Wildly enthusiastic
I got so excited about this miniature greenhouse that I took several photos of it.
Tasha Tudor dollhouse, Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia, December 2004
“I still get wildly enthusiastic about little things…It has been after such times of joy that I have achieved my greatest creativity and produced my best work.”
— Leo F. Buscaglia
More than once over the years, people have made fun of me for getting excited over things they considered minor or insignificant. Confusing their own ennui with sophistication, or perhaps irritated at my ebullient chatter, they would make some sarcastic observation about how little it took to make me happy.
I never minded it, though, because I always felt I was the lucky one in that scenario. How pathetic to be so demanding of life, so blind to how amazing and wonderful and crammed with blessings it is on even the worst days!
When I am feeling listless, tired or despondent, there is no better remedy for it than to get enthusiastic about something. Fortunately for me, that’s always been pretty easy to do. Whether it’s a video of Grady, a funny YouTube clip, my neighbor’s adorable dog, or a letter from someone I love, the little rays of sunshine can make my day.
Perhaps my fascination for miniature things, beginning with the exquisite dollhouse my parents made for me when I was a child, is a fitting parallel to my interest in almost everything in the entire world, no matter how small or overlooked. As Sheila mentioned recently regarding the nickname she got from her own interest in life, some people might brand me as a “Nosy Nora.” No apologies from me about that — and no regrets, either!
If you are like me, capable of intense enjoyment of little things, I congratulate you — your life will never be boring, and you will go to bed most nights with a full and grateful heart. If, on the other hand, you find yourself scratching your head over silly people such as I, wondering what it is that’s so funny or happy or delightful, please accept my sincere condolences — and think about joining the party. Even if you aren’t capable of the giddy giggles you will see all around, you might manage a bit of vicarious joy just by watching others having fun.
What little things can you be wildly enthusiastic about today?
One year ago 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.
Sometimes to go
“Walking in Yosemite” by Rennett Stowe; Licensed under CCA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons
“Oh, how one wants sometimes to go from such giftlessly high-flown, cheerless human wordiness into the seeming silence of nature, into the arduous soundlessness of long, persistent labor, into the wordlessness of deep sleep, of true music, and of a quiet, heartfelt touch grown mute from fullness of soul!”
— Boris Pasternak
Probably nobody I know is more fond of a good conversation than I am. I love reading, writing and anything to do with words. But there are times — especially when I’m in a noisy, crowded place, or worse, when the inane chatter of a television is blaring nearby and I’m powerless to stop it — when I just want to flee into the sanctity of silence.
The images Pasternak brings together in this quote evoke, in different ways, that feeling of retreat from empty clatter. Nature’s calm, the satisfaction of manual labor, the balm of sound sleep, lovely music and silent companionship: these are the places of respite from the peculiar stresses of spending too much time amid the “progress” of civilization.
During the long weeks of living in hospital settings over the past year, how we would long for the quiet cocoon of our home! What a solace it can be, to escape to a secluded natural spot away from traffic, urban stress and electronic stimulation. During the grinding heat of the summer (or the chill of winter, for those south of the equator) I wish you many moments of escape to refresh and renew your spirit.
One year ago 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.
Like an inheritance
Mama and Daddy with their aging children, January 2014
“Avoid providing material for the drama that is always stretched tight between parents and children; it uses up much of the children’s strength and wastes the love of the elders, which acts and warms even if it doesn’t comprehend. Don’t ask for advice from them and don’t expect any understanding; but believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is strength and blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke
Rilke did not have an ideal childhood, but as with many others who mature beyond youthful unhappiness, he was able to see past the difficulties to the timeless treasures that are inherent in family ties. Despite the seemingly universal presence of sorrow and heartbreak in our lives, almost all of us have known the blessings of nurturing love such as Rilke describes.
Today, I invite you to celebrate that love, and if you are fortunate enough to have parents who are still living, thank them for the inheritance they have stored up for you, and rejoice in the boundless world that comes with it.
One year ago 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.
To build or to destroy
Matt’s sweet spirit is a continual inspiration to drive out anger with love.
Centerville, Tennessee, August 2007
“Usually when people are sad, they don’t do anything. They just cry over their condition. But when they get angry, they bring about a change.” ― Malcolm X
“Anger is just anger. It isn’t good. It isn’t bad. It just is. What you do with it is what matters. It’s like anything else. You can use it to build or to destroy…Passion has overthrown tyrants and freed prisoners and slaves. Passion has brought justice where there was savagery. Passion has created freedom where there was nothing but fear. Passion has helped souls rise from the ashes of their horrible lives and build something better, stronger, more beautiful.” ― Jim Butcher
“My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.” — James 1:19-20, NIV
Today (two weeks before this post will publish) my ongoing frustration crossed over to anger, at the endless, exhausting bureaucratic delay and obfuscation that have stood for years now between Matt and an appropriate vocational program or even a day program that would give him something to do with his long hours.
His case worker and countless bureaucrats agree he needs and deserves such services. His cardiologists have put their agreement with our goals in writing, citing Matt’s cardiac health as one reason he needs to maintain an active life. But the Commonwealth of Virginia has outdated laws that differentiate between autism and other kinds of disabilities, so doors remain closed for many young adults with autism, even as the U. S. Department of Justice works with the state at an agonizingly slow pace toward resolution of this inequity.
As it happens, the post I published one year ago had the interesting title “Jump in the lake.” So I decided to look at some quotes about anger. The three I chose to feature above each helped me to focus the inner turmoil that threatened to derail my entire day.
Malcolm’s quote reminded me that anger is often a manifestation of the determination to defeat despair. Butcher’s quote confirmed my enduring belief that anger can be a tool used to achieve desirable ends. But the scripture from the book of James, quoted above, ties it together with a wise and powerful warning: that tool should be used carefully, and not in haste.
Note that James does not say we should never speak, or never become angry. But we should be slow to do so. Ouch! I am far too quick to do both. And isn’t it interesting that James ties anger and speaking together, here and elsewhere?
Anger is like fire, helpful only when well controlled. The reason it does not produce righteousness is that it’s so easily (and often inextricably) mixed with selfishness, jealousy, recklessness, and vengeance, all of which lead to destruction.
When I feel angry, it helps if I remind myself that anger is often a sign of fear, and “perfect love drives out fear.” Today, I’m going to make a conscious effort to drive fear and anger away, by filling my mind with thoughts of love and gratitude. If you are struggling with anger, frustration or despair, I send you a special invitation to join me in the effort to use it to build, not destroy.
One year ago tomorrow:
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.
This twenty minutes
It’s a perfect time to postpone work: sunshine, and grackles all around.
“Common boat-tailed grackle” by cuatrok77 via Wikimedia Commons
Sit, drink your coffee here; your work can wait awhile.
You’re twenty-six, and still have some life ahead.
No need for wit; just talk vacuities, and I’ll
Reciprocate in kind, or laugh at you instead.
The world is too opaque, distressing and profound.
This twenty minutes’ rendezvous will make my day:
To sit here in the sun, with grackles all around,
Staring with beady eyes, and you two feet away. — Vikram Seth
One year ago 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.
Unfailing love
We are surrounded by evidence of unfailing love. Laguna Beach, CA, July 2004
“The Lord loves righteousness and justice; the earth is full of his unfailing love.”
— Psalm 33:5
One year ago today, I wrote of my joy in seeing Dr. and Mrs. Rodriguez, and having a new grandson, and all the ways we had been blessed with gifts of comfort and consolation amid all the sorrows. Now, one year later, the challenges remain, but the blessings continue to abound.
Matt is now on the other side of a risky and difficult surgery we had been dreading for five years, and he is doing well. Jeff fights on in his war with cancer, with the emphasis having shifted to the metastatic tumors in the lungs, but he feels reasonably well most of the time, and so far is able to maintain a mostly normal life. Grady grows more delightful by the day, and we already have been granted unforgettable times of laughter and happiness with him.
Other family members have survived scary or difficult medical crises, and we feel thankful that they all are still part of our lives. And Al reports that Dr. Rodriguez spent some time in the hospital recently and now has a pacemaker, but at 95, that’s not so bad! Al says Mrs. Rodriguez remains the steady, encouraging presence we have always admired. The lives of our friends and loved ones underscore the truth that God’s mercies are new every morning.
I’m sure almost anyone reading this has had a mixture of trials and blessings for the past year. Even if the challenges have outweighed the joys, I hope you will be given abundant reminders that we are surrounded with unfailing love. Though righteousness and justice may sometimes appear to be in short supply, they will always reappear just when we need them most. That’s a promise.
One year ago 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.
First adventure
Grady, Braxton and Bailey having some summer fun. July, 2014
“I doubt whether the world holds for anyone a more soul-stirring surprise than the first adventure with ice cream.” — Heywood Broun
Unless maybe the first or second adventure with birthday cake. (Grady got a sneak preview with Megan’s chocolate cake.) Maybe it’s my imagination, but Bailey (she’s the one on the right) seems to be demonstrating that even very young girls tend to be a little neater.
No matter what age you are, I hope you are able to enjoy these final days of summer with just a bit of the carefree fun these one and two-year-olds seem to be having. I don’t necessarily recommend smearing icing on your face, but perhaps observing a nearby baby or two can give you the vicarious joy of diving into something delicious with innocent abandon.
If your local toddlers are all booked up, you can still give yourself permission to devour an ice cream cone or cupcake in the spirit (if not the results) of children who are too young to know, much less care, what they might look like. Here’s wishing you a few more weeks filled with the sweetness of summer!
One year ago 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.
Like a hand waving
The past beckons, but we can’t go there except in our imagination.
Dining car, Northern Pacific Railway North Coast Limited
Image licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons
“Time was passing like a hand waving from a train that I wanted to be on.”
— Jonathan Safran Foer
This has to be one of the most evocative analogies I’ve ever known. It captures perfectly the wistful experience of watching years roll away, just far enough from us to be out of reach.
It also symbolizes the strange affinity I feel for history; looking on from the outside yet somehow connecting to those within, wishing I knew what it was like to see things from the inside.
Trains are well suited as symbols with which to illustrate the elusive nature of time; just look at Einstein’s use of trains in explaining his theory of relativity. There’s something about a moving train that throws our perceptions of reality slightly askew. If we stare at a train passing, we may begin to feel as if we are the ones moving.
And of course, in one sense, we are moving. We simply have the illusion that we are standing still in comparison, as time passes in front of our eyes.
The passage of time really does seem like a long train with countless cars we can’t enter. We can see people waving at us from a distance that grows ever greater, until they all but vanish from our sight, but we can only join them in our imagination.
Do you connect with Foer’s analogy? Have you ever wanted to be on the inside of that passing train, even briefly?
One year ago 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.
Growing wildly
Drew and Matt explore a computer encyclopedia at Science World, Vancouver, BC, 1993
“After growing wildly for years, the field of computing appears to be reaching its infancy.” — John Pierce
When I first read this quote, I thought, “How true!” Then I realized that what we once thought of as computers, even the notebooks and netbooks, are fast becoming obsolete themselves. But the term “computing” can be broadly defined to include all digital technology, in which case, Pierce is frightfully accurate.
When I started library school in 1994, the internet was still primarily text-based; the World Wide Web existed, but was accessible primarily through a text browser called Lynx. The first graphical user interface (GUI), Mosaic, was released in 1993, and was soon eclipsed by Netscape, the ancestor of today’s Firefox, though neither were widely used by today’s standards. In those days, it might take a full hour to download a single color image. Remote access was limited to dial-up speeds.
When our professors told us that it was only a few years before full color graphics in audio and video formats would be delivered instantly, and used by the majority of people worldwide, it sounded like a space-age dream to me. They predicted, with surprising accuracy, many of the advances and issues we are dealing with now, including what all this digital technology would do to our relationships with each other and the world, for better and worse.
I’m probably not alone in thinking that computers can provoke levels of frustration that were unknown before the advent of all these advances that supposedly make life easier. Still, having been a teller who kept handwritten credits and debits, and an airline ticket agent who remembers the old red-carbon tickets and color coded bag tags, I remember how quickly the early computers introduced in those fields became so essential as to cause panic when they went down. For all the irritating malfunctions and impenetrable mysteries of technology, I love the innovations microchips have made possible.
Pierce’s quote rings true because digital technology seems perennially young, outgrowing itself far more quickly than we can. Keeping up with it to any degree, even as partially and selectively as I do (I STILL don’t have a smart phone) demands a mental flexibility and focus that I hope will ameliorate, to some degree, the typical cognitive risks associated with aging. No matter your age, it will be a challenge to keep up with the changes that are certain to continue.
What do you love best about the digital age? What do you find most frustrating? For a little comic relief, you might enjoy reading these submissions to the Haiku Error Messages Contest. Who says technology and poetry don’t mix?
One year ago 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.
More like rivers
Sunset on Mud Island, Aug 27 2011, Memphis, Tennessee
Photo by SportsandHistoryReader521 CC BY-SA 3.0
“At the time I did not know that stories of life are often more like rivers than books.”
― Norman Maclean
Jeff and I spent the first four years of our marriage in Memphis, Tennessee, while he attended dental school there. I loved the city for many reasons, but what I loved most was the Mississippi River. The downtown skyline went right to the river’s edge where it stopped abruptly, with lovely parks on the banks offering expansive views of the waterfront.
I had little experience with rivers of any size, but even so, I could see that the wide, steadily flowing river in front of me was exceptional. What impressed me most was how relentlessly it moved; I had heard talk of rivers as slowly winding along, but this one always appeared to move faster than I expected. I had never seen anything so immense travel so smoothly. The ocean moves in waves, but as the legendary song says, “that old man river just keeps rolling along.”
When I read Maclean’s words about life being more like a river than a book, I thought of the Mississippi as I used to see it from Memphis. So many adjectives come to mind that underscore the truth of Maclean’s observation: mighty, unceasing, changing, often beautiful, sometimes hard to contain. Just as we can never step in the same river twice, it is impossible to arrest the forward motion of our lives, no matter how ideal we might find our present circumstances.
When we are young, we imagine that life will have a familiar narrative such as we have read in stories: a well-defined beginning, middle and end, with a fairly predictable outcome, notwithstanding a few plot twists here and there. We think of ourselves as owning our lives, as we might own a book, holding it in our hands, finishing one chapter and beginning another when we choose.
How much more apt is the image of being swept along, moving a great distance in a relatively short time, traveling in one direction, never to return to the territory that lies behind. The force of a river can be destructive, but throughout history, rivers have given birth to cities and civilizations, providing life-sustaining water that nourishes even as it erodes.
None of us can see what lies around the bend. But the views are breathtaking, in every direction we look. Today, I wish you time to enjoy the journey, and loyal traveling companions who share the joys and sorrows.
One year ago today:
Stand ajar
Amy’s open gate, a fitting symbol of her open heart. Winnweiler, Germany, August 2005
“The Soul should always stand ajar
That if the Heaven inquire
He will not be obliged to wait…” — Emily Dickinson
There has been much conjecture about Dickinson’s relatively minimal social contact, which was unusual for a woman from a prominent family. She has been labeled a “hermit” or a “recluse,” but perhaps she was simply an introspective woman devoted to nontraditional pursuits, and she understood that staying busy with too many tasks would hinder the sort of inner and outer explorations that inspired her writing.
As with most good poetry, there are many ways to interpret the poem from which the lines quoted above have been drawn. Regardless of how her imagery is interpreted, she clearly is urging readers to remain open and ready for whatever gifts Heaven may confer. Perhaps one way she allowed her own soul to “stand ajar” was her habit of favoring quiet contemplation and contact with nature over an active and lively social calendar.
Just as there are many different personalities and temperaments, so there are various ways of remaining open and ready to receive blessings. Whether one is an introvert or extrovert, it’s a pretty safe bet that being too busy, hurried or distracted might get in the way of sensitive receptivity. What are some ways we can allow our souls to “stand ajar” and be ready to hear the music over the noise?
One year ago 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.
Along the road
Slow down and enjoy the scenery! Bar Harbor, Maine, June 2012
“I regret less the road not taken than my all-fired hurry along the road I took.”
— Robert Brault
As hard as it might be for some of us to believe this, if we live long enough we will look back on this particular time in our lives and miss at least a few of the people or things that are part of it. Though we may recall this phase of life as difficult, sad or even horrible, there will be something good about it to remember. And if these are relatively good times, we might not realize quite how good they are until we can see them from a few years’ distance.
So often we speak of “getting through” something as if we are eager for it to pass quickly. We “get through” school, job training, our children’s diaper years, or the financial strain of their college years. Almost always, these times pass far more rapidly that we expected, and we are left rather breathless in amazement, wondering where the time went.
Whatever is in store for you today, I hope you won’t try to get through it too quickly. If it’s a good day, I wish you the ability to savor every minute. If it’s a hard day, I hope you will be able to see a few gems sparking in the muck. Take them out, rinse them and save them. They are precious now, and will be even more precious later.
One year ago 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.
The happiness of most
Little by little, termites create billions of dollars in damage each year.
Photo by William Cho; image has been cropped.
(Termites Attack 1 Uploaded by russavia) CC-BY-SA-2.0, via Wikimedia Commons
“The happiness of most people we know is not ruined by great catastrophes or fatal errors, but by the repetition of slowly destructive little things.” – Ernest Dimnet
I tend to waste a lot of energy worrying, which is simply another way of focusing on the wrong things. Often when we worry, our conscious minds may be thinking of great tragedies or disasters, overwhelming things about which we can do nothing. Isn’t this a sneaky way of letting ourselves off the hook? As long as we focus on what we cannot possibly change, we are distracted from acting on what we can change.
Thus we fret over sad stories we see on television or in the newspaper, while we help ourselves to an extra snack only hours (or sometimes even minutes) after we have been complaining about our inability to lose that extra weight. We may complain about environmental damage or government inefficiency, while our own homes are disorganized and in need of a good cleaning.
Or, to come uncomfortably close to home, I may agonize about whether my spouse or son will survive his life-threatening medical condition, yet lose patience with him time and again, or complain about his lack of patience with me. Yes, I’m definitely talking about myself here. Ouch, the truth hurts!
While it’s important to do what we can to make the world better, it’s often more rewarding and far more effective to focus on improving our own immediate sphere of influence. When I’m feeling most anxious or sad, there is truly no more immediate remedy than to take some positive action, no matter how small or simple.
The really great thing is that such actions are not only the best way to improve my own mood; they almost always make a difference for someone else, too. If I plant colorful flowers in my front yard, they are there for the enjoyment of anyone who passes. If I tidy up the kitchen, it will be more welcoming to everyone who comes into the room. If I keep my tone of voice pleasant and cheerful, everyone I speak to will benefit from hearing a friendly voice.
Today there are a lot of upsetting or tragic news stories I could dwell on. There are many friends and loved ones who are hurting, and I hurt with them. But wouldn’t it be better to channel those emotions into some positive action? I can send a donation, write a note of cheer, offer up fervent prayers for those with trouble or sorrow, and try to make the home a soothing place of comfort for Jeff when he walks through the door today.
I invite you to join me in the ongoing struggle against slowly destructive little things. We are certain to win these tiny battles if we don’t allow ourselves to fall for the distractions that dilute our energy and undermine our efforts.
One year ago 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.
As if I was not afraid
The morning after his open heart surgery, I asked Matt if he was OK
and he gave me his traditional signal to reassure me. Washington DC, April 2014
“There were all kinds of things I was afraid of at first, ranging from grizzly bears to ‘mean’ horses and gun-fighters; but by acting as if I was not afraid I gradually ceased to be afraid.” — Theodore Roosevelt
“Make believe you’re brave
And the trick will take you far.
You may be as brave
As you make believe you are.” — Oscar Hammerstein II
Now that Matt is an adult, we are no longer able to shield him from discussing the realities of his heart condition. His cardiologists understand that his disabilities do not preclude his ability to participate in his own care, and I have appreciated how they never talk down to him.
Matt’s heart surgery in late April, the fifth time his chest has been cut open, was his riskiest since the first one he had as an infant. During the months leading up to April, and to some extent during the years in which the doctors were putting off the inevitable, there was much talk about the reasons for postponing it as long as possible. The situation is complex, and the medical team wanted us to be aware of the difficulties inherent in the goals they hoped to accomplish during the long hours in the operating room.
This time, Jeff and I saw a difference in Matt that told us he understood the gravity of his medical situation. At his cardiology appointments, where he always shares jovial exchanges with the staff he has come to love, he was also pensive, almost somber as his case was being reviewed. We saw signs of this quiet reflection at home, too, in the weeks leading up to surgery.
Whenever I would ask Matt if he was afraid, he would answer either “no” or “maybe” but then go on to another subject. He seemed determined to keep his fears (which must have been many) under control. During the difficult weeks that followed, he was mostly stoic in the face of tremendous pain, and apologetic about asking for help when he needed it.
Matt has shown a similar determined optimism about Jeff since he was diagnosed with cancer. Though at times he has clearly had anxiety from watching his Daddy suffer (particularly when Jeff had an extreme adverse reaction to chemo that left him covered in painful lesions) he continues to affirm his belief that his father is going to get well. He knows from hard experience that illness hurts, and that it often gets worse before it gets better.
Some might conclude that Matt’s optimism is related to his developmental limitations, and perhaps this is true. But I need look no farther than Jeff to know that Matt’s courage appears to be a genetic predisposition, one that has prompted more than one person we know to observe “like father, like son.”
I’m sure you know people such as Jeff and Matt, who minimize their own suffering and go about life with great determination and strength. Such people are wonderful examples to those of us who have thus far been fortunate enough to avoid such medical trauma. Courage, like many other admirable traits, feels a bit contagious at times, a reassurance to us that it’s possible to survive and thrive.
If there’s anything frightening you today, I hope you will remember Roosevelt’s advice (or Hammerstein’s) and “fake it till you make it.” Your courageous actions will plant seeds of inner bravery, in yourself and others.
One year ago 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.
Bring us back home
Our sunroom, York County, June 2005
“If we had a feminism that caused us to get out of the house, is there not also room for feminism that would bring us back home, so that our homes would reflect ourselves and would once more have soul?” — Ginette Paris
“It’s acceptable to call yourself a “stay at home mom or dad,” but I think few people are willing to say they’re a homemaker these days. From my perspective the role of homemaker is essential, powerful, and worthy of redefinition and reverence.”
— Laura Forbes
I’m not sure why the term “homemaker” does not command more respect, but I can’t remember the last time I heard any child, male or female, say they wanted to be a homemaker someday, even as an added sideline to another ambition.
Perhaps it’s because the role was traditionally an unpaid task assigned to females, as one of very few choices available to women of past generations, thus seeming more like an obligation than a chosen path. Or maybe it’s because being a homemaker is so universal; after all, each of us, no matter our career or other obligations, is a homemaker. We must, of necessity, create some sort of home for ourselves.
And all of us, as children, were greatly influenced by the efforts of our parents or caregivers to create homes for us. Though my mother was a traditional “housewife” for most of my youth, she and my father worked together to create our home. Making a home is, after all, far more than doing chores such as laundry and cooking. While those are a time-consuming subset of the countless aspects of maintaining a home, they are not the heart of it. One need only spend a few days in a hotel to realize the crucial difference between housekeeping and homemaking.
Today I encourage you to reflect on your vital, powerful though possibly overlooked role of creating and maintaining a home in its fullest sense. What I have in mind has nothing to do with square footage, chores, or even decorating skills. It has more to do with the feeling we get when we walk into the door, that this is our home, and we are blessed to be part of it.
Our homes can be adorned with personal touches such as lovely handmade items, treasured photographs, favorite books and family heirlooms. We also decorate our homes in less visible ways: in the tone of voice we use when we speak to each other, the care we take to respect our shared spaces and belongings, the people to whom our doors are open, and the loving thoughts that lie behind simple gestures such as a single flower in a small vase, or a favorite surprise baked or bought for someone special to us.
What can you do today to celebrate your timeless and essential role as a homemaker?
One year ago 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.
The first week of August
The former Sun Wheel, now restyled as Mickey’s Fun Wheel, has moving gondolas.
Disney’s California Adventure Park, Anaheim, California, April 2003
“The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot.”
— Natalie Babbitt
When I was a child, and we would go to a fair or amusement park, we would sometimes be allowed to choose one ride to experience. It was never a contest for me; my favorite was the Ferris wheel. I loved the birds-eye view of the ground below, and the feeling of sailing over the top and downward, which was as close as I could come to flying without an airplane.
I’m no longer fond of these rides; I hadn’t the slightest desire to ride the London Eye, for example. But Disney’s “Soaring Over California” (or its later Florida version at Disney World, called “Soaring”) is such an all-time favorite that I always ride it several times on each visit. It’s a virtual hang gliding ride over the vast, varied and beautiful highlights of a remarkable state. With the help of technology, it delivers the ultimate birds-eye view of stunning sights I will never experience from that vantage point in real life. That feeling of soaring, briefly motionless and high over everything, is always a thrill.
I love Babbitt’s analogy of the first week of August as the top of the Ferris wheel, “motionless and hot,” that breathless pause before we glide down into the lovely autumn weather and the waning of another year. Now is the time to drink in the view of what lies behind us, and anticipate the accelerating pace that will soon begin, as the start of school, the fall holidays and the last of the sunshine fly past us almost too quickly to fully appreciate.
Whether you’re north of the equator and enjoying the peak of iced-tea or lemonade season, or south of the equator and sipping hot coffee or cider, I wish you a few moments of serenity as the turning of the wheel pauses briefly before whooshing down to the close of another year.
One year ago 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.
A lion inside
“Panthera leo” by Winfried Bruenken (Amrum)
Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 via Wikimedia Commons
“I was the shyest human ever invented, but I had a lion inside me that wouldn’t shut up!” — Ingrid Bergman
I want to thank Bob Mielke, who visits here often, for the inspiration behind this post. If you’ve visited Bob’s blog, you have seen his amazing images, including the animal photos that are always a favorite with me. When I saw his recent post with its wonderful photo of the papa lion and his cub, thought about how humans aren’t born knowing how to be brave, or to roar when a roar or two is needed.
A lot of times, people laugh when I talk about being a shy or scared person. For some reason, I don’t usually come across that way. But that’s only because my anger or indignation is almost always stronger than my fear, if I see something that doesn’t seem right or fair to me. I guess there is a lion inside me, too.
I think most of us are the same way. We don’t think of ourselves as courageous, but when things go wrong, we find a way to get through it. But just as the baby lion in Bob’s photo shows, we often need a little help (or maybe a lot) from people who show us, by the way they live, how to be strong. There’s nothing like watching the courage of a stawart person to help us learn to have faith and keep trying.
Next time you feel afraid, remember there is a lion in you, one that might surprise you with the strength of its roar.
One year ago yesterday:
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 giant reset button
Jeff enjoys two giant reset buttons at one time. Dam Neck, Virginia, June 2014
“I couldn’t imagine living in a state that didn’t reach the ocean. It was a giant reset button. You could go to the edge of the land and see infinity and feel renewed.”
― Avery Sawyer
One year ago today I was sitting in a hospital waiting for Grady to be born. He didn’t arrive until late that night, and while I was waiting, I wrote the post that would appear the next day. The post discussed the lovely thought that when babies are born, new parents are born too.
It’s a renewal that doesn’t end with the parents or the day of birth. As with so many aspects of nature, from oceans to animals, children carry with them immense powers to renew the worn-out hearts of their elders. When we look at a baby we see infinite possibilities, a big question mark with an underlying premise of optimism. This was true for me even when Matt was born with a worrisome heart condition and other problems. Babies are never defined by the immediate, although they inhabit it more decisively than we do.
If you are feeling in a rut, or at a dead end, find your own reset button. They are everywhere. It doesn’t have to be an ocean or a baby, although I highly recommend the effectiveness of both as a remedy for the doldrums. I think it can be any aspect of nature that hints of infinity, or any pastime that brings beauty, joy and wonder into your life.
Looking at the photo above, I realize the promise of renewal that arrived one year ago today is still with us, “new every morning,” and I give thanks with a grateful heart.
One year ago tomorrow:
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 everything is perfect
“Moonlit Landscape with Bridge” by Aert van der Neer
Licensed under public domain via Wikimedia Commons
“Every summer there are a number of nights, not many, but a number, when everything is perfect. The light, the warmth, the smells, the mist, the birdsong – the moths. Who can sleep? Who wants to?” ― Fredrik Sjöberg
During summer, my tendency to be a night owl kicks into overdrive. The longer daylight hours fool me into thinking it’s much earlier than it actually is, and the delights of summer make the prospect of going to sleep less tempting than it is during the colder, darker months.
I’ve often wondered why someone who loves to sleep as much as I do seems to have such trouble getting enough of it. It’s not just because I’m a restless sleeper; it’s also because I’m eager to spend more time enjoying all the things there are in this world to enjoy. I suppose this can be a form of greed at times, but it’s hard not to savor bliss when it is available, knowing how hard to come by it might be later.
Even if you’re an early-to-bed type, I hope you will be able to stay up and enjoy at least an hour or two of a perfect summer night. According to online sources I checked, we have another full moon coming up on August 10. Maybe you can schedule yourself a couple of hours for stargazing or just sitting outside after the temperatures have cooled. Those of you south of the equator, check back here in about six months! I wish you a starry, starry night full of enchantment!
One year ago 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.
To be the caretaker
Life is short! How will you choose to spend it?
Photo at left by Aaron Logan, Creative Commons Attribution 2.5;
Photo at right by mattbuck, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0
“Life is too short to be the caretaker of the wrong details.” — Alexandra Stoddard
I don’t have too many regrets in life, but one thing I know for sure I’d do less of, if I had it to do over: FILING. For years, I compulsively kept neatly tabbed file folders with everything from medical records, to school papers, to warranties for all sorts of major and minor purchases, to financial statements and paid bills. Even craft ideas and recipes were tucked away under appropriate subject headings.
Once in awhile I was able to find something I really needed, but most of the files were never touched, so I have to wonder about the value returned for time invested. I don’t think our lives would have been much worse without those files. Now, decades later, I have spent time shredding much of what was in them. It strikes me as a waste of hours that could have been better spent, and I’m so thankful for the advent of electronic records that can be located with a quick word search (assuming my computer doesn’t crash and destroy them all).
The older I get, the more I can see the difference between the details that are worth my time, and the ones that aren’t. I am not arguing that we should be irresponsible. I’m only saying that some of the biggest responsibilities are somehow harder to grasp and quantify; they can’t be neatly stacked in a “to-do” bin and filed away one piece at a time.
Over the years, whenever I’ve let the mundane household tasks go undone in favor of things that seemed more important and/or fun, I’ve been known to declare “On my death bed, I don’t want to be saying ‘Well, at least my house was always clean’ ” — to which Jeff always replies, “Don’t worry, no chance of that!” 😀
Do you ever have the feeling that you are taking care of the wrong details? What urgent-seeming but ultimately unimportant tasks can you choose NOT to do today? What would be better ways to spend that time?
One year ago 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.
Like poignant land mines
The sweet scent of these plumeria brought back happy Hawaiian memories.
Barbados, March 2010
“Nothing is more memorable than a smell…Smells detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines hidden under the weedy mass of years. Hit a tripwire of smell and memories explode all at once. A complex vision leaps out of the undergrowth.”
— Diane Ackerman
Tangerines smell like Christmas to me, just as onions sauteed in butter with sage smell like Thanksgiving. A whiff of a cologne I wore only in my youth can bring back memories of people, incidents and even dresses I thought I had completely forgotten. And is there anything more delicious than the smell of wood smoke from someone’s chimney that first crisp autumn night?
It’s not just the lovely smells we remember. In the unlikely event I were ever near a “Skunk Tree” I would surely be flooded with sensations of being back in graduate school, with tests to study for and papers to write, as I had to stroll past that rare and pungent every day when I walked to class at the University of Hawaii in Manoa. Yet the disagreeable odor would be bittersweet to me now, as my years at UH were full of happy times.
Of all our five senses, smell is perhaps the one we tend to notice the least, but our unconscious mind is keeping records for us. Though we will never have the olfactory prowess of our animal friends, our brains can make some lightning-fast connections between what must be a complex calculus of factors that make each smell unique and identifiable even after many years without experiencing it.
Have you ever had a scent detonate an explosion of memories in the way Ackerman describes? What smells evoke the most treasured memories for you?
One year ago 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.
What is left
Mike, Al and Don, before they swapped radio-controlled planes for bigger ones.
Sometime in the early 1970’s, somewhere in the Atlanta area.
“A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen.” — Edward de Bono
I’ve written very little here about my younger brother Al. I guess there are a lot of reasons why. As he is my only younger sibling, I’ve always felt a stronger need to protect him, however illogical that impulse has been. Al’s life has been difficult, for him and for those who love him. But in our teenage years, I never would have dreamed it.
Tall, athletic, talented, good-looking and witty, Al seemed to have everything going for him. People used to say he had the world by the tail. I never knew anyone with a brighter future ahead of him than Al appeared to have in his youth, and looking back at those days, I cannot laugh over the happy memories without feeling at least a trace of sadness.
Al was only five when he and my older brother were injured in the car crash that nearly killed my mother and sister, and it surely must have traumatized him as much or more than it did the rest of us. For all of his studied bravado as a young man, I now realize that much more must have been going on inside him. It’s ironic that it was a drunken driver who hit my family’s car and left lasting scars on us all, most of which cannot be seen with the eyes.
In recent years, I’m happy to say, Al has been doing well, and has been an invaluable help and companion to our aging parents. Maybe that’s why I can finally talk about him and the huge role he played in my childhood and young adulthood, without being overcome by sorrow. He was the sibling closest to me in age, and when our older brother and sister left home, Al and I ended up spending a good bit of time together. While there were all the usual squabbles, there also was a lot of joy as we shared music, jokes and serious conversations.
I couldn’t talk about Al without talking about his lifelong friend Don. Long before Wayne and Garth, or Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventures, there was a zany planet inhabited by Al and Don, where they spoke their own hip (though esoteric) language, and kept me in stitches with their hilarious parodies of everything imaginable. During a time in my life that was full of insecurity and feelings of inadequacy, I could always count on Al and Don to make me laugh no matter what else was going on. Though they have seen each other relatively seldom in adulthood, Don’s friendship, which has remained steadfast and unconditional, has been a point of stability in Al’s life, and I will always be grateful for that.
I’m also grateful for Al’s wonderful sons, and many other gifts that remain with him, as my siblings and I grow ever-closer to what is known as “old age.” Al can still make me laugh until I cry, and while our adult years may have held more tears than laughter, de Bono is right about all of those youthful fun times. They will never unhappen, and the memories are a blessing.
What memories will never unhappen for you? What lovely mental snapshots do you linger over when you turn through the pages of the scrapbook in your imagination?
One year ago 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.
What we must give
There are all sorts of ways to give the gift of attention.
Photos taken 1996-2014
“Attention is love, what we must give
children, mothers, fathers, pets,
our friends, the news, the woes of others.
What we want to change we curse and then
pick up a tool. Bless whatever you can
with eyes and hands and tongue. If you
can’t bless it, get ready to make it new.” — Marge Piercy
When I first created my little garret retreat ten years ago, I papered the unfinished walls with images and words that meant something to me. One of the first things to go on that wall was this verse from Piercy.
Attention, it seems, is one of the most endangered gifts in today’s world. When I read Piercy’s assertion that “attention is love,” it had the ring of truth. Why else do we all crave attention, in one form or another, and go to such lengths, in such a variety of ways, to obtain it?
I’d like to be wise enough to see my attention as the finite resource that it is, and guard closely how it is spent. Yet it seems so easy to squander, like a dripping faucet that will quietly waste untold gallons if left to itself. What I fritter mindlessly away, someone else needs. Their need for someone’s attention — possibly my attention — may even be crucial.
I’ve heard people say that they don’t feel they have much to give others. Sometimes when we feel helpless in the face of suffering or sadness, we say “I wish I knew what to do.” Perhaps one place to start is by offering the gift of attention, through a few kinds words, a note, a prayer, or the increasingly rare face-to-face visit.
As Piercy’s words suggest, attention is a starting point, not a destination. But every good thing that happens has a beginning, and often, it begins with someone noticing what others were too busy to see.
What can you bless today? What needs your touch to make it new? Pay attention. Then pick up a tool.
One year ago 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.
Why we travel
The forecast was off, but only the camera noticed. London, August 2005
“Travel tends to make us hyper-aware of details…when we are away from the distractions of our lives, we come awake to the small moments. That’s why we travel, and why we take pictures. The trick is to bring that hyper-awareness home with you, and keep it alive.”
— George Lange
Until I read this quote from Lange, I had never thought about it, but I think he’s right. When I’m traveling in a place that is unfamiliar, I tend to see far more than I do during everyday life. It’s a bit like when you put that photo or note on your refrigerator door, and after awhile you tend to stop seeing it, simply because your eyes grow too accustomed to the sameness.
For me, using my camera daily (or nearly so) is one way to bring that hyper-awareness home. The lens can frame a scene and shut out competing distractions. Especially with the long telephotos that are increasingly common even in inexpensive cameras, we can “zoom in” and see things we might otherwise miss.
You don’t have to have a camera, of course. To see your world in a new way, try being hyper-aware of the details. Remember the game “I Spy?” See what you can spy in your world, and report back to us. Did you notice anything you had forgotten about, or maybe never knew was there?
One year ago 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.
Our conscious choice
Whoever tended this garden made a choice that brightened the day for me and many others.
Mission San Juan Capistrano, California, July 2004
“Both abundance and lack exist simultaneously in our lives, as parallel realities. It is always our conscious choice which secret garden we shall tend.”
— Sarah Ban Breathnach
Every day I wake up with a mixture of thoughts, some pleasant and some not. There are always things I look forward to doing that day, and things I dread. It’s much easier to get up and go about my day cheerfully — or at least without complaining to myself — when I focus on the good things. Ruminating over unhappy thoughts does not start my day well. Every day, I get to choose which way I start out.
I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to learn this simple lesson, but it is.
How did you feel when you woke up this morning? Were you grateful to have been granted another day? Or did you get up with a sigh (as I do, too often) thinking of all the tasks still undone that were awaiting you?
Here’s a challenge: let’s tend our mental gardens, those secret places where we spend time when no one is looking. If we don’t make sure to water the flowers and pull up the weeds, it’s likely to become a place that isn’t so cheerful.
So take care of the garden of your mind — where Mr. Rogers reminds us that we can grow all kinds of ideas — and let me know what’s looking good today! Maybe we can even send each other some virtual seeds.
One year ago 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.
Defeat Despair 
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