The gift of crisis
Aunt Carla was waiting for Matt when he woke up from his cardiac ablation.
Washington, DC, October 2012
“You have been offered the gift of crisis. As Kathleen Norris reminds us, the Greek root of the word crisis is “to sift,” as in to shake out the excesses and leave only what’s important. That’s what crises do. They shake things up until we are forced to hold on to only what matters most.” — Glennon Doyle Melton
Probably the only person I know who comes close to really understanding what Matt’s life has been like so far, is my sister Carla. Like Matt, she was born with a lot of medical challenges that meant she spent far too much of her childhood in hospitals. As if all that were not enough, as a young girl she was severely injured in the automobile accident that almost took our mother’s life, which resulted in more surgery and hospital time.
I can say in all honesty, though, that I’ve never detected the slightest bit of self-pity on her part about all she has suffered. Instead, I remember her telling me about the friends she made in the hospital, the doctors and nurses and fellow patients she described, how she loved the many cards people sent her, and how I always missed her patient and cheerful spirit when she was not at home with us.
It’s no coincidence that Aunt Carla has a particularly close bond with Matt. She’s the one who came to stay with him during Jeff’s long hospitalization recently, and the one who also was here with us for Matt’s own recent cardiac hospitalization last October. She and Matt share a lot of inside jokes, a love of the Pink Panther movies, Monty Python’s Holy Grail and similar zany humor, and so many silly giggles that I have occasionally been known to tell them both to STIFLE IT!!!
But what she and Matt share most is an understanding of what really matters; an intuitive sense that eludes most of us who get in a tizzy about things that are relatively unimportant. As Melton says, crisis sifts out the empty fluff and leaves behind the essentials that enrich life most — and, obviously, that includes love, loyalty and a lot of laughter.
Have you ever been offered the gift of crisis? If you’re like me, you’d do your best to politely decline it. But that’s usually not an option. What, then, has it taught you? What got sifted out, and what remains?
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
In the fall
It’s not New York, but fall is full of possibilities for students everywhere. Yorktown, 2008
“Don’t you love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.”
― Nora Ephron
I love fall because it is connected with my happiest memories of childhood. In particular, the onset of cooler mornings and the sight of children headed back to school evokes the excitement I always felt at the beginning of each year, when anything seemed possible. A new teacher, a new set of classmates, new books, visits to the school library (of which I could NEVER get enough) and yes, school supplies. My first few years of school established a love of pencils, pens, crayons, glue, tape and paper that has lasted to this day.
How I envied those children who came to school with bright new boxes of SIXTY-FOUR different color crayons! Even now, at the age of nearly 57, I have never yet owned such a magnificent range of creative possibilities in wax. Because my mother was frugal, I had to settle for the school-issued box of 8 fat crayons with their frustratingly broad tips that only grew less defined with use – and there was no way to sharpen them, either. Still, I was happy to get a new set each year.
Despite being without the most appealing and flashy educational accoutrements, I had abundant delightful provisions to enjoy. I wish some perfumer would bottle a fragrance that was a combination of scents that included pencil shavings, powdered tempera paint mix, chalk, duplicator fluid, freshly bound books, and the smell of new pulp tablets – with maybe some freshly baked cafeteria buttered yeast rolls thrown in. I would buy that bouquet in huge quantities if I could. The back-to-school smell quickened my spirit as nothing else has since. I feel sad to realize that computers and related technologies have rendered many of these supplies obsolete, though our children’s children will have other things to remember.
What are some of your favorite back-to-school memories?
This post was first published seven years ago today. Fall 2020 will be vastly different for students all over the world, as COVID-19 continues to leave schools unable to open fully, if at all. I hope at least a few of the formerly typical autumnal delights will remain to brighten the start of a new school year.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
The people weeping
Memorial flowers left on the fences surrounding Ground Zero, May 2007
There is sobbing of the strong,
And a pall upon the land;
But the People in their weeping
Bare the iron hand:
Beware the People weeping
When they bare the iron hand.
— Herman Melville
Almost all of us who are old enough to remember September 11, 2001, can describe where we were and what we were doing when we first heard of the terrorist attacks that morning. We can recall how we felt; what we feared; what we first thought or said or did.
It’s a bit harder to recall accurately the pervasive uncertainty of those first few days after the attack, when none of us really knew what would come next. With airline pilots and Air Force officers among my friends and immediate family, that sense of insecurity was heightened for me, but none of my loved ones endured more than a disrupted schedule. For most of us, the ensuing years have unfolded with less trauma or inconvenience than we feared they might. Aside from airport hassles and other forms of increased government scrutiny, our lives have remained much the same as we had come to expect.
Not so for the families of those who perished in the attacks, or who died (and are still dying) in the wars that followed. Not so for the wounded warriors who continue to fight for healing and a return to any resemblance of the life they knew before. Not so for the families who still are enduring separation from loved ones deployed to war zones.
Today it’s fitting to look back with grief for those whose lives were lost or changed forever. It’s appropriate to resolve that we will remain vigilant against threats to freedom, whatever form they take, and recognize that the related inconveniences we sometimes encounter are minor in comparison to the price paid by those who willingly place themselves in harm’s way to protect and defend.
On this September 11th, I wish you a lovely early-autumn day, with skies free of threats, and hearts free of fear — and the full understanding of what a blessing those freedoms are.
This post was first published seven years ago today. In November 2019, my British friend and I visited the new World Trade Center and the memorial fountains that mark where the Twin Towers stood. It was all more beautiful than I ever imagined it could be, so beautiful that I cried. The resiliency of the human spirit is amazing.
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 action grows unprofitable
Matt joins Arnold the Snoring Pig in a little afternoon shut-eye, August 2013
“When action grows unprofitable, gather information; when information grows unprofitable, sleep.” — Ursula K. Le Guin
When I read this quote I liked it instantly. As a librarian, I tend to prioritize information gathering over action, and action over sleep. But Le Guin’s formula makes a lot of sense to me. It’s very easy to get stuck in a cycle of doing something that is no longer helpful, and may even be harmful. Habit is a powerful force. It’s also important to remember that sometimes, all we need to do to improve things is TAKE A BREAK already and get some rest!
In this, as in so many other ways, Matt and Jeff have a lot to teach me. Both of them are able to sleep much more soundly and easily than I do, and not surprisingly, both of them generally get more sleep than I do.
When Matt had surgery on his arm recently, his Aunt Gloria gave him an adorable “snoring pig” (Matt LOVES pigs) and one recent afternoon while he was still wearing his arm brace, I caught him napping with his cute little toy. Apparently the pig’s snoring was contagious! Maybe I should try sitting down with it sometime.
If you’re feeling tired or out of sorts today or anytime soon, think about Le Guin’s formula. Sometimes a bit of additional information might keep you from spinning your wheels and getting nowhere, but if all else fails, try a night (or an afternoon) of sound sleep!
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.
Inconceivable antiquity
These crape myrtle trees brighten my summer walks every year. August 2013
“How cunningly nature hides every wrinkle of her inconceivable antiquity under roses and violets and morning dew!” – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Ah, but Ralph, you say “inconceivable antiquity” like it’s a bad thing! Some of us would like to think that nature is all the more appealing because of her longevity. Perhaps the flowers are not meant to be a cunning disguise of age, but rather a joyful, ever-changing celebration of the predictability of the seasons. After all, many a flowering tree or shrub only grows more lush and productive as the years pass. And the blooms disappear just long enough to keep things interesting.
A good example would be the lovely crape myrtles that fill our neighborhood and much of the South. Gorgeous green leaves in the springtime, vibrant blossoms through the hottest months of the summer, and depending on the variety, fall foliage that ranges from bright yellow to flaming red. They drop their leaves in the winter, but even their skeletal outlines have a stark beauty. And then, just when we are fed up with cold weather and bare branches, the cycle begins again.
Maybe we are meant to take a cue from nature’s perennial flowering. Underneath the showy cycles of grandeur lies an antiquity that hints of eternity. And the repetitive displays offer a freshness and youthful vigor reminding us that beauty, though changing, never really grows old.
This post was first published seven years ago today. As I write this, the crape myrtles are blooming beautifully in both my neighborhoods. How little attention they demand, to return such fabulous delight!
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.
Persistent prayer
Pilgrims leave notes of thanks for answered prayers at Wieskirche in Bavaria, Germany
August 2005
“The value of persistent prayer is not that He will hear us, but that we will finally hear Him.” — William McGill
It’s all too easy for believers and unbelievers alike to confuse prayer with some sort of divine bargaining system, or a kind of formal ritual for advising God what we need — as if God were a cosmic host or waiter taking requests. Most believers would never consciously describe it that way, but we do fall into the trap of oversimplifying the power of prayer — which most of us know from experience to be very real — as direct cause and effect: “I asked for this, and I got it.”
Sooner or later, though, when enough prayers go unanswered, even the most unselfish and altruistic of them, we have to come to terms with the inadequacy of this understanding. Over time our prayers evolve from some version of “Let me tell you what I need,” or “Let me tell you what the world needs” to something more along the lines of “Tell me what I need to know (or do or think) about this, and help me hear clearly what you are saying.”
This is not to minimize the assurance and comfort that come from prayer, but it does refocus it, from the faith that we will get what we are asking for, to the faith that God will be with us no matter what happens, and everything will be made right in the end. Ultimately, that’s a much greater solace than clinging to the delusion we are in control of things and will get everything we want, simply because we have a relationship with God.
When I thank readers of the blog for praying for us, and say that we are seeing that your prayers being answered, I don’t mean that we think your prayers will be sure to make Jeff cancer-free (although that may be one divine blessing that comes as a result of them). I simply mean that your prayers on our behalf are already blessing us with the strength and confidence that come from our shared faith in God’s promise to hear us.
I know a lot of people would call it denial in the face of a really grim prognosis, but I believe that Jeff will beat the cancer and live many more years. I don’t think God ever has to worry about long odds. But I also know there is a very real possibility that Jeff might not get well (and he seems to know that better than I do), and if that is how it ends up, the prayers you are praying for us right now, and the warm expressions of caring, will give us the strength to see this situation through.
For walking with us during this difficult time, for helping me to feel less alone, for greeting me each day with words of encouragement, for your kind thoughts and comments and your steadfast prayers, we are thankful.
“May the Lord repay you for what you have done.” (Ruth 2:12)
This post was first published seven years ago today. Reading over it in light of all that has transpired in those seven years, I felt an added dimension to the words I wrote here. There is a bittersweet wisdom that comes with recalling how my innocent hopes for Jeff were gradually dashed against the hard reality of suffering and death. Yet the heartfelt thanks for the prayers that kept us/me going are all the more emphatic now, along with the faith that, as McGill says, I will finally hear God with full understanding.
Reading Daddy’s comment below the original post, along with my answer to him, was almost like time-traveling to when he was here with us — or stepping into an unseen dimension in which he is still here, smiling at me with those raised eyebrows that always accompanied that moment when I finally grasped something he had been trying to teach me. Daddy died almost exactly two years after we wrote those words, but I am reminded of the words of Hebrews 11:4: “And by faith [he] still speaks, even though he is dead.”
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.
I’ve tried
Kit Kat will listen politely, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she agrees with you.
Russellville, Alabama, December 2011
“I’ve tried talking to animals, but it’s no use – their minds are usually already made up.” — Ashleigh Brilliant
Since I’ve featured dogs, birds and other animals here, I thought it was about time to include a cat. This is my sister’s cat, named Kit Kat after the cat we had as children. Kit Kat is a very lovable animal, but like other animals I’ve known, her mind does seem to be made up about most things. Ashleigh is a cat person, so maybe that’s where he got the idea. But cats aren’t alone in exhibiting what often looks like disdain for at least a few of the people they encounter.
Even dogs, who appear to care much more about pleasing humans, often seem to be going along for the sake of being loved. Almost all of us who have lived with any sort of animal have had the experience of having it look at us with bewilderment, disgust, pity, or some combination of all three.
That’s not a bad thing, though. If animals thought the same way we do, their immense capacity to entertain us would be lessened considerably. Besides, if you want to be sure to win their agreement, all you need to do is find out what they like to eat, and keep some of it on hand. They can almost always be talked into a snack. In fact, you can leave the “talk” part out altogether.
Have you ever successfully talked an animal into anything without food being involved?
This post was first published seven years ago today. As with many other beloved subjects of these posts, Kit Kat has since passed from this life. She lived well into her 20’s, a good long life for a feline, and left behind many happy memories.
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 really knocks me out
Students in my school library book club show their favorites. Honolulu, Hawaii, 1995
“What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it.” — J. D. Salinger
Who comes to mind when you read this quote? For me, several people do. Alexander McCall Smith, Anne Lamott, Malcolm Gladwell, Jan Karon, Maya Angelou, Maeve Binchy, C. S. Lewis, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens…hey, I’m imagining here, so it doesn’t matter if they died many years ago, or wouldn’t even know what to do with a phone if they heard it ringing.
One of the most magical aspects of reading is the way it connects us directly to the writer in a way that often transcends the short conversations we have in daily life. When we read a book, whether fiction or nonfiction, we take a sort of journey with the author, and there’s nothing like traveling with someone to get to know them. I am so grateful to so many authors who continue to invite us into their worlds through the enchanted gateway of reading!
If you could have an imaginary dinner party with literary guests from any place or time, whom would you invite?
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 greater part
One of many lovely sights on the grounds of Mount Vernon, Virginia, April 2010
“I am still determined to be cheerful and happy, in whatever situation I may be; for I have also learned from experience that the greater part of our happiness or misery depends upon our dispositions, and not upon our circumstances. We carry the seeds of the one or the other about with us in our minds wherever we go. ” — Martha Washington
I don’t know when Martha Washington said or penned these oft-quoted words, but she certainly had reason to know firsthand of their truth. Her story was one of wealth and privilege tempered by sorrow, hardship and uncertainty. During her remarkable life, she had the experience of losing two husbands and four children to death. She also endured wartime camp life, staying with her husband (at his request) throughout much of the Revolutionary War.
Accounts of her later years state that she found great comfort in her faith, and even spoke of anticipating death as “a pleasant journey.” The riverside home she shared with George Washington, where they both are buried, is a fitting tribute to her determination to remain serene. Strolling the grounds of Mount Vernon, with its colorful gardens and gorgeous view of the Potomac River, visitors are refreshed by the peace and beauty of this carefully preserved estate.
I’ve always found it inspiring to read the stories of people who lived in the past, whether they were well known or relatively obscure. We are fortunate to have countless diaries, journals and biographies, through which people who passed from this earth long ago may still speak to us, sharing their wisdom and strength. Whose life stories are among your favorites? Have you ever read a biography that left you feeling encouraged, enlightened or determined to learn from another person’s journey?
If you know of a book, online resource or blog post that features an inspiring story, feel free to share your thoughts and links in the comments. We all love to meet fascinating people, even if they are no longer here with us!
Today is my 300th daily post! Thanks for being with me on this journey, which has lasted almost a year now. You have given me joy each day, and made the tough times bearable!
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.
Sowing a seed
Friends from church have a totally fun evening cooking at the PORT shelter, March 2008
You never can tell when you do an act
Just what the result will be;
But with every deed you are sowing a seed,
Though the harvest you may not see.
— Ella Wheeler Wilcox
It’s not surprising that several research studies document the benefits of volunteering to help others, whether formally or informally. While such efforts take time — hours that must be carved out of already busy schedules — I often hear people say how glad they are when they make it a priority, stating “I gain so much more than I give.”
The great thing about volunteering is that there are countless opportunities, with needs to fit every set of skills or preferences. Show up for a clean-up or work day at a local park, camp or community center. Tutor those who are incarcerated and working toward a GED, or struggling elementary school students who just need a little extra attention, or people who want to learn English but can’t afford classes.
Volunteer to mentor a young adult through Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, or Best Buddies. Coach little league teams or athletes participating in Special Olympics. Walk dogs at a local animal shelter. Host home gatherings for Bible studies, youth groups or just a bunch of friends and neighbors who haven’t gotten together for a long time.
The camaraderie shared by people working together to serve others is unlike any other you will experience. At such times, the word “community” takes on a whole new meaning. If you’ve been feeling blue, isolated or lonely, you might want to consider joining a local effort to serve others. You’ll meet some of the happiest, most generous and fun people you would ever want to know. And you just might be one of them.
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.
Enter this wild wood
This photo was snapped just inside the gate to our wooded wonderland, April 2008
Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs
No school of long experience, that the world
Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen
Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares,
To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood
And view the haunts of nature… — William Cullen Bryant
The poem from which these lines are taken describes so well the reasons I treasure our little wooded lot that adjoins the back yard of our York home. This is perhaps the first place I’ve ever lived where I loved the lot as much, or maybe even more, than the house itself. While this bit of land could never be called a forest, nor even a “wild wood,” it still holds the charms of which Bryant wrote so eloquently.
Our little patch of woods contains a small creek, part of our local protected wetlands that can never be cleared or developed regardless of who owns it. Of course, I wouldn’t want to clear it even if we could! In this little kingdom I have shared space with deer, rabbits, birds, turtles, lizards and squirrels (and probably a few reclusive snakes I’d rather not know about) who pass through or live nearby. I would never want to ruin the feeling of being miles away from everything, yet still right in my own back yard.
Do you have a favorite wooded spot — a bit of land on which you live, or one near your home, or a public park with lots of trees — that you visit regularly? If not, I highly recommend you discover one. Ideally, there would be at least one small clearing where you could sit and read, or picnic, or maybe even doze on a folding lounge chair. Or just walk quietly amid the sights and sounds of the forest, and note how many different ways nature can be heard when one stops to listen intently.
Such spots are beautiful all year round, but now, before the leaves start to fall and the weather is still warm enough to make the shade refreshing, I hope you will get away for a walk in the woods. As Bryant attests, it’s a balm for what ails 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.
It all depends
Mom and Carla opt for the rarely accidental swing, Lake Sinclair GA, May 2003
“Now then, Pooh,” said Christopher Robin, “where’s your boat?”
“I ought to say,” explained Pooh as they walked down to the shore of the island, “that it isn’t just an ordinary sort of boat. Sometimes it’s a Boat, and sometimes it’s more of an Accident. It all depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“On whether I’m on the top of it or underneath it.”
― A.A. Milne
I just love Pooh. When I read this quote, it made me smile. Many things in my life, from computers to cars to cooking, are sometimes more of an Accident. It all depends.
On this busy Monday, I wish you a day that’s relatively free of such Accidents. But if you do have one (or even a few), I hope they are mild enough to remind you of Pooh’s philosophical sense of humor, so you don’t give up on whatever Boat of yours may have capsized today. Tomorrow it may be a Boat again, and you may be on the top of it. It all depends!
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.
For this I was born
April 2007 – Joan’s statue stands inside the Basilica of Bois-Chenu,
near the tiny village of her birth at Domremy, France
“I do not fear the soldiers, for my road is made open to me; and if the soldiers come, I have God, my Lord, who will know how to clear the route that leads to the Dauphin. It was for this that I was born!” — Joan of Arc
“If Joan of Arc could turn the tide of an entire war before her 18th birthday, you can get out of bed.” — E. Jean Carroll
Whether you see Joan of Arc as a leader sent from God, or a delusional country girl whose power lay entirely in the imagination of her people, her story is remarkable and bears close scrutiny. When I was a young girl, I was captivated by her role in history — a fascination that remains to this day — and the more I read about her, the more interesting she becomes. Even crusty skeptics such as Mark Twain have become ardent admirers.
Through writing a novel, I have experienced the magic of creating a world entirely in my own mind, and then spending time there among characters who became quite real to me. I can easily understand how Joan’s trance-like visits with the saints may have been entirely a product of a self-constructed fantasy world. What is harder to explain is how she went on, against all odds, to change the course of a seemingly endless conflict.
Regardless of what other forces were at work, Joan’s absolute faith in God and the purpose she believed to be her calling led her through perils, injuries and ultimately, a ghastly death at the stake. Among many other lessons to be drawn from her life, her resolve is an inspiration to me as I negotiate daily difficulties that seem laughably minute in comparison.
That second quote grabbed me because, frankly, I’ve been struggling quite a lot lately, and there are many days when it’s an effort just to get out of bed and face another day. Still, when I look at my life, despite numerous disappointments, heartaches and failures, I honestly believe that I am doing what I was born to do.
Chances are, if you examine the many roles you play and the people who depend on your faithful diligence, you will be able to say the same. Most of us were not born to be remembered in the history books, but that makes our calling no less important. We can rest assured that when we answer a divine summons to a life we may or may not have chosen for ourselves, our road will be made open.
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.
Do not cease to play
I admit it – Jeff and I enjoyed swings as much as the kids did! Torrance, CA, January 1990
“We do not cease to play because we grow old, we grow old because we cease to play.” — George Bernard Shaw
Everybody who needs more fun time, raise your hands. OK, that’s settled…we need to make more time for play!
Of course, when I say “play” I’m not talking about watching TV, or even playing “Angry Birds” or “Words with Friends.” Not that those activities aren’t sometimes fun and maybe even beneficial (although I really wouldn’t know, because I don’t do any of them), but they’re still mostly passive and not particularly creative. From what I can tell, these activities primarily involve marching to the beat of a tune someone else made up. While they can be entertaining, even addictive, they aren’t really what I think of as play.
I would define play as amusing exercise that stretches the physical and/or creative ability. Even seemingly repetitious physical activities such as swings and merry-go-rounds develop the vestibular system and teach the fundamentals of physics through action. Artwork and crafts, whether the making of kites, model airplanes, scrapbooks, painting, or endless other possibilities, allow for much freedom of design and execution. And sports — provided they are understood as a form of play rather than a ruthlessly competitive opportunity to defeat an opponent — provide good chances to interact with others in a light-hearted yet challenging venue.
By that definition, when did you last spend time at play? Might you have almost forgotten how? If so, find a child, a dog or other playful creature from whom you can re-learn. Kids seem to understand that play is serious business, and most of them plan for it accordingly. If you are lucky enough to hear a child asking you “Will you please play with me?” try your best to answer, “Actually, I’d love to” and allocate more than five or ten minutes to it. Not only will the child be pleasantly surprised; you probably will be too — it might turn out to be a lot more fun that you imagined.
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 perturbing mystery
This tiger swallowtail fluttered by in time to pose for today’s quote, August 2013
“The butterfly’s attractiveness derives not only from colors and symmetry: deeper motives contribute to it. We would not think them so beautiful if they did not fly, or if they flew straight and briskly like bees, or if they stung, or above all if they did not enact the perturbing mystery of metamorphosis: the latter assumes in our eyes the value of a badly decoded message, a symbol, a sign.” — Primo Levi
Today is the birthday of a special person, who is (according to those who know her best) too shy to want her name mentioned here. She is, however, well known to love butterflies, so today’s post is a birthday tribute to her.
Primo Levi’s intriguing observation about the butterfly is likely influenced by his own survival at Auschwitz, where he may have sought many a “badly decoded message” to keep hope alive until he was able to escape a dark fate that must have seemed inevitable. On reflection, I agree with him that the butterfly’s transformative life cycle is no small part of its allure and mystique.
If nature brings us messages that transcend the scientific facts related to the wonders of our world, it is no surprise that they are “badly decoded.” Our methods of interpretation and understanding of such signs are far from perfect. Perhaps it is equally important — or maybe more so — to take simple delight in those traits of the butterflies that even a child can understand: their random but graceful movements, their intricate patterns and colors, their appreciation of, and dependence on, the flowers that complement their beauty.
Today, I send you a message that will be easy to decode: have a wonder-filled day, especially if it is your birthday!
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.
Estimating our limits
My favorite guys aboard a replica of the Susan Constant
Jamestown Settlement, Virginia, August 2005
“How many ships didn’t sail because of the belief that the earth was flat? How much progress was impeded because man wasn’t supposed to breathe underwater, fly through the air, or venture into outer space? Historically, we’ve done a remarkably poor job of estimating our limits.” — Gary Keller
Okay, so the skeptical cynic in me responds, “Yes, but how many DID sail and we never heard about them because they were lost at sea?” Nevertheless, I’m very happy SOME of them took to the water eventually, because many of us wouldn’t be where we are today if they had not.
I agree that often we have done a poor job of estimating our limits, and while this type of error can go both ways, I think we tend to err most on the side of caution. Yet there comes a time, after due diligence and reasonable preparation, when we must stop ruminating and ACT.
Something about the world today seems to be making us more anxious all the time. Were our ancestors, who were coping with shorter life spans, less food, untreatable disease and hardly any of what we think of as necessities, as fearful as we are today?
Let me be clear; I’m not suggesting you should take up sky diving, or scaling El Capitan, or becoming a NASCAR driver. It’s just that I so often hear (or speak) some variant of this statement: “I know I should _____________but I’m afraid _____________.”
You can fill in the blanks here with whatever you fear doing, but I bet most of it is not along the lines of the extreme sports I mentioned. It may have to do with making a decision about a diet, a room’s décor, a home repair, or whether to enroll in a class. It may involve getting in touch with a friend or relative from whom you feel distant right now. Or maybe you want to write, or paint, or design clothes, but fear you have nothing to say or create that would appeal to others.
Whatever your hesitation, the next time you find yourself wanting to do something but feeling too timid or incompetent, take a close look at your fears. They may be entirely reasonable and accurate. But what if you are overestimating your limitations? What do you have to gain, or lose, by making the attempt? It might be a hard question to answer, but it’s never a bad idea to ask it.
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 greatness of a nation
This frightened little stranded seal was soon to be rescued. Santa Cruz, CA, June 2003
“The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way it treats its animals.” — Mahatma Gandhi
While Matt was at Ride a Wave in Santa Cruz, a fascinating drama was unfolding on the beach nearby, where a stranded seal pup was being rescued. I watched as workers carefully manipulated the net around the baby, who was clearly terrified. Though it had been mostly silent, when the net approached it lifted its head up and bellowed a heartrending cry. As I snapped the photo shown above, I felt almost unbearably sorry for the little one, and took great comfort in the manifest expertise of the handlers who would make sure the pup was examined, treated if necessary, and released back into its home.
Later that day, as I walked through the beautiful beachside neighborhoods of Santa Cruz, I felt a happiness that has lasted in my heart, making that entire day one of my favorite memories. In a world that is often portrayed by the media as cruel and inhumane, I had witnessed an overflowing of cheer, good will and compassion. The volunteers who were teaching Matt and others with disabilities to surf, kayak and enjoy the seaside safely were the primary source of my joy. But the careful competence of the marine rescue team who went to great lengths to care for a helpless seal pup, the lovingly tended flower gardens of the many homes I strolled past, and the sheer beauty of the sea, the sky, the breeze and the sunshine were a balm to my soul; an unmistakable message that good is ultimately stronger and more powerful than evil.
Not every day will be as beatific as that one turned out to be, but I try to carry within me the spirit of that lovely time, seeking such reassurance in the big and small events that unfold continuously in what we call everyday life. Today, whatever circumstances you are facing, I hope you will watch for all the subtle ways kindness and love are made manifest to us. Greatness and moral progress may not always be obvious in the world around us, but remember we are never alone in our determination to add a bit more beauty, compassion and goodness to our days. Countless happy children, rescued animals and beautiful gardens are here to prove it!
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.
No such thing
Several sources tell me that deep pink roses represent gratitude. Yorktown, June 2005
“There is no such thing as gratitude unexpressed. If it is unexpressed, it is plain, old-fashioned ingratitude.” — Robert Brault
One of the great blessings to come from this blog has been the ongoing task of reading many wise and inspiring words from all sorts of people, all over the world, from the earliest recorded eras up through now. For every quote that shows up here, I would estimate that I have bookmarked or noted online dozens (maybe hundreds) of others, for which I haven’t had time to find a matching photo. Suffice it to say that I have 20-30 books full of post-it flags.
Sometimes, a quote will hit me hard with the twin awareness of how true it is, and how much I personally need to hear it. This quote today is one that really made me think. I enjoy saying “thank you,” and I do it a lot. But I know there are countless people and blessings about which I have never even taken the time to express my appreciation.
So, without further ado, I want to thank everyone who is reading these words, right now. Wherever you are, whatever your circumstances, I’m grateful for connecting with you through this online opportunity. I’m grateful for all the supportive friendliness of the blogging community, and many non-blogging friends who visit here to encourage and bless us during this difficult time.
I’m so thankful for the gift of technology, and the mind-boggling volume of information that is readily available at our fingertips. Yes, there is a lot of misinformation, commercial misuse, and even dangerously predatory behavior in cyberspace. But I honestly believe the good things that happen online outweigh the bad, and I’m determined to do what I can to raise that ratio.
But beyond that, I think of all the things I depend on daily, that I rarely think to feel grateful for. The electricity that keeps this computer going. The air conditioning that just kicked on automatically, without my having to adjust it or even feel uncomfortably hot. The food I have eaten today and will eat tomorrow. On and on I could go — and so could you.
Try this: think of someone or something you enjoy so often that you scarcely notice how it blesses your life. Then, make it a point, for a week or a month or always, to pause and express your gratitude. I’ve found that feeling grateful is a contagious practice; the more I express my gratitude, the more grateful I feel, and the more others will join me in agreeing that we have so many reasons to rejoice. If you feel moved to so do, please share some of the things you are grateful for today, in the comments below. It might remind us of something we hadn’t thought to be happy about.
This post was first published seven years ago today, but need it now even more than I did then. 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 most powerful drug
The walls of my garret are covered with words to inspire, support and comfort me. July 2007
“Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.” ― Rudyard Kipling
I don’t remember when I first realized that not everyone was as fascinated by words as I am, but it’s something that I still don’t fully understand. I have always been so drawn to words; their meaning, their rhythms and sounds, the infinite variety of ways they can be combined, sometimes with astounding power.
Stories enchant and instruct me; poems speed past logic and go directly to my heart; essays and quotes stir me and set me pondering; even the lyrics of songs reach me as deeply as the music, often more so.
During the years Matt was in school, the special education laws were more often disregarded than they were obeyed in practice (even if things looked good on paper). My life was pervasively affected by the continual need for active advocacy to ensure that he received an appropriate education, and sadly, negotiations in the endless meetings with school officials, some of whom never worked directly with our son, often became strained and even adversarial. Though I have never been a litigious person, I was forced to learn more than I ever wanted to know about formal actions such as due process hearings and the filing of compliance complaints.
Acting as an individual against firmly entrenched bureaucratic power can be a very intimidating thing. In continual meetings facing 6-10 people (sometimes even more) I often felt disregarded at best, and threatened at worst. With my anxieties kicked into overdrive for weeks at a time, I found great solace and strength in the words of authors, advocates, musicians and poets. I surrounded myself, literally and figuratively, with the power of their words.
If you are reading this blog, chances are that you also appreciate words as a means of growth, change, and connection. What are some of your favorite quotes, sayings, scripture verses or song lyrics? Have you ever faced a time when you relied on the words of others to give you the strength to keep going?
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.
Higher ground
Jeff enjoys the view from higher ground, Acadia National Park, Maine, June 2012
My heart has no desire to stay
where doubts arise and fears dismay.
Though some may dwell where these abound,
My prayer, my aim is higher ground.
–Johnson Oatman, Jr.
Growing up in a church where a cappella singing was a vital part of every worship, I was exposed early and often to verses that carried encouraging thoughts or stirring challenges. I learned to love many of these hymns, which play inside my head to this day and help me face times of trial.
As we have moved around to different churches in different parts of the country, I have come to associate particular hymns with places, people or times in my life. When we moved to Virginia in 2004, I missed northern California terribly, and took longer than usual to start thinking of our new location as “home.” Times seemed uncertain at best, with a husband serving in the military with two wars underway, and a school system that completely rejected the Individualized Education Plan (IEP) that Matt’s California special education team had spent countless hours refining.
Somewhere during those first months in Virginia, this song I learned in childhood came back into my head and heart, and I decided to adopt its words as my theme for this phase of my life. I printed out all the verses to the song and hung the print inside my linen closet door, where I saw it daily, and actually still see it each day we are in York County.
In 2004 I had no idea of the challenges that would lie ahead during the years to come. Multiple cardiac hospitalizations as Matt’s heart condition grew worse, the suicide of a dear friend, and Jeff’s diagnosis of stage IV cancer were only a few of the heartaches that awaited us. Despite this, the determination to rise above the unpredictable assaults of life continues. I know very little about Johnson Oatman, but I thank God that he penned words that have served me so well.
Do you have any favorite songs or hymns that help you head for higher ground in your mind, when things are pulling you down? If you can’t think of any, perhaps you can take some time to choose a few to learn and sing, aloud or in your heart, when your courage starts to fail. It’s hard to feel afraid when singing words of cheer, faith and hope.
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.
Bringing light
The view from our Bed and Breakfast room in Magog, Quebec, May 2009
“Most people are mirrors, reflecting the moods and emotions of the times; few are windows, bringing light to bear on the dark corners where troubles fester. The whole purpose of education is to turn mirrors into windows.” — Sydney J. Harris
It’s so easy to be reactive; to allow outside influences to determine our moods, our deeds and even our beliefs. Mirrors can reflect light, of course, so it’s not necessarily a bad thing to return a likeness of what we see. But reflected daylight is never as true and bright as what streams through clear, clean glass windows.
If Harris is correct in stating that education strives to turn mirrors into windows, we must take care how we define “education.” When we, as students, simply reflect back what we hear our teachers saying, or more likely, what we think they want us to say, that’s just another sort of mirror. There is nothing inherently more sophisticated about taking all our cues from an academic as opposed to a celebrity, or a neighbor, or a friend. If anything, it’s riskier to think we can be impartial about the views of those who will grade our work.
Education can turn a mirror into a window only insofar as it removes anything that obscures truth. In that sense, education may be largely a subtractive effort; elimination that facilitates illumination. When windows bring light, they are not the source of the light, but conduits through which it can shine. It’s not about us, what we know, what we can do, or even what we choose to reflect. It’s the process of clearing away our delusions and distractions, and letting the light of truth shine through 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.
Awareness of an audience
The audience awaits a truly wonderful performance of my favorite play,
Arms and the Man, at the California Shakespeare Theater, July 2003
“Glory is largely a theatrical concept. There is no striving for glory without a vivid awareness of an audience.” — Eric Hoffer
While I’m not sure Hoffer’s assertion is 100% correct (and it may depend upon how “glory” is defined), he definitely has a point. Certainly many types of glory for which people strive are closely connected with adulation, admiration or adoration. But such striving also comes with the distinct possibility of failure; hence the common saying, “no guts, no glory.”
If “glory” is defined as widespread praise and fame, I think we would certainly do well to avoid seeking it. In the first place, we’ll get distracted from our priorities if we are always playing to the reactions of the crowd. And besides, the audience we may imagine is probably much smaller in real life than in our own minds. In reality, most people are focused on their own day, their own troubles and efforts. It’s a bit narcissistic to suppose that people are watching us as closely as we watch ourselves.
So relax! While it’s more easily said than done, we will be much happier and more productive if we don’t worry about what our imaginary audience may be thinking. If we lose our self-consciousness by concentrating on things we know to be good, right and honorable, the rest will take care of itself. Kudos to everyone with the guts to disregard glory!
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.
An art of balance
Jeff and I enjoyed a soothing, calming afternoon at the Corcoran Gallery in DC, July 2013
“What I dream of is an art of balance, of purity and serenity devoid of troubling or depressing subject matter – a soothing, calming influence on the mind, rather like a good armchair which provides relaxation from physical fatigue.” — Henri Matisse
I understand and agree that art is meant to do a variety of things. Some works are thought-provoking or even disturbing rather than comforting, and these are no less impressive than the ones we find instantly appealing; indeed, they may be more so, since they involve daring and indifference to criticism.
Regardless of this, I am most thankful for artists who recognize the need to use their talent as a balm for the hurts of life. We all have times when we would benefit from an afternoon stroll through a quiet, spacious gallery, a few minutes spent enjoying a beautiful symphony, or even curling up with a cozy mystery or other novel with a happy ending.
Among the painters, sculptors, writers, poets, composers, musicians, architects and other artists you enjoy, whose work reminds you most of the description Matisse gives us here? What are some of your favorite “armchair” creations?
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 virtue in itself
Sweetie with a sweetie: Aunt Peggy with her winsome cockatiel, December 2011
“A good disposition is a virtue in itself, and it is lasting; the burden of the years cannot depress it, and love that is founded on it endures to the end.” — Ovid
I can’t think of anyone with a better disposition than my Aunt Peggy. She has endured more than a few experiences that would have made most people bitter, but she remains one of the most loving, giving and reliably fun people I have ever had the pleasure to know. When I visit her, I always leave wishing we had more time together. And I think anyone who knows her could say the same.
Not only does Peggy enjoy life; she helps others to do likewise. Her home, exquisitely decorated year round, is absolutely enchanting at Christmas. Her beautiful flower arrangements enhanced our wedding and every home we have lived in for over thirty years. Even her husband LeVern and her cockatiel Sweetie are delightful – and who wouldn’t be, living with someone who is unfailingly comforting, supportive and compassionate?
I hope you will brighten your own day by thinking of those rare people you know who can face gracefully whatever life dishes out; those who make the burdens a little lighter for each person they meet. If it’s appropriate, maybe send them a quick thank-you note today, or let them know how much they have added to your happiness. I thank God for my Aunt Peggy, and for all the people like her whose good cheer adorns a world sorely in need of it.
This post was first published seven years ago today. Since that time, Aunt Peggy has become a widow for the second time, her sweet husband LeVern having died some time ago. Before that, she and LeVern lost Sweetie, who died after many happy years of bringing delight and laughter to their home. In her sorrow, Aunt Peggy understands what I have endured and is a continual source of love and support as I cope with the loneliness following many losses of the past five years. And I’m happy to say that Peggy is still the same fun-loving, sweet and cheerful soul she always has been, coping bravely with the isolation of living alone in the post-COVID world. For a gregarious person who loves other people as much as Peggy does, this must be a trial for her, but her beautiful love of life always shines through.
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.
Exactly like me
Even the most beautiful mask is no match for a real face. Venice, June 2008
“Nobody can be exactly like me. Sometimes even I have trouble doing it.”
― Tallulah Bankhead
Some of us are more reserved than others, but almost all of us don a figurative mask occasionally, or maybe even often. We feel vulnerable and a bit intimidated about being ourselves, since we harbor a vast inner archive of our shortcomings, past mistakes and embarrassing experiences. If we aren’t careful, we can let our insecurities rob the world of the gifts only we can give it.
When I think of the people who most appeal to me, whether they are friends I know personally, writers I know only through their works, or celebrities I will never meet, the common trait among them is their willingness to be themselves, honest about their own hopes, fears and failures. Those who mask their unique personalities tend to blend into the background, inoffensive but forgettable.
For many years, Fred Rogers closed each of his programs for children with these simple but profound words: “There’s only one person in the world exactly like you.” Considering how many people are in the world, isn’t it amazing– almost miraculous — that each of us is unique? That fact alone makes the world a very interesting place! And you are part of that big fascinating picture.
What can you give others today that can come ONLY from you?
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Defeat Despair 