventually I realized, though I might never be an author, I was already a writer and probably always would be one. Whatever destination I had in mind in the beginning, I’ve enjoyed the journey itself so much that the vision has enriched me in ways I never imagined.
Do you have ambitions for your future that get stuck in “someday” mode? If so, can you explore how to let that vision guide the way you live out each day, so that someday becomes now? Getting there really can be more than half the fun. I wish you traveling mercies– and be sure to send us some virtual postcards to let us know what you’re seeing along the way.
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 world is full
I didn’t spot this spider at first, and I bet the wasp didn’t either.
Crab spider by Jeffrey C. Oliver, CC by SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”
— W. B. Yeats
Awhile back we had an interesting discussion with Boomdee in the comments after she mentioned the rabbits in her world changing colors with the seasons. Until then, I didn’t know about the Snowshoe Hare, which turns white in winter as a form of camouflage in snowy areas. I was enchanted to think of a rabbit that changes color, because I’d never heard of one doing that before. My experience with color-changing animals is pretty much limited to small lizards.
Apparently, rabbits don’t need that flexible sort of camouflage to flourish in Virginia. They are everywhere, and usually I notice them by the way that they move. Not always, though.
One gorgeous evening last spring I went out to make a quick film clip of the world as it looked from our little porch in Alexandria. The birds were singing and the azaleas were blooming, and the little creek behind our home was making that lovely rushing sound that always comes after a nice rainfall. With all this to distract me, I didn’t notice what was hiding in plain sight until I watched the clip nine months later. See if you spot what I missed (the pause button helps):
Let’s take a cue from Sherlock Holmes and sharpen our senses to see what else we are missing. What secrets might nature be hiding in your neighborhood?
This post was first published seven years ago today. Because that year (2016) was a leap year, and this one is not, there will be a shift in the days each post is re-published for the remainder of the year. Just in case anyone notices, you’ll now find that they will appear on Tuesdays and Fridays.
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.
Autobiography, journal, scrapbook
Grady has his own little playroom in their new home, January, 2016.
That indoor tent was a favorite of Drew and Matt, many years ago (see below).
“Each of us is eccentric because each of us is unique and no one else is like us. We can best express our individuality in unusual, uncommon ways at home. Our home is an autobiography, a journal, a scrapbook…Living at home is a dynamic, creative process.” — Alexandra Stoddard
I really miss the days when people spent more times in one another’s homes. I always feel I know someone much better after I’ve been in their home a few times. It doesn’t really matter to me how large or small the home is, how old or new, or how it’s furnished. What I enjoy is the way each home, like each person, is totally unique. Some of my favorite places to stay have been the smallest and coziest, even when some of what we now think of as essentials were not available.
Real estate agents now “stage” homes to make them look basically as if no one lives there. I can understand why they do this; it’s much easier for prospective buyers to imagine themselves living in a place if it starts out with an appealing but bland atmosphere. But as a visitor, it’s much more fun to see a home that has the unmistakable stamp of the people who belong there.
In the recent winter storm, I was stuck in Atlanta for a couple of days longer than I had planned to be there. I was anxious to be home and antsy at wondering when the weather would allow it, but best part about that was that I was able to stay with Drew, Megan and Grady in their new (to them) home. They have recently bought a lovely place, several decades old, that had been in the same family all that time until now.
I fell in love with the home. What I liked best about it was how unique it was. You could feel a sense of the generations of the family who had owned it, lending a sort of character to the atmosphere. At the same time, it seemed perfect for its new occupants, each of whom is (at least in my eyes) quite exceptional and well suited to such a one-of-a-kind dwelling.
Our homes don’t need to be grand, stylish or even consistently neat to be welcoming and appealing. What’s most important is that they reflect who we are; our interests, our priorities, our joys. Some of us are private people for whom home is a retreat, with visitors rarely present; others of us love to have a steady stream of friends coming and going. Either way, we will be happiest in a home that is comfortable and full of our own personalities.
Drew and Matt with their friend Chris in the same tent seen above.
I told you I never throw anything away! Hawaii, 1993
How about your home? Does it suit your personality? If we all popped over for a visit, what would we see there that we would not be likely to see elsewhere? Don’t worry, we won’t notice the dust or the piles of yesterday’s mail or laundry that might be lying around. We came to see YOU– and I just know your smiling face will light up the place, whether or not you feel as if it’s ready for prime time.
This post was first published seven years ago today. Because that year (2016) was a leap year, and this one is not, there will be a shift in the days each post is re-published for the remainder of the year. Just in case anyone notices, you’ll now find that they will appear on Tuesdays and Fridays.
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 newer world
Despite fears and foes, let’s sail confidently on to brighter days.
That’s Drew, Matt and me about to board the Volendam in Alaska, June 2000.
…Come, my friends,
‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world. — Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Our new year is nearly two months gone, and many who made resolutions may have already abandoned them or altered them to fit reality. Still, it is never too late to keep reaching upward to higher aspirations for ourselves, our countries and our world. And it’s never too early.
I’ve often written here about how I avoid watching the news. I’m not trying to hide from reality, but I dislike the way breaking stories are sensationalized to draw in viewers for the 24/7 schedules they must fill in this new age of continual electronic stimulation.
Even worse, old tragedies and sorrows seem never to die; they keep being revisited, second-guessed and milked for whatever commercial value they may hold for media dependent on an audience to draw revenue. This leaves many heartwarming stories of everyday heroes and victories untold. We need to seek and create those stories ourselves, celebrating the good we find in the beauty of daily life.
Have you ever marveled at how brief a time it takes to destroy what took years to build? Such destruction isn’t confined to warfare, either; earthquakes, hurricanes, deforestation and planned demolition, among many other events, all take staggering tolls on the works of both nature and humans. The lesson here speaks of the necessity for patience, fortitude, adaptability and purpose to ensure that life will go on in spite of continual calamities.
Planting tiny seedlings that will grow into enormous trees long after we are there to see it happen, or sending small donations to people who are struggling locally and abroad, or reaching out in friendship to people who are different from us: all these actions, and many more, are acts of faith by which we seek a newer world.
Despite how we may sometimes feel about mistakes in our past, or the condition of our world at large, it’s never too late to do what is right. As my friend Ashleigh Brilliant has said, “Nothing we can do can change the past, but everything we do changes the future.”
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.
When it catches you
The cardinals stayed busy even in the snow, York County, February 2016.
Here’s a view from our kitchen window as one of them perches on the deck railing.
“The earth is covered…..and it is falling still in silence so deep that you can hear its silence. It is snow to be shoveled, to make driving even worse than usual, snow to be joked about and cursed at, but unless the child in you is entirely dead, it is snow, too, that can make the heart beat faster when it catches you by surprise that way, before your defenses are up.” — Frederick Buechner
This is the rest of the quote that I featured in a post that published more than three years ago, in December 2012, when this blog was very new. It describes how I felt one recent morning as I looked out on the snow that was still coming down. I had been up late the previous night, and peeping outside just before I retired, was startled to notice that a few flakes had started to fall and were accumulating quickly on the frozen ground.
Somehow, I didn’t expect it to amount to much more; we were in York County, where snow falls much less often than it does in the DC area. When I awakened the next morning to the news that it was still falling, I raced for my camera, enthusiastic as a child. In the back of my mind, all the usual nagging thoughts were hovering; would we be able to drive back to Alexandria, as planned? What appointments would I need to cancel? How much shoveling would we have to do this time? But mostly, I felt excited.
I think many of us still have a good bit of child alive inside us. What objects or events make you aware of this part of yourself that may lie buried beneath the responsibilities of everyday life? When are you most likely to feel the energy of a much younger person recharging your mood? Are there any aspects of life that enchant you even though they may complicate life a little, or a lot?
I hope that today– or sometime very soon– you will find yourself caught by surprise in the most delightful way.
Alan, that photo is dedicated to you, my fellow admirer of Cardinals!
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.
Try to love
Petty Officer 2nd Class Kimberley Ryan holds hands with Afghan children
as they walk to the local children’s shura in Afghanistan’s Helmand province, 2012.
Photo by Cpl. Ed Galo, U.S. Marine Corps, public domain via Wikimedia Commons
Some may come and some may go
We will surely pass
When the one that left us here
Returns for us at last
We are but a moment’s sunlight
Fading in the grass
Come on people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another
Right now
— lyrics from the Youngbloods’ song “Get Together“
I was ten years old when the Youngbloods first released their version of this song, but it remained popular for several years after that. I always liked it, and recently I’ve been listening to it quite a bit after rediscovering it on Prime. Needless to say, at this age and stage of my life it’s the second verse (quoted above) that jumps out at me most, but the entire song is lovely, full of an otherworldly hope.
If you have time, please listen to the song– I linked it above, in a YouTube posting with lyrics. It may be nearly 50 years since it became a hit, but it’s more relevant now than ever. It talks about the role fear plays in creating division and destruction, and acknowledges we don’t have all the answers. But it points us in the right direction. I hope you’ll find it as uplifting as I do.
“I will show you the most excellent way,” wrote the apostle Paul as he introduced his famous treatise on love as the most important of all traits we can cultivate. His description of love goes far beyond the reality we see in popular imagination or human tendency. On reading his words, we might feel inclined to answer “Yes, but…” and mentally exclude certain situations from his all-encompassing specifications. It just seems too hard, maybe impossible, to actually live these words, especially that sweeping, repetitive “always.”
Perhaps that’s why the Youngbloods’ hit song encourages us to “try to love.” We may not always succeed, but we have to start somewhere, and we can head in the right direction even if we are a long way off.
Happy birthday to my beloved sister, who does better at this than almost anyone I know.
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.
Your own
We start off being kind to ourselves, but what happens later?
10-month-old Grady likes what he sees in the mirror at the beach cottage.
Dam Neck, Virginia, June 2014
“The worst bullies you will ever encounter in your life are your own thoughts.”
― Bryant McGill
Does any of this sound familiar?
She doesn’t really like me.
He never cared about me.
I’m too fat/skinny/short/tall/pale/dark/quiet/loud/dumb/nerdy/old/inexperienced.
I never feel like part of any group I’m with. I don’t belong anywhere and never will.
I give up. I fail at this every time I try to do better.
I could go on and on, and I’ll bet you could too. The ways in which we taunt ourselves might differ slightly, but the underlying messages are identically destructive. Why do we do it?
On the other hand, bullies don’t just say overtly cruel things. Sometimes they lie to us by pretending to be friends, tricking us into doing what we wouldn’t normally do, or creating false hopes destined to be dashed. We can bully ourselves in this way, too. Does any of this sound familiar?
Everyone else does it; why shouldn’t I?
I know it’s bad for me to feel such anger toward someone else but hey, I’m only human.
Nobody will ever know about this but me, so it can’t possibly hurt anyone.
Mae West was right– too much of a good thing can be wonderful.
Oh, who cares? One more doughnut/drink/purchase/cigarette/gambling loss isn’t going to make much difference now.
I think there are very few of us who have not been bullied at least once in our lives by a cruel person. Even if they hit us with words instead of fists, it still creates damage. But I agree with McGill that most of us take far more abuse from our own thought patterns than from others. Perhaps mean people were the ones who trained us in the art of putting ourselves down, but that doesn’t mean we have to continue their pattern of spiteful talk.
Today, let’s stand guard over the bully in each of us, and not allow anything ugly to win the day. Most of us learned to be pretty good about curbing our inhumane talk to others, although we may need to work on what we say behind their backs. But I think our most difficult struggles will be against the bully inside our own heads, telling us we deserve the self-defeating thoughts we repeat.
Celebrate Be Kind to You day today! I think we could all use more kindness, and if we begin inside our own heads, it’s bound to spread beyond us.
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.
Altered with every experience
Each morning finds us slightly different than we were the day before.
Sunrise over the Potomac River as seen from my deck, January 2023
“It was Heraclitus, of course, who came up with the formulation that we are never able to step into the same river twice…The obverse of Heraclitus’s maxim may be that one is never able to step out of the river the same, twice. A neuron in the brain is altered with every experience.” – James Attlee
We interrupt these re-runs (as Raynard has so aptly called them) to bring you a new post.
Over the past couple of years republishing the 1100+ posts written during the first seven years of this blog, I’ve often wondered whether to slip in the occasional new entry. I’ve done this only once (or maybe twice?) mostly because I’m not sure I have anything more to say that might be helpful or worthwhile. I can just hear those of you who have ever sat in the same room with me, laughing hysterically at the idea of my ever staying quiet.
Many of you are hanging in there with me after ten years or even more, still re-reading my words. Some of you are even adding your comments here and there, or contacting me with personal messages via email or postal mail, all of which I appreciate. A few of you I have known since childhood, and some have become friends along the way, whether or not I ever met you in person. This community remains a vital part of my life despite my being unable to spend as much time here as in former years.
I am bracing myself for the emotional turmoil I’m about to face as I re-read the posts for the remainder of 2016, and the years following, in preparation for republishing them here. I have dreaded this since I first decided to repost according to a methodical schedule. Perhaps a new post here and there can add some context to what was an almost unbearably heartbreaking time in our lives.
In six years of being a widow, I spent so much of myself actively working to defeat despair in everyday life that I had little time or energy to write about it. Those of you familiar with the multiplying losses of the past few years will know why I say this. Yet, during this time I have grown ever more aware that God’s mercies really are “new every morning,” even during those times when we have to muster a bit more determination to see them.
In a least some respects, these years have been a rare and salubrious gift. Few people who know me well are around to see or notice it in everyday ways, but I believe I have changed and grown more during these years than at any time since I first left home in 1974. Even marriage and motherhood did not change me as much as being a widow did, because until now, all my focus has been outward. I stayed so busy facilitating the successes and challenges of my family that I forgot much of who I was before. Solitude, rest, and time, so necessary to healing, bring other unexpected discoveries.
I imagine those of you in my generation are experiencing this same sort of growth, demanded of all who are blessed to live many decades. For those of you who walked with me here through 2016, and for new readers who are welcome to join us on this journey, perhaps we can compare notes as we step in and out of the river. Neither we nor the river are ever the same twice. What have we learned? How have we grown? What are our new hopes and dreams?
Their life and their limits
Not passive: Cpl. Marcus Chischilly’s patient training pays off
at the 2014 Marine Corps Trials, Camp Pendleton, California.
Public domain photo by Lance Cpl. John Baker via Wikimedia Commons
“Experience has taught me this, that we undo ourselves by impatience. Misfortunes have their life and their limits, their sickness and their health.” — Michel de Montaigne
Experience seems to be teaching me the same things it taught Montaigne, though I may not be learning it as gracefully. There’s an old saying: “If you don’t like the weather, wait awhile.” From where I sit, that bit of wisdom seems to apply to far more than the weather.
Whether enduring a minor annoyance or a life-changing crisis, people have a remarkable ability to adapt and pull through. Situations almost never stay exactly the same. Even in the worst of circumstances, some days will be better than others. Hanging on to that assurance can be a crucial survival skill.
But what to do in the meantime, when it seems things have been gloomy forever? How are we to remain imperturbable when we feel too burned out or discouraged to keep going?
U. S. Marine Corporal Marcus Chischilly could give us some good advice about that. Corporal Chischilly was serving on his fifth deployment when he stepped on an IED in Afghanistan in October, 2010. It took him two years to recover from the extensive damage to his body, but as the photo above shows, he emerged from the ordeal with strength, power, endurance and grace befitting the Marines and his Diné (Navajo) heritage.
When I contacted Cpl. Chischilly to seek permission to feature his photograph, he responded humbly and candidly, granting me permission to use his name and photograph, and sharing a bit about his story. Cpl. Chischilly lives with his wife and children in California, where he returned to active duty following his recovery. In addition to the military connection, we share their appreciation of California as a great place to live, and their preparation for an upcoming retirement.
We can’t claim to share the amazing fortitude the Chischilly family has shown in service to our country; very few of us can. But we can be inspired by their story and their patience, not only through two years of recovery from life-threatening wounds, but also through the sacrifices demanded in FIVE wartime deployments. To say “thank you for your service” is far too inadequate, but even so, I repeat these words to the Chischilly family and add, “thank you for your example.”
I think we err sometimes in assuming that patience is a passive virtue. In reality, staying active and positive in a chronic struggle is a formidable example of patience, and that type of resolve is anything but passive. Pressing on toward improvement without expecting instant results might make the difference in defeat or victory over a longstanding challenge. Staying strong in the face of irreversible losses can lay the foundation for new beginnings. It sounds trite, but history has shown it to be true.
Calm endurance need not be boring or resigned. While waiting for the skies to clear, distract yourself with the satisfaction of accomplishing small but important tasks, and take refuge in soothing music, art or reading. Call a friend, play with a dog, or watch a funny video. Breathe deeply and rejoice in all that remains. Whatever difficulties or obstacles you may be facing right now, things will almost certainly go better with patience.
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.
Encounter happiness
The Fire Monkey who runs this blog sends you best wishes for an auspicious year!
迎春接福 Yíngchúnjiēfú – “Greet the New Year and encounter happiness” — a traditional Lunar New Year greeting
Today marks an auspicious day that comes only once every sixty years: it is the beginning of the Year of the Fire Monkey. The last time we had a Fire Monkey year was 1956, the year I was born, as were many of you. So to all Fire Monkeys out there, let’s celebrate our special year!
First, a disclaimer: I don’t believe there is any magic or power in horoscopes, whether American or Asian. I do, however, find their archetypes and symbols interesting and often amusingly apt. The Asian zodiac has five elements, compared to our four, and the elements in the Asian zodiac rotate by year, not limited to one particular sign. In both zodiacs, I’m a fire sign. I must admit that certainly fits.
It’s a sort of zany coincidence that, of all the twelve animals of the Chinese zodiac, I have always identified most with the monkey. I see this mostly as a positive thing, though not completely. The monkey’s playful curiosity can be intrusive and sometimes annoying, as any tourist who’s ever lost a pair of sunglasses to one of them can attest. And they can have fierce tempers that flare quickly, resulting in threatening displays of surprisingly sharp teeth.
But monkeys display many traits to which I aspire. Clever, agile and observant, they are great fun to watch. It’s almost impossible for me to study the antics of a monkey and not feel a lightness of spirit that corresponds to their nimble grace. They move easily from one height to another, pausing only slightly to grab, usually successfully, at anything that catches their eye. On the whole, I think I flatter myself to say I’m a good example of the monkey personality.
What is your Lunar zodiac sign? Do you see any similarities between yourself and the animal for whom your birth year was named? No matter your sign, I’m sending you a virtual Red Envelope with an imaginary thousand dollar bill, symbolizing my best wishes for good fortune and a wonderful year!
This post was first published seven years ago today. This year, the Lunar New Year began on January 22, 2023. This is the year of the Water Rabbit.
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.
Where snow is rare
How rare is a snowball fight in summer?
Jeff and Drew took advantage of the strange weather at Crater Lake in June, 2000.
“I’ve always felt lucky to live someplace where snow is rare, you know? It’s rareness that makes it so special.” ― Stephanie Perkins
Unlike Perkins, I didn’t always feel lucky that snow was rare for me. As a kid I read books about other kids from all different eras, who lived where the snow piled up in huge drifts and the winds and wolves howled outside and hot chocolate and cookies waited by the hearth. It sounded heavenly, being able to curl up with a book indoors, knowing nobody would make me go outside to play (in my childhood, it was very common for mothers to order kids to go play outside while they chatted over coffee with neighbors). I thought living where there was lots and lots of snow must be almost magical.
This passed as a snowfall in Atlanta, but Al and I were still able to make a Snow-Daddy.
A bit rounder, but still recognizable. East Point, Georgia, around 1966.
In adulthood, after four years in Dayton, Ohio, I was pretty well cured of my romantic notions of snow. I had never realized how much I’d miss seeing the ground if it was covered up with white for weeks on end. Not to mention driving in it, walking in it, bundling up two babies plus myself every time I ventured out…I too ended up feeling lucky to have lived where snow was rare, but in my case, it was for mostly practical reasons.
During the decades that followed, during which we lived where snow was not only rare, but pretty much nonexistent, I never missed it. But I must admit now, when I see it starting to fall, I feel a bit of the old excitement I used to feel as a kid. Maybe not enough to actually wish for a big snowstorm. Just enough to appreciate how pretty it can be. The other day I said to Jeff “I guess it might be a bit disappointing to get through an entire winter with no snowfalls.” He had a ready answer. “I don’t think I’d regret it.”
I first wrote this post just a couple of days before the predictions of the Great Blizzards of 2016 were announced. The rest, as they say, is history. Up until then, we had a few flurries blowing through the sky, but no snow to speak of. How quickly things change.
If you live where snow is rare, enjoy it! And if you live where it’s everywhere, all around, all the time, like election coverage, enjoy it! (The snow, not the election coverage.) Either way, have a bit of February fun. Find a comfy chair, put your feet up, and read, or doze, or listen to music, or indulge in a video or some other election-free television. Have a hot cup of tea or coffee, and let us know how the weather is in your neck of the woods.
This post was first published seven years ago today. That year was an election year (and an amazing one at that) but it seems that talk of elections is almost nonstop now, so perhaps the analogy will hold up even in 2023.
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 an adventure
These hikers chose adventure over the convenience of the sidewalks.
Boomdee and I admired their skill from the paved path at Great Falls, VA, April 2015
“An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered.” ― G.K. Chesterton
I must admit, it’s a bit of a stretch for me to consider most of what we call inconveniences as adventures. Being stuck in traffic? Waiting two hours for a doctors appointment? Having a flight cancelled or delayed? Being awakened early by someone calling the wrong number, or loud noise outside my window? How on earth can any of these things be thought of as adventures?
Perhaps Chesterton wrote in the days before “inconvenience” became a ubiquitous euphemism for mistake or poor customer service — as in “we apologize for the inconvenience.” Maybe in Chesterton’s day, an inconvenience was something riskier or more life-altering.
However, most inconveniences do contain at least the seeds of some sort of adventure. In bad traffic, we might choose to take a detour and explore new roads. While waiting around, we can lose ourselves in another world via a novel or other reading material. If we are awake earlier than needed, we can take it as a gift of time and start our day with something we enjoy that we don’t usually make time for in the morning, such as a leisurely cup of tea or coffee as we gaze outside at the morning light. No telling what we might see– interesting or delightful things that we’re normally too busy to notice.
There’s a sense in which anything out of the ordinary really is an adventure, if we train our minds to see it as such. “Rightly considered,” it’s an adventure just to be alive, no matter how inconvenient it can become. It can become a kind of game to take Chesterton’s words as a challenge, and transform irritation by imagination.
What annoyances are we most likely to “wrongly consider” today? Let’s exercise the alchemy of attitude, and have an adventure instead.
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 still ecstasy
Silesian – Moravian Beskids in winter by Marcin Szala
CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
“There is nothing in the world more beautiful than the forest clothed to its very hollows in snow. It is the still ecstasy of nature, wherein every spray, every blade of grass, every spire of reed, every intricacy of twig, is clad with radiance.” — William Sharp
This isn’t the post I had scheduled for today, but I couldn’t let the gorgeous snow disappear without mentioning the record-setting blizzards that covered so much of the country last week. I was in Atlanta when the storms hit the DC area, and found myself stranded there as I rescheduled my flights twice before being able to get home.
Luckily, the frustration of being stuck was tempered by having more time with Mama, Grady, and others I love. I had thought I was going to miss the flight disruptions because I flew in and out of Richmond, Virginia, instead of Washington DC. I was wrong. The Richmond airport was closed for a shorter time than the DC area airports, but long enough to change my plans.
Even Atlanta got a little bit of snow. A VERY little bit, as it turned out, but still enough to close the schools early, in the time-honored deep south tradition of freaking out at enthusiastic celebration of the very mention of snow. About which, more to come in a scheduled post that, oddly enough, was written just before the forecasts of blizzards to come.
Grady studies the first Georgia snow he can remember.
Despite the inconvenience of schedule changes, I must admit I found last week exciting in some respects. I can’t remember when more of the country was getting huge amounts of snow at the same time. When we arrived back in the DC area Monday night, we were delighted to find that our thoughtful next door neighbors had shoveled the snow from our parking spaces, walkways and front porch — a good thing, since the snow now is piled literally six feet high in some places. My appreciation of kind friends and efficient road crews is at record highs to match the beautiful white drifts.
I got a big laugh when I opened our back door to put something in the recycling bin.
The past two days have been sunny and relatively warm, so the snows are melting fast. I shoveled part of our deck today, and the creek behind our house is singing a lovely song as the water runs freely through the banks of white. I have felt anxious and sad for those who were drastically affected by the weather, and mindful of how fortunate we were to have nothing more than schedule changes to endure. But even knowing the havoc the weather can bring, the beauty of it still takes my breath away.
Did you avoid Snowmageddon 2016, or were you among those of us snuggled up indoors, sipping hot tea and sleeping in and generally making the best of being trapped inside? Feel free to send us updates, photos and stories– and stay warm and cozy as we remind ourselves that spring REALLY WILL be here before we know it.
This post was first published seven years ago today. Re-reading it again for the first time since then, I smiled as I remembered my sister and her husband being stuck here with me over New Year’s weekend at the beginning of 2022. Just a few weeks from finishing grueling cancer treatment, George valiantly shoveled snow to free the Uber car that came to deliver them to the airport for their rescheduled flight, the Uber driver having gotten stuck in the deep drifts at the end of our street. And of course, who can forget the mass chaos of the Christmas weather at the end of this year? It seems 2022 was bookended by the sort of winter storms I wrote about in this post.
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.
It really is
A red bromeliad at the U.S. Botanic Garden, Washington, DC, April 2014
“Life is like a flower. You don’t realize how beautiful it really is until you take a closer look.” — Ash Sweeney
I wasn’t able to find out anything much about Ash Sweeney other than endless web pages citing quotes from him (or her) such as this one. Perhaps Sweeney is a robot, or a pen name, or an urban legend. But truth can be found in the most unlikely places, and this quote appeals to me as one who loves both flowers and life more than some people seem to understand.
The analogy is simple, but it holds up in many respects. How often do we rush past a single flower, impressed only by a display of them in masses? How many tiny wildflowers do we disregard every day, simply because they are generally not considered valuable? Are we suitably amazed at the variety of shapes, colors and sizes to be found and enjoyed? Do we realize how much it might elevate our moods if we paused to appreciate at least one or two live flowers each day? Are flowers more beautiful individually, or when combined into a gorgeous bouquet? Or is each presentation equally beautiful in its own way?
Life really is stunningly beautiful. That’s not to say it’s always easy, pretty, appealing, refreshing or even profound, though it is all of those things at various times, to varying degrees. Very few among us willingly part with the enormous gift of time on this planet that we are allowed to spend, to at least some degree, as we choose. No matter how hard it gets (and for far too many, it’s harder than we can imagine) the human spirit still yearns to survive here as long as possible.
Some believe this life is all there is, and some of us– count me in this group– believe it’s only a passage to another, more eternal destination. But I’ve noticed that folks in both groups want to extend our time here on planet Earth as much as we can. I think that’s an indication that the loveliness is always there, even when it is distorted by ugliness or hidden by apathy.
Look closely today, at a flower, and at life, and be blessed by an understanding of the beauty of both.
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 