Defeat Despair

In the cherry blossom’s shade

Julia ♦ April 8, 2020 ♦ 7 Comments

The cherry blossoms decorate the tidal basin in the springtime, sometime in the mid 1970's

The cherry blossoms decorate the tidal basin, sometime in the mid 1970’s

“In the cherry blossom’s shade there’s no such thing as a stranger.” — Kobayashi Issa

Have you ever noticed how often people share their excitement at a beautiful landmark or stunning view? Tourists who have never met offer to take photos for each other, handing expensive cameras to total strangers. Except, as Issa says, there’s no such thing as a stranger when you are enjoying natural beauty or fascinating sights.

I lost count of how many times I visited the Golden Gate Bridge while we lived in northern California, but almost every time I went there, I ended up taking photos for people. I always enjoyed snapping photos of visitors who were obviously having a great time and delighted by the view. And people have kindly offered to take photos for Jeff and me everywhere from Spain to Honduras to Canada and many points in between, giving us unique souvenirs to preserve cherished memories.

It’s easy to complain about tourists and crowds, but I love to see travelers discovering places that are familiar to me. And when I’m traveling, I appreciate the hospitality of locals who take pride in the beauty of their hometowns and countries. In such circumstances, one can almost believe that a peaceful world is not an impossible dream.

This post was originally 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.

Something is there

Julia ♦ April 7, 2020 ♦ Leave a comment

Cape Cod National Seashore near Provincetown, Massachusetts, May 2009

I go out
to the pale dunes, to look over
the empty spaces
of the wilderness.

For something is there,
something is there when nothing is there but itself,
that is not there when anything else is.

—Mary Oliver

There are places where vast emptiness stretches so far as to suggest infinity. The more deserted the landscape, the more absent any sounds except those of nature, the more haunting are the memories of visits to these sites. It’s awe-inspiring and a little frightening to stand amid such magnificent isolation. The terrain may vary– I’ve felt such spells cast by locations as distant from one another as the Cape Cod seashore, the Florida Everglades, the mountains of Colorado or the southernmost point of the United States, on the island of Hawaii– but the somber allure is similar regardless of where these lands are located. We will do well to preserve such sanctuaries of peace, these parcels of holy ground where we find again a sense of humility and perspective so often lost in the busyness of human endeavors.

After ecstasy

Julia ♦ April 6, 2020 ♦ 4 Comments

That’s Drew behind our clothesline in Huber Heights, Ohio, 1986

“After ecstasy, the laundry.” — Zen saying

Perhaps no quote can so succinctly capture the experience of parenthood, especially in its early stages. The unsurpassed joy of holding a newborn baby is quickly tempered by the grinding realities of sleep deprivation, miscellaneous messes to clean up and a never-ending pile of laundry to be done. Yet there is joy even in these daily chores, though it may not appear as such without the benefit of years of hindsight.

Most of life is routine, and for the majority of people, there is no small amount of drudgery involved. But without the stability of sameness, we would have no canvas against which to appreciate the moments of brilliant color and exhilaration that tend to stand out in the foreground of our memories. Decades later, when we look back on what made us happiest, chances are we will remember primarily the subtle beauty of our everyday lives. As you go through your day today, tomorrow, this week, I hope you will listen for the unique rhythms of your particular world, and hear the poetry of the commonplace.

A thousand small ways

Julia ♦ April 5, 2020 ♦ Leave a comment

My neighbor’s miniature hyacinths add a spot of beauty to my walk, March 2013

“When we are willing to be open-minded, art and beauty come flooding into us in a thousand small ways.”— Julia Cameron

I tend to think of open-mindedness as a trait useful primarily to our rational minds, vital to the examination of ideas, cultures and opposing viewpoints. Yet there are many ways our minds can be open rather than closed. Often we are convinced that we know almost everything about a person, a place, an animal, or even an inanimate object such as a machine. We fail to notice the full picture because our familiarity tells us our full attention is no longer required. Without realizing it, we can close our minds to full awareness.

But living things change; places change; even objects such as computers and electronic devices are likely to have yet-unexplored possibilities. If we can learn to see the familiar as if it were new, our minds would open up to all that is fresh, unexplored, unknown and intriguing.

Whenever I find myself wishing for a new camera, or vacation destination, or new activity or connection, I ask myself: do I have room for something new right now, or do I still need to fully discover what I already have? It’s wonderful to explore and try new things. However, it’s possible to run so quickly from one new thing to another, that we never fully appreciate what we are already doing.

Most days, my walks (whether 2 miles or 5) are along the same roads with exactly the same paths I’ve traveled dozens of times before. It’s easy to pay almost no attention to what I pass, especially while listening to a book on tape. But sometimes– especially when I take my camera– I see things I haven’t noticed before. No two walks are ever exactly the same. I pass different people, see different dogs walking their owners, and chat with different children who stop to pet Pasha. The vegetation changes; new flowers bloom; homeowners decorate their lawns and porches with seasonal touches that add color. All these are examples of easily overlooked beauty that is ours for the taking.

I hope today you will open your eyes, mind and heart to discover those things that are so small or familiar we might miss them. Remember that no two days are exactly alike. What unique joys will be yours today, and today alone?

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 light from the shadows

Julia ♦ April 4, 2020 ♦ Leave a comment

The Oxford pub where sparks were fanned into a flame that grows ever brighter

“From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring…” — J.R.R. Tolkien

These lines are from a poem I have loved for many years. It appears in the first book of J.R.R. Tolkien’s classic Lord of the Rings, but its message has an enduring appeal whether or not one has read the story. The themes of hidden strength and eventual triumph are close to the heart of anyone who is surviving hardship while hoping for better times to come.

When I went to Oxford in December 2005, I went back to the Eagle and Child, the modest St. Giles pub I had first visited a few months earlier. I wanted to take some photographs (including the one above) of the place where Tolkien, C. S. Lewis and other writers met for years to discuss their writing. Tolkien and Lewis, the best known of the group referred to as “the Inklings,” would go on to achieve a degree of fame and popularity they probably never dreamed of during their early Oxford years.

C. S. Lewis is my favorite author. I have a hard time ever choosing a favorite of anything, and when discussing books and writers, the list of worthy contenders is long indeed. But Lewis has earned the superlative through his remarkable ability to distill profound ideas into simple, friendly language that intrigues as it instructs, and comforts as it challenges. His works have been a bright spot in my life for which I’ll always be thankful, and I find myself returning to them again and again.

Who are your favorite writers? Have you any books that are so loved as to seem almost like old friends? Any that shine a light into the dark nights of your life? I wish you many hours, days and years of the unique joy that is found in exploring real and imaginary worlds through books.

To all of you

Julia ♦ April 3, 2020 ♦ 36 Comments

The blackberry bush at my York home is starting to bloom. March 2020

“I want to say to all of you that are reading this right now: You are not allowed to lose hope, because maybe a miracle will happen. DO NOT LOSE HOPE.” — Malka Chana Roth

We interrupt these re-runs to bring you a new real time post. I started this blog seven and a half years ago, because the world as I had always known it seemed to be coming apart around me, with Jeff’s terminal diagnosis and the repercussions it had on our comfortable life. Later, in the 20 month period during which I lost both my beloved parents and my husband, who had been my world for 38 years, the life I had known was irretrievably GONE. And more great losses were in store for me, as others disappeared from my life, seemingly unable to walk for very long with me through months and years of numbness and anger and sorrow that never seemed to end.

So for me, there is a curious parallel now in the events taking place in the world. I’m experiencing an odd sense of deja vu. Strangely, while everyone else is talking of feeling isolated, I am less isolated than I have been for the past five years. Suddenly my personal experiences are writ large across the entire world, as unprecedented catastrophe overtakes everyone. The isolation I have endured since Jeff’s death has become my ally in these present circumstances, for which I find myself strangely well prepared. I know how to live in hope, against all the odds.

Reading over the re-published posts from seven years ago, many have commented how unusually relevant they seem now. That’s maybe the best thing to come out of my years of sorrow and confusion, because there has never been a time when defeating despair is more important than it is now. I continue to re-publish these posts in an effort to shine whatever feeble light I can from my flickering candle, into the darkness that has engulfed us.

Cynics might point out that Malka Roth, who was a loving sibling to a child with severe disabilities, lost her own life to an act of violence and hatred that killed many others along with her. Her words have an innocence that makes me weep. I think of her kindred spirit, Anne Frank, who persisted in optimism despite being sequestered indefinitely, hiding for her life. These young women paid the ultimate price at the hands of cruel murderers. Were they wrong to live in faith that things would be better someday? I think not.

So along with Malka and Anne and countless other brave souls who endured the unthinkable, I say to you: do not lose hope. Stay well. Show kindness. Read, enjoy music, connect with loved ones, write journals and letters and poems. And do what my hero, Fred Rogers, told children to do after 9/11: look for the helpers. There are many on the front lines, doctors and first responders and grocery store clerks, showing up at personal risk to help us all get through this. And we will get through it. You are not allowed to lose hope.

This most amazing day

Julia ♦ April 3, 2020 ♦ 6 Comments

A most amazingly typical day in September 1999, Banff, Alberta, Canada

“I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes.” — E. E. Cummings

It’s a bit hard for me to imagine what it would be like living in a town such as Banff. One of the bloggers who visits regularly with us here lives very near Banff, and I wonder whether she ever gets used to the beauty of the Canadian Rockies. How does one manage to get any work done when it’s so beautiful outdoors? I remember feeling the same way the first time I stood atop the Malibu hill where Pepperdine University overlooks the Pacific Ocean. How on earth does anyone manage to graduate from a school where distracting magnificence lies outside every doorway?

I know how, of course. When we lived in Hawaii, some people on the mainland seemed to think we were on a 3-year extended vacation, with nothing to do but go to the beach every day. In reality we had to go to school, go to work, cook dinner and wash clothes, and do all the other chores of life, with relatively little time leftover to play.

Still, we tried to make as much time as possible to explore the islands and their varied landscapes that went far beyond gorgeous beaches. Whenever I would see one of the incredible rainbows that occur so frequently there, or string a lei from the fragrant plumeria that grew in abundance all around our home, I would remind myself to stop and savor the moments that would all too soon be unavailable on a daily basis.

Living in many different regions has taught me that no place is without beautiful features or interesting sights. But it’s easy to grow so accustomed to the familiar that we lose the wonder of it. Today, I hope you will take Cummings’ words with you and keep eyes open to “everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes.”

Poems by heart

Julia ♦ April 2, 2020 ♦ Leave a comment

A corner of our York back yard on Easter 2012

“It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke

I don’t consider myself a poet, but I do like to write poetry as well as read it. When writing poems I have to curtail the number of words I use so that every single one has an impact. Of course it’s a good idea to do this with all writing, but it’s especially important with poetry, wherein thoughts and emotions arrive in a reader’s mind in concentrated form leaving images that linger.

Rilke’s simile is an apt one, I think. Spring begins with a bare landscape and sparse visible assets. When it is ready, it bursts into blooms that decorate the landscape with vivid color, touching our spirits and renewing our hope. Spring knows its verses by heart, and speaks them (even sings them) to a delighted audience weary of winter and longing for youthful energy. May its winsome performance bring joy to your heart today!

A Little Nonsense

Julia ♦ April 1, 2020 ♦ 2 Comments

Pluto clowns with Matt at Walt Disney World in Florida, 2004

“A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.” — Joseph Addison

Happy April Fool’s Day! Laughter is one of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves or others. I hope you will indulge in some light-hearted fun today — look up a joke or two to share, sing silly songs, watch a funny movie with someone who needs to lighten up — but if you want to fool anyone, please keep your pranks kind and sensitive. And if anyone comes to you today with an unlikely tale of woe or unbelievable good news, think twice before you believe it! 🙂

Let’s share some humor with each other today. Do you have a link to a funny YouTube video, a favorite online joke or a hilarious photo? If so, please post it in the comments here and let’s laugh together. I wish you a day full of fun!

Here is one of my favorite “viral videos” – I hope you get a laugh or a smile out of it!
(It’s only 35 seconds long.)

Born on his father’s birthday

Julia ♦ March 31, 2020 ♦ 8 Comments

Eric and Dad at the old Atlanta airport, sometime in the mid 1970’s

“He was born on his father’s birthday, a gift that keeps on giving.”
— George F. Will, writing about his eldest son Jon

This month I pay tribute to the two men who, other than my husband, have had the most lasting influence in my life. My father was born in April, and his first child was a son born on his birthday. As George Will can attest, it’s a gift that keeps on giving.

Daddy had the good fortune to grow up right along with the aviation industry, first seeing a biplane during his childhood in the early 1930’s, learning to fly in the 1940’s, going on to train Air Force pilots to fly during the 1950’s, and eventually retiring as captain on a wide body airliner after over 30 years with Eastern Air Lines. I really can’t think of any other job I’d rather my father have had; there were no down sides to it that I could ever see (other than occasionally having him gone on holidays). I grew up listening to dinner table conversations about places he had been that day; New York or the Caribbean or the west coast. More than once, we dropped everything (including school) to take off for a quick getaway. The world always seemed small enough to be a friendly place and accessible enough to become familiar.

Although my sister, brothers and I are close in age, my older brother often took on himself the role of a second father to his younger sisters and brother. While this could be exasperating at times, it was also comforting. No one was surprised when he followed his father’s contrails into the sky, first as an F-100 pilot, then as an airline pilot for Northwest. As my father did, he gave me the opportunity to travel on passes (including the trip I wrote about here) but more importantly, brought back stories of his experiences that widened my world considerably.

I worked for USAir (formerly Piedmont) for five years, although I never served on a flight crew. The airport gates and tarmac were familiar to me, the airline lingo a vocabulary I learned from birth. I have watched the changes in the industry with interest and a bit of nostalgic sadness when I remember how special it used to be to fly. It’s now almost universal to talk of airlines, and flying itself, with contempt; to complain about the many irritations that have been an inevitable result of deregulation and the harsh reality of global terrorism.

As for me, I will never completely lose the sense of wonder I had as a very young child, looking down on fluffy white clouds lit up with brilliant sunlight, thinking to myself, “my Daddy works up here.” The next time you are on a flight, I hope you will be able to close your mind to the many irritations (crowded seats, full overhead bins, repetitious announcements and runway delays) and realize for a minute that you are able to do, often and without much thought, something your great-great-grandparents could scarcely have imagined. For me, flight is a gift, one that keeps on giving.

Seven years ago today it was Easter Sunday. Because my posts for Easter weekend were themed to coincide with that holiday, I am holding them for Easter weekend this year, and using the posts of those days, April 10-12, for this weekend. So this is the post originally published on April 12, 2013, and on April 12 of this year I’ll post the March 30, 2013 post. As usual, the original post and comments will be linked below under related posts.

Somewhere it hides

Julia ♦ March 30, 2020 ♦ 4 Comments

Drew photographs the eerily beautiful Carcross Desert, Yukon, Canada, June 2000

“What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well.”
— Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Tucked away in the chilly magnificence of the Yukon, there lies a true curiosity of nature: the Carcross Desert. At about one square mile, it is called the “world’s smallest desert” although it is actually a series of sand dunes left behind by a glacial lake. In this case, it could be said that it was the well that hid the desert!

It’s quite an experience to traverse the Alaska border where snow lies all around, into the Yukon where there is more of the same, only to come upon an expanse of warm, dry sand with scarcely any vegetation. It’s one of nature’s little surprises; a reminder that even the most forbidding of landscapes conceal delightful secrets. When you find yourself in the midst of a boring, unpleasent or difficult circumstance, remember that “somewhere it hides a well.”

Seven years ago today it was the day before Easter. Because my posts for Easter weekend were themed to coincide with that holiday, I am holding them for Easter weekend this year, and using the posts of those days, April 10-12, for yesterday, today and Sunday. So this is the post originally published on April 11, 2013, and on April 11 of this year I’ll post the March 30, 2013 post. As usual, the original post and comments will be linked below under related posts.

The familiar exotic

Julia ♦ March 29, 2020 ♦ 6 Comments

Exotic yet familiar: Jeff and Matt at the gate to Chinatown, San Francisco, 2003

“Make the familiar exotic; the exotic familiar.” — Bharati Mukherjee

I’m pretty good at making the exotic familiar, or at least trying. When Jeff and I travel, we tend to avoid the tourist routes and go to places where the locals are: public transportation, grocery stores, municipal libraries. The more intriguing a city is, the more I am determined to walk through it enough times to get a feel for the neighborhoods and the pulse of daily activity. It can be daunting at times, especially when one doesn’t know the language, but it’s also comforting to be where the people are, going about lives that are strikingly similar to our own despite the varied contexts.

I’m not quite as good at seeing the exotic in the familiar. Yet I know it’s there, hiding in plain sight. When Drew was in first grade, his teacher assigned the students to write to their grandmothers (and great-grandmothers, if they were lucky enough to have them) with questions about daily life when they were children. It was one of the most memorable school experiences I know of, because the letters we received in answer to Drew’s inquiries were fascinating to the point of seeming exotic.

These were women I thought I knew well, but I learned things about them I had never known. We also realized that their school experiences, so different from those of today’s children, were scarcely mentioned in the history texts. I came away with the understanding of how little of our past is ever documented, and how much it comes to life when told in everyday details that historians often leave out.

The popularity of scrapbooks, journals and blogs is adding exponentially to the everyday history that is being recorded, and I’m so glad! When I read posts from Bindu or Z or Sydney Fong, or look at the beautiful photos from Cindy Knoke, Michael Lai, or another Julia who loves to take photos, to name just a few of the many people all over the world whose work I enjoy, I feel a bit more familiar with the exotic. And I am inspired to discover the exotic in my own familiar life, things that are unique to my particular world that I am happy to share with others.

I invite you to join in the worldwide conversation by reading, commenting, or starting your own blog or online journal to introduce other people to your corner of the world. I think you’ll find, as I did, that the blogging community is a friendly and supportive group, where newcomers are always welcome. It’s a wonderful antidote to the news media stories about conflict, hostility and fear. There’s a lot of good news out here in the blogosphere – welcome to our world!

Seven years ago today it was Good Friday. Because my posts for Easter weekend were themed to coincide with that holiday, I am holding them for Easter weekend this year, and using the posts of those days, April 10-12, for today, tomorrow and Sunday. So this is the post originally published on April 10, 2013, and on April 10 of this year I’ll post the March 29, 2013 post. As usual, the original post and comments will be linked below under related posts.

The size of the fight

Julia ♦ March 28, 2020 ♦ 8 Comments

Pasha captures the ultimate rabbit, spring 2011

“It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.”
— Mark Twain

Our animal friends teach us many valuable lessons, but the trait I admire most in our little Schipperke, Pasha, is his fearless zest for life. He apparently has never encountered a situation in which caution trumps curiosity.

He finds humans and other dogs equally worthy of attention, but large dogs seem to hate him, though he never barks or threatens any animal or person when he is out walking. People who know a lot about dogs have told me larger dogs are likely provoked because he does not submit by looking away first as a little dog should. Instead he makes extended eye contact that many dogs (especially big dominant types) do not appreciate. Almost always, a big dog will end up growling and then lunging, needing to be restrained by his owner whenever Pasha approaches. I’ve learned to cross the street when I see a big dog in our path. It frightens me to see a large animal obviously upset at us, but Pasha never seems to care.

When we took him to our neighborhood Easter treat hunt for dogs in 2011, he was clearly happy to be there among other canines and one enormous creature the like of which he had never seen. He wasn’t fazed; he posed happily for his photos with the huge Easter Bunny before pouncing on the treats given out. I’ve heard a lot about how frightened some highly strung dogs can get when confronted with such costumed characters, who are there for the benefit of the humans seeking photo ops, not because the dogs like them. But Pasha showed no such fear, obviously assuming that something good was about to turn up.

He will be 16 years old next month and his body is wearing out rapidly. According to the vet, Pasha’s heart condition and lymphoma are indications that he won’t last too much longer. However, his spirit remains full of the lively joie de vivre that has brought laughter to our days and happiness to our home. He’s setting a pretty good example for his human family, one I hope we will have with us for as long as possible.

This post was originally published seven years ago today. Pasha died just a few months after this was written. Jeff’s weeks of hospitalization, during which I stayed at the hospital in Bethesda with Jeff, meant that Pasha was unable to take our treasured 2-mile daily walk. The lack of exercise took a fatal toll on him and his failing heart. But he was lively and quite active up until the last few days of his life. I still miss him every day.

Without rain

Julia ♦ March 27, 2020 ♦ 2 Comments

A rainy day in Venice, June 2008

“Rain is grace; rain is the sky condescending to the earth; without rain, there would be no life.” — John Updike

As I write this, it’s a rainy day outside with the chill of winter still hanging on. There is an atmosphere of quiet gloom. My moods are strongly influenced by the weather, so I really need to live in a predominantly sunny climate. Troubles seem a little lighter when the sun is shining.

Still, there’s something about the rain that connects to my deepest emotions and leaves me daydreaming through the melancholy. It’s nice occasionally to spend a cozy day indoors with a cup of tea and some extra time for reading or other indoor pursuits. While I much prefer sunshine, rain brings balance and nourishment for the earth and for me.

Here are three of my favorite songs about rain. I hope you can find today time to enjoy one or all of them.

Paul McCartney’s tribute to people who smile through the pain

Tracy Chapman’s wistful collage of resignation and hope

B. J. Thomas with the classic theme song for eternal optimists

Something is afoot

Julia ♦ March 26, 2020 ♦ 2 Comments

Tulips bloom at Place d’Armes, Montreal May 2009.
If Montreal can look like this in May, can spring be far off in April?

“It is a bright and chill early spring day. The air is crisp but the earth is insistent…The wind is stiff and needling. It still feels like winter, but spring itself is positive and determined. Something is afoot, and it is festive and uncontrollable and undeniable.”
— Julia Cameron

I’ve heard more than a little talk this year of firing Punxsutawney Phil; in fact, he has been indicted for “seasonal fraud” and one zealous Ohio attorney intends to seek the death penalty. Phil had better stay underground for awhile and keep PETA on autodial.

Although I’m not one to blame the poor ground hog — we all make mistakes, don’t we? — I share the impatience for spring that comes whenever March goes “out like a lion” rather than a lamb. But take heart! Spring is toying with us and will show up eventually. It will be all the more glorious for our long wait. Never mind that I can look out my window and see snow on the ground today, even though I’m in southeastern Virginia.

Maybe we can do as Peter Pan begs the audience to do when Tinkerbell needs a rescue. Let’s all repeat to ourselves: I believe in Spring! Think of tulips, think of daffodils, think of lawns that need mowing and weeds springing up everywhere. See — waiting isn’t all bad, is it? I wish you a day filled with sunshine, or at least the anticipation of it!

This post was originally published seven years ago today, so the weather on the day of this re-play may be much warmer than it was 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.

Diligence and labor

Julia ♦ March 25, 2020 ♦ 8 Comments

Jeff and Mom, working in the yard of my parents' lakefront cabin, 2007

Jeff and Mom, working in the yard of my parents’ lakefront cabin, April 2007

“He who labors diligently need never despair; for all things are accomplished by diligence and labor.” — Menander

People often say that women marry their fathers, but in most ways I think I married my mother. My husband is so like her, especially when it comes to enjoying work. I like to joke that if there is not any work available to do, Jeff will make some to keep himself occupied. Until I met him I had never met anyone who stayed busier with various types of labor than my mother. I consider with awe all that each of them has been able to accomplish in life, and I’m grateful to be a primary beneficiary of their industrious personalities.

I don’t share this enthusiasm for work. I’m a lounger and a goof-off by nature. I could sit and chat over tea for hours, something that would drive my husband or my mother crazy. I must admit, though, that I almost always enjoy work once I get going. There is something about physical activity that is an antidote for my tendency to over-think everything. Perhaps this is why I love crafts, gardening (including the weeding) and walking. I even like to do the dishes. Maybe I’m more like Jeff and Mom than I think I am.

In any case, I have been grateful that Jeff has managed to keep up with his normal tasks at the clinic and here at home, despite the rigors of undergoing an aggressive chemotherapy regimen. I started to say I have been amazed, but in a sense I am not surprised at all. Everyone who knows Jeff well understands that he will work as long as he is able, and will draw strength from what he accomplishes. May we all be encouraged by the example of those who are happy to work diligently.

Yonder lies the way

Julia ♦ March 24, 2020 ♦ 6 Comments

A walkway adjacent to the Alamo in San Antonio, Texas, January 2008

A walkway at the Alamo in San Antonio, Texas, January 2008

“The hour is ripe, and yonder lies the way.” — Virgil

In most ways I’m a cautious person. I tend to fall into what a friend once described as “paralysis by analysis,” so fearful of making a mistake that I think and re-think decisions far too long. This blog, however, was an exception that could best be described as an impulsive action.

The Saturday morning in November after we first learned that Jeff’s liver tumors were “probably metastatic cancer,” I lay in bed brooding over the many dismal situations facing people I knew personally. Some faced life-threatening illness; others had lost their jobs and gone months without finding employment; still others were grieving the loss of a loved one, and many were terribly worried over the outcome of the recent elections.

I realized every difficult situation I knew about firsthand was matched thousands or even millions of times over, all around the world. It was as if there was a whirlpool of despair threatening to pull large numbers of people under, drowning us in sorrow.

I knew next to nothing about blogging, had never used WordPress, and had often dismissed the idea of creating my own blog because there are so many out there already, publishing far more impressive content than I would be able to produce. I had never been able to come up with a theme that seemed to fill a gap in the blogosphere. But I also knew that I must find something to do that would distract me from the worry that would consume me if I allowed it to take over.

I had read of research indicating that looking at photographs was a highly therapeutic defense against depression. And I have always taken solace in reading the reassuring, inspiring or insightful words of others. I have a huge archive of photos I’ve been taking by the thousands for many years. I decided to publish a blog featuring one of my photos and a quote for each day, and share it online with whomever might find it interesting.

At breakfast I told Jeff I was going to create blog called “Defeat Despair.” Having listened to thousands of my ideas over the years, he merely smiled and encouraged me to try it, knowing full well how often my ideas evaporate into the busyness that makes up most of life. He and Matt went to the gym to exercise, as is their custom on Saturdays, and then out shopping for an hour or two. By the time they returned, I had written and scheduled three blog entries, learning WordPress as I went along.

Today is my 135th daily post, and I have enjoyed this journey more than I could have imagined. I feel so grateful to all of you reading these words: those whose wonderful blogs and photos give me inspiration and examples; those whose generous comments and caring thoughts and prayers have made each day easier to bear; those whose friendship I have treasured for years, and the new friends from all over the world whom I have never met face-to-face. I am thankful my Saturday morning impulse was not lost to the careful hesitation that has held me back so many times in the past.

If you have a goal or project you are putting off, something you know you should do but can’t find the initiative to take that first step, I hope you will be able to summon the confidence, energy and wisdom to head in the right direction. In the words of a heroic Tennessean who died at the Texas mission pictured above, “Be sure you are right. Then go ahead.” May your path be illuminated by eternal truths and made beautiful by the fellowship of kindred spirits who will walk beside you through whatever comes.

Adjust the sails

Julia ♦ March 23, 2020 ♦ 2 Comments

Sailing by Manhattan, May 2007

“We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails.” — attributed to Dolly Parton

Thirty years ago Jeff and I went sailing on the Santa Monica Bay with my lifelong friend and her roommate. It was my first time to go sailing, and I remember being surprised at how much physical work was involved. I suppose I had the idea that one just sat in the boat and let the wind do all the work, but learning the various ways to adjust the sails gave me a new respect for those who have mastered this sport. It’s the sort of thing that could never be learned from simply reading a book; you have to get out there on the water, wrestling with the equipment in the face of real winds and currents.

Sometimes when I look back on my life, it seems to have consisted primarily of adjusting to unforeseen circumstances. Few of the people I know have ended up exactly where they had planned to be, and there’s no way to fully prepare for what the years will send your way. It takes a lot of mental, physical and spiritual stamina to get through the changing winds of even the most fortunate life. But we can’t expect to sit still in the boat and let the wind do whatever it wants with us. The sooner we learn to adjust our sails, the better equipped we will be to enjoy the trip and get where we need to go.

What are some ways we can adjust our sails so that the winds work for us, not against us?

Aware of the treasure

Julia ♦ March 22, 2020 ♦ 10 Comments

Jeff, Matt and Pasha walk the fitness trail of our York neighborhood, August 2007

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.”
— Mary Jean Irion

Wherever you are right now, stop and listen; look around you. Whatever you see or hear — the voices of your loved ones, the bustle of your workplace, the quiet of your home after others have left, your well-tended garden and your beloved pets and handmade decorations — all the minutiae of your present surroundings will one day belong to a vanished past. The magazines and books lying around now, if they survive at all, will soon seem passé, then eventually become quaint collector’s items. The photographs on your walls will fade and appear dated, the hairstyles and clothes hinting of bygone eras.

If this sounds a bit depressing, it need not be. A long life is a mixed blessing in some respects, but most of us would prefer to live into old age, even knowing it will mean many goodbyes. Yet there’s something tricky about the reality of everyday life; it perpetuates an illusion of permanence that vanishes under the most cursory reflection, but keeps reappearing nonetheless, clouding our vision and sapping our sensitivity to wonder. Thus we fritter away the hours and days without taking much thought of how we fill them, believing an endless stream of sameness is sure to follow.

The changes may come gradually, or they may happen abruptly: a single phone call, an unexpected turn of events, a catastrophic diagnosis or a tragic accident. In any case, time passes more quickly than we are able to imagine. I don’t want to waste any time fretting over things that will not matter in the end. I want to savor life, spread joy, laugh often and show others I love them. I want to take it all in, while it is here and now, and face the future without regrets.

What are the treasures in your everyday life? What do you love best about now?

This post was originally published seven years ago today. Already, seven years later, much of the world I knew when I first wrote this has vanished irrevocably. 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 gladdest thing

Julia ♦ March 21, 2020 ♦ 6 Comments

It's Keukenhof again! Countless beautiful flowers in this corner of the Netherlands, March 2007

It’s Keukenhof again! Countless beautiful flowers in the Netherlands, March 2007

“I will be the gladdest thing under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one.”
— Edna St. Vincent Millay

Millay was one of the first poets whose work I loved, and I learned this verse as a girl. I have said it silently to myself countless times over the years. It captures the joyful exuberance that I feel every spring. I hope you will feel some of this same gladness today!

More flowers to see here:

Celebrate daffodils with Wordsworth at gardeningnirvana

Let Bindu show you how beautiful pansies are

Enjoy lovely flower portraits by Photography Art Plus

Stronger than a fortified city

Julia ♦ March 20, 2020 ♦ 4 Comments

The Thomas Jefferson Memorial is framed by cherry blossom trees on Easter, sometime around 1978.

Cherry blossoms frame the Jefferson Memorial at dawn on Easter, many years ago.

“Those bound in a fraternity of one mind stand stronger than a fortified city.”
— Antisthenes

Today is the first day of the 108th annual Cherry Blossom Festival in Washington DC, a commemoration of the friendship between the USA and Japan, symbolized by the 3000 trees given to us in 1912 by the Japanese people.

Each year at this time I think fondly of my dear friend Maggie and her parents, who shared a family tradition with me that introduced me to the beauty of the cherry trees. It was their custom to get up and out before daylight on Easter morning, first going to observe the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns in Arlington National Cemetery. The cemetery opens much earlier on Easter, so it is possible to see the ceremony at sunrise. My friends felt it was most memorable to watch this solemn ritual at daybreak with few tourists present. Afterwards they would enjoy a leisurely stroll around the Tidal Basin underneath the blooming cherry trees, finishing their walk in time to attend church.

I took the photograph above on Easter morning sometime around 1978. Although I was even less of a morning person then than I am now, I had to agree with Maggie that sunrise is an ideal time to watch the changing of the guard, and circling the Tidal Basin as sunlight dawned on the blossoms was an experience I have always treasured.

The original cherry trees are now succumbing to age, but efforts have been underway to develop genetic replicas to replace them. Likewise my friend’s parents, who welcomed me into their home so many times and treated me as a “second daughter,” have now passed from this earthly life. Their legacy of friendship lives on in their children and the many people whose lives they touched. From them, I learned much about how to enjoy life, to treasure the simple gifts, to spread kindness and good will, and to “act justly, love mercy and walk humbly with God.”

The Cherry Blossom Festival honors a friendship that has endured over the years, even surviving hostility and the ravages of war. There is no more appropriate time to be mindful of our own friends, and give thanks for the lovely blossoms they have added to our lives.

Not a harbor

Julia ♦ March 19, 2020 ♦ 12 Comments

Annisquam Lighthouse, Cape Ann, Gloucester, Massachusetts, September 2012

“The past is a lighthouse, not a harbor.” — origin unknown

Change can be difficult even for those of us who crave novelty. It’s especially frightening when we are brought face-to-face with our own mortality, or that of someone we love. If we have been blessed with happy memories to treasure, letting go can be almost unbearable to contemplate.

When unwanted change or loss is forced upon us, it helps if we take solace in our gratitude for what we’ve had in the past, and allow that foundation to give us strength to face whatever the future brings. The blessings of our life are a bright light shining to guide the uncertain way ahead and bathing us in glowing warmth.

On the other hand, if we have predominantly unhappy memories, it is all too tempting to withdraw into our pain and resentment. We may use our anguish as an excuse to harbor ourselves from further sorrow. Again, the lighthouse is a helpful metaphor. So many — maybe even most — of the great works of art and literature, as well as other forms of human progress, have come directly in response to suffering. Grief can be a helpful teacher no matter how unwanted the lessons.

When I look back on the painful aspects of my past, I know that I have learned at least as much from my difficulties as I have from my accomplishments and joys. The full spectrum of past experiences, from horrible to heavenly, have something helpful to contribute to my future. It may take years to fully realize the depth of life’s blessings, or to appreciate the wisdom that has come from sadness. But the lighthouse remains, beaming across the distance, even when the waves are too rough to allow me an uninterrupted view of its illumination.

Represent civilization

Julia ♦ March 18, 2020 ♦ Leave a comment

Jeff spotted this baby bunny hiding between the begonias and bleeding hearts, June 2007

“Be careful how you behave towards wild things – remember that, to them, you represent civilization.” — Ashleigh Brilliant

One of my favorite memories about my husband’s late father is the way he loved wildlife. Many a summer’s evening I would be relaxing inside the Tennessee home where Jeff grew up, enjoying one of his mother’s books, and his dad would call to me from the porch, “Julia, come here for a minute!” I always loved hearing those words, because it usually meant at least one deer was outside, and sometimes more than one, although sometimes it would be a bird’s nest or a rabbit or a turtle or even a snake (but I’m not sure if that’s my memory or my imagination coming up with that one).

Jeff is a lot like his father in that respect. He can spot wildlife better than anyone I’ve ever known, often noticing a deer hidden in the nearby woods as he drives down the highway going just over the speed limit. I can hardly ever see what he points out, even when he slows the car to give me a better look. More than once, we’ve missed hitting a deer crossing the road because he spots it in time to brake.

But he’s also good at spotting the tiniest creatures while he’s out mowing or working in the yard. I don’t know how he does it, because sometimes it’s a baby turtle about the size of a quarter, or a bunny no bigger than my fist. Like his father, he will stop what he is doing to come call me, never telling me what surprise is outside, only asking me to come and see. I’ve learned to grab my camera on the way out. I can’t imagine having anyone else cut the grass for us, for fear they wouldn’t be so careful to avoid mowing over the critters and their babies.

As springtime arrives, I hope to see and enjoy the new life springing up all around us…and I’ll remember Ashleigh’s words!

Memory is a child

Julia ♦ March 17, 2020 ♦ 4 Comments

Jeff and our boys stroll along Ka’anapali Beach, Maui 1991

“Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things.” — Pierce Harris

Memory is nothing if not selective in what it retains. Hence five people may truthfully give five different accounts of the same event. Yet some memories can be dormant rather than fully lost, called suddenly and vividly back to life by a scent, a song, or the sight of a vintage toy once loved but long forgotten, spotted years later in an antique shop. Memory, for most of us, is a giant archive with ponderous hidden power.

Whether or not we are aware of it, each of us is storing up these small pebbles against a day when we will need to retrieve and reflect on something beautiful in the midst of pain or sorrow. And we all toss, sometimes without much thought, dozens of pebbles into the minds of our loved ones and friends; a compliment, a treat, a small favor in a difficult hour, or a moment of light-hearted shared laughter. Some of these small bits of life will be forgotten almost immediately, but some will remain and be treasured.

Have you ever had a friend say “I will never forget how much I appreciated what you said to me then” or “I don’t know how I would have managed if you had not helped me?” Often when we are the recipients of such praise, we have no recall of the kindness so fondly recounted, and we may find that others have forgotten the compassionate words or actions they offered us in a time of trouble. Kind words and loving deeds may seem insignificant at the time, but the blessings they bestow often grow richer over the years, stored fondly away to be taken out and cherished when needed most.

Imagination will take you

Julia ♦ March 16, 2020 ♦ Leave a comment

Fan dancers and stilt walkers celebrate Chinese New Year in San Francisco, 2004

“Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere.”
– Albert Einstein

Logic is important and even indispensable, but imagination is what gives life its brightest colors. Often we equate imagination with fantasy and escapism, although its most common and useful purpose is to add flair to everyday life. Think of your happiest moments, and you’ll likely find that imagination plays a role in that joy. Anticipation, memory, humor, enjoyment, creativity and understanding all require at least a little imagination. Today, I hope we can allow our imagination to transform our attitudes and enliven our activities.