Inside out

Some people are brutally honest about others, but cannot see themselves for the reflection in the mirror.

The smiling face that covers up insecurity becomes a bull horn for changing others.

Generous offers to help are founded on a need to be accepted.

Glaring hubris hides anger and pain the likes of which could melt the ice around the Titanic.

The dichotomy of these people and their victims is often reversed.

Perfection does not need to blow its own horn, but then again, perfection is not necessary in the real world.  It is those small dents and niches that make each of us interesting.

Rather than going over others with a magnifying glass, it might be better to take a step back and look at the world from the inside out.

Life goes on

I look at old pictures and as old as those people in my family look, I realize that I am already older.

Mortality looms.

My new apartment has so many perks.  If I were able to get out and use them I would feel much younger and perhaps even joyful.

Instead I feel like I have been put on the shelf early, that I am just sitting around waiting for my expiration date. 

It has been three weeks since I committed the apparently unforgivable sin of vanity by wearing those shoes.   Every step forward has been followed by five steps back.  Now I am fearful of everything that requires me to put one foot in front of the other.  I never know when that familiar ping will  put me back on the walker, back into total non-commission, back on the shelf -- waiting.

Most of my relatives raced into death's arms busy and productive.  I wonder if there is any value in living beyond that point?

The gift of reading

What is it that makes some people crave ghost stories, or science fiction, or adventure, while others want "everyday" drama?

Reading is such an important part of my life that I feel an irrepressible need to share it.  I cannot imagine a world without books.  Not just for research, but to give me a peek into how other people think, to take me into the imaginations and worlds of those I admire, or have never met.  Books set me free to explore unimaginable things even if I lack the money, way, or courage to do it otherwise.

For years I tried to take my sister along on these excursions with no success at all.  She preferred women's magazines to books, short "Chicken soup" stories to books, simply sitting in the sun to books!   I was mystified . . . and worried about my sister who never turns her TV off, who even leaves it on for her dogs when she goes away.

The terrifying thought that someone might turn off the television, or the world might fall off the grid was always mitigated, for me, by the knowledge that I had a world of books at my fingertips.  I will  never be stranded on a desert island bereft of ideas that are not my own as long as there are books.

But what about my sister?  I envisioned her sitting on that island reading outdated magazines to her dogs forever more.

Then one day someone gave me the gift of a book I would never, otherwise, have read.  I enjoyed it, but felt no compulsion to keep it, so, on a whim, I handed it over to my sister along with a brief description.  She loved it!  In fact, she has since read every book that author has written!

Once again I was mystified.  I asked her, "What is it that you love about those books?"

And she said, "They are about everyday life."

Imagine that!

Mount Olympus

 I am always saying we are one and I know it sounds hippie-ish, but I truly believe it.

Our world is a giant terrarium, carefully balanced to support life and evolve. 

All living creatures eat, walk, breathe, take up space.  All living plants do the equivalent of the same.  Even non living things take up space, erode, collect and sometimes move, or shift.

Our lives slip around and around the wheels and cogs of this giant Eco-clockwork with a precision unfathomable to man.

The whole world is a catalyst, touching me, eliciting responses from me, changing me with every breath, and thought, but I am the ultimate conductor.

Aware that I have the choice of responding in a million different ways, I need to become a conservator of light, choosing how I react and feel, carefully responding, remembering the responsibility that comes with being made in a god-like image, because I am much more powerful than I might think.

Mount Olympus is more than a myth.  It is a way.  It is here and now.

Gathering in

Look deeply into your imagination and see that smoky dusky blue sky that comes just before a storm, or sometimes, a moment before the night sky really creeps in and becomes a soft velvet blanket covered in rhinestones.
  
This is that ultimate color, the one that signifies security and comfort before pandemonium opens the door to thunder and lightning and dreams spanning the edges of sanity.

Aromas drift from barbeques and kitchens promising taste buds, honed by hunger, that they will soon be treated to something wonderful.

The air is rich with the warmth of sunlight and damp with the encroaching dew.

Birds begin to roost.  People to gather close by.  Family feels closer than ever before.

I can settle into this color.

The center of the universe

Summer days come with a clarity born of more light. There is time to contemplate the reality of life. Time to open my eyes and appreciate the truth of my being.

So much of life seems to have been about squirreling things away, saving for that distant day when need would supersede everything else. I have never been a good squirrel and whether that is living in the now, or the foolishness of the grasshopper and the ants, I don't know.

 I do know that dwelling on the negative draws in the darkness, attracting those very things I am focusing on, but do not want.

 In the silence of this beautiful day everything seems clearer. The simplicity of non-attached giving opens the way for love and understanding so far beyond anything I knew for most of my life that it is staggering.

The joy of living radiates from my heart outward, illuminating my understanding of what is in ways I never believed before.

Allowing myself to float in this space, free and yet connected to everything feels fragile and yet extraordinarily possible.

Grace

Fifty one years ago I was in eighth grade when my band teacher came over and asked me if I would play with the high school orchestra for graduation.  They needed an oboe. It was the first time I heard Pomp and Circumstance, or at least the first time I knew what it was.

Last night we sat right behind the band at my granddaughter's graduation, right behind the drums,   not exactly where I would have sat as an oboist, but I could feel the music when they played and my eyes filled with tears.  I heard that song every year after eighth grade, until the year I graduated. 

Surrounded by memories and the sight of my second granddaughter marching in for her high school graduation, made it a very emotional night for me.

She was easily the smallest student in the room and I knew how hard she had worked for this.  Born weighing just a few ounces more than two pounds, she has cerebral palsy.  Her braces were gone, but she held the hand of her marching partner just to be sure she did not lose her balance and fall.  She also walked just a bit slower, so some things had to be adjusted to fit her pace, but she earned every second it took to honor the thirteen years she had spent getting ready for this night.

She approaches all obstacles with grace and dignity and I know if she continues on this way, her life will be filled with joy and contentment.  I look forward to seeing what she will contribute to the world.

The dance of deception

 Crowd control is an art.

I know a woman who had a trolley pick up her thirty best friends for her eightieth birthday party.  It was her idea of the perfect day.

I know another woman who prefers a tête-à-tête.  To her that is the ultimate way to spend an afternoon.

Although I might express an interest in an event I hear about, I will never ask to be included.  I  assume if they know I would like to come and don't invite me, then there is a reason, but what do I do if someone does ask to come too?

There are times when it is necessary to be a bit exclusive, or lose some of the energy you're shooting for.  Not every event works as an open door free for all, so not hurting the feelings of those excluded is important.

Sticking as close as possible to the truth is the most respectful response.  After that comes the dance of deception necessary for those who don't understand or take hints.

Either way it is not necessary to invite someone you weren't planning on.

The bouquet

Sometimes people become fixated on just one aspect of living.  Making money, having sex, being perfect . . .   One dimensional living means missing out on a lot of other experiences.

Pigeon holing people turns them into paper dolls, folded, creased and sometimes put away into dark places.

The very best relationships take up lots of space.

They span lifetimes of interests. In fact, interest may be the key word.  The best friends take a real interest in everything their bestest cares about.

It's not about changing each other.  It is about wanting the best for the real person you love.  It's understanding that every aspect of life is just another face of love.

Taking out the trash can be as compelling as long talks on the couch, or a quick text on a dreary day.

The richness of a beautiful relationship takes on a bouquet distinctly its own.  Nothing else is quite like it.

Knowing

I think I discovered something important today.

It is not the fountain of youth, but it is the path that surrounds it.

Wisdom comes with age, knowledge gleaned from a lifetime of living.  But on the edge of wisdom is false hubris and that is the trait that congeals wisdom into despair.

Along with how to handle, or do, many things I now know a million ways that will not work.  I can nix something while it is still a thought because "I know" it will fail.

Youth does not have all those experiences so it is much more likely to try and in trying discover how to succeed.

Maintaining  my optimism and open mindedness may be like dipping a toe in the fountain of youth.

Time travel

Part of the problem with being an avid reader is remembering that even if life is like a book, it is a book that is not yet finished.

The wonder of life leads me to believe that I have only touched the surface, so even as I gobble up everyone's thoughts and opinions, I look for the secrets others have missed.

Believing that life is more than the eye can see and maybe even more than the mind can comprehend is a large part of who I am.

I want to know if I have kindred spirits in time and space and what they both thought and experienced.  I need to know that I am not a duck out of water, but simply a swan who has many options.

Books are my preferred form of time travel.  I look at the thoughts, the imaginations, the soul, poured out by people who felt it was important to get it down and out and I wonder how my own life will pan out.

But while I am here, the inconceivable miracles of living never cease to amaze me.

Wishes

I have always been fascinated by the idea of genies and fate tricking people into making the wrong wish.
 
What is the perfect wish?  World peace? Global health?  Any number of seemingly good wishes appear to exclude the others.

Then it occurred to me!  I need to trust myself.  If I believe that I am a good person who cares about myself and the world, perhaps the best wish is:

I wish that my life is as happy, healthy, and fulfilling as possible.

I can do that because I know things like a lack of world peace and global health take away some of my joy.

I do not have to justify my existence.  I am because I am.

I am always one part of an immense whole and honoring that is a lifetime commitment.

Memories

Childhood frustrations often seem silly and irrelevant to adults, but I am beginning to believe they are much more deeply seated than I ever thought.

I wonder if my bad dreams are feelings drifting through time, still trying to work themselves out?

Why else would a retired woman dream that someone took apart her toy cars, destroyed her dolls,  left her feeling terrified and helpless?  And why else would she be waiting for her mother to come and make things right?  In this dream it was late at night and I was watching out the door for her car to come.  A car did come down the road, but it was an old cream colored sixties Mercury, not my mother's 1957 blue and white Ford Fairlane. And when my cousin knew she was close he tried to bite me.  I could feel his teeth on my hands as I held him off.

Such a juvenile dream, but so packed with emotions that I am still reeling.  If a friend had not texted me and woke me up I feel like I might have been trapped in it forever.
 
Of course, in real life, my cousin was never the problem, so why I would dream of him I don't know.

I wonder if insanity or senility is like that?  Trapped in the arms of Morpheus, forced to live in a surreal dream-scape where past demons reenact old feelings in twisted ways, spiraling over and over again through emotions long since buried?

If so, it is the best case I know for making sure we talk to the younger generation, help them express their feelings, allow them to lay them out on the table before they are buried deeply in the family plot. 

The childish abuses of tender spirits may grow into the nightmares of the future.

Sacrosanct

Life is seldom as simple as I would like, but it is certainly much simpler than it was when I was a young woman.

There were so many "rules" and they were all sacrosanct. One did not go to church without gloves and a covered head, or wear white after Labor Day, or before Memorial day.  Wives did not choose careers that they expected to last past their wedding day.  Ladies kept their feet on the floor, crossed at the ankles if they must.  Men did not rear their children even if they had to marry just to get a mother for them.

The glass ceiling had yet to appear.  It was still a solid, highly decorated part of any business and the women below it were either decorations or servants, or both.  They might be well treated, but like one would treat a bright favored child. 

Gratitude was an expected part of doing anything. There was a kind of constant hazing that went along with anyone not at the very top . . . for both men and women.  The world was an uptight, rigid, unforgiving place where ritual and dogma protected the very wealthy.

As imperfect as things may be now, I see amazing changes.  Opening the doors for women has set men free too.  There have been, and will be, growing pains for years, maybe even generations, to come.

Today's rules are different and sacrosanct isn't so easy to figure out and I think that is a good thing even when it is confusing. 

Simplicity comes with responsibility.

Loverly

Today I took my first walk at my new apartment.  It took me seventeen days to get to this point, due to weather and health problems, but I am here!

My first thought, as I approached the tennis courts, an easy four minute walk away, is I should have lived here all my life.  Of course that is irrelevant and really wouldn't have worked, or would it?

I am close to the bike trail, tennis courts, a lake surrounded by ducks and geese and not too far from the places I want to go in town.  There is a little general store next door and some grass and trees outside my deck.

I am no longer in that lovely old neighborhood I lived in for the last two years, but I have more luxuries here and it is simply a different type of lovely. 

I think it is "loverly!"

Faces

Everyone acts.  Sometimes.

Everyone is good at it.  Sometimes.

False faces.  Safe faces.  Funny faces.

Faces on top of faces.  Behind faces. 

Layers upon layers acting as armor against reality.

Until someone hands out cold cream and tissues

And the tissues are for tears.

Then life becomes a pantomime.

And a hug is worth a thousand faces.

Trash swans

Life!  It's more about what I think than what is.

I remember driving through Atlanta, Georgia one year.  Up ahead of us, in a suburban neighborhood, was the most magnificent white swan I had ever seen.  Turned out to be a white trash bag, but the awe I felt till that became obvious was magnificent -- and very real.

My life is full of these sorts of things.

I have one foot on the earth but the other is out there, soaring through places only my imagination can take me.

Or maybe not, because my real life is often a fairytale manifest.  I have experiences no can believe are real for someone like me, but they are!

I honestly don't know why.  Perhaps only because I am foolishly ready to try new things, or perhaps I am just blessed, but whatever the reasons, I am profoundly grateful.

The road

I have more control over my life than I want to admit.

Imagine admitting that I am responsible for most of the things that happen to me? 

Many of us give away our power.   We say god did it, in spite of the fact that we also say he gives us free will.  We say fate did it because we don't understand how it happened.  We say lots of things, but the truth is that most of the time it was me, myself, and I who chose one thing over.

A series of choices become the road map to now.

If doing something different will improve my life, I want to know what it is. Hiding my bad choices from myself is both dangerous and counter productive.  If anyone deserves to know, it's me!

I may not have the will power to change, but that doesn't change the truth.  

Not having a car does not mean I can't go to South Carolina.  It only means I need to find alternate ways to travel.   The same thing is true about most of the decisions I make.  As long as I take responsibility for looking at them head on, life may not be easy, but it will be better.

Pollywogs and predicaments

I think the biggest mistake anyone can make when looking for a lasting relationship is to think it is possible to finagle one.

I can finagle an afternoon.  You might be able to finagle a few years, but in the long run it probably isn't worth it.

Trying to be lovable isn't what life is about.   I didn't believe that growing up.  I thought I had to turn myself into something that was desirable and worthy to be loved.

Consequently I found myself in a relationship where my partner felt the same way.

It took a long time for me to realize that everyone is worthy of being loved.

A pollywog will always grow up to be a frog.  It will never be a turtle, or a dolphin, or a bird.  It will never have short curly hair, or speak dog and although it will certainly be worthy of love, some kinds of love might surprise it.

Love at first bite can be deadly.

Questions

Every time I hear a supposedly great person express righteous indignation because someone questions them, I have doubts.

Not about the questioner, I think people need to ask questions.  Even sarcastic or redundant questions are expressing some kind of need.  Heckling shouldn't have to be tolerated, but a concerted effort to understand where it comes from is something worth considering.

Any idea, deity, or person that cannot stand up to questioning raises more questions.

Knowing what is said will be honestly heard and considered will eventually make a difference.

Consequences

Pain and pleasure are seemingly opposite ends of the spectrum and yet I found both today.

Almost as if I am living the simplest allegory of all.

A desire to please, and possibly a bit of vanity, led me to do something very foolish and the result was both predictable and worse than I could have imagined.

Wearing a pair of shoes to a school party has totally incapacitated me.  

I am not only in great pain, but I will miss something I was looking forward to very much.

And to top it all off, today was a perfect day in every way except that I was in so much pain it was hard to enjoy.

I suppose when one fails to learn a lesson over and over again, the consequences are bound to become worse.

Good advice

People told me to plan for old age.  It was all about money.  Save, save, save, and invest.

They told me to take care of my teeth and my skin so I wouldn't lose one, or get skin cancer and sun spots on the other.

I was told to use it, or lose it when it came to muscles and cardiovascular health.

Meditation was touted as the fountain of youth.

Sustainable interests and hobbies were high on the list.

My body becomes less tolerant of everything as I age.  New medicines all seem to have adverse side effects.  Muscles, joints and bones are more fragile.  

Life feels more intense, the thrill of a roller coaster is not necessary.  Surviving the things I love, intact, is a real trip -- sometimes.

I know it is necessary to live in the present, but heeding the suggestions of those who have gone before me good is advice.  I wish I had done more of it.

Up in dreams

Where do nightmares come from when everything seems to be coming up roses?

I have had two nightmares in my new apartment that were truly horror-able.

Tapping into some of my deepest fears and phobias right when they are no longer viable possibilities in my life, feels wrong.

During the past twelve years I have lived in some situations that I found truly terrifying, so this move is not just for conveniences, of which there are many, it is also about eliminating those things that make me feel unsafe.

Now that my life is nearly perfect perhaps the scary memories need a way to go up in steam, or dreams.

Decisions decisions

Life is much harder when there are decisions.

My parents gave us what they could.  As much as they could.  The decisions on what these things were was only mitigated by the amount of money they had available at the time.  Teachers are certainly limited in that respect.

There was more money available for my children.  Much more.  Our decisions had to be based on something else.  They had more advantages, more options, more disappointments, because they knew we were sometimes nixing those things they felt important.

Now my decisions wrap around what I want to do, what I need to do, and what I can't do.  It gets more complicated as I grow older.

A lifetime

Eliza Dolittle said it in 1964 when I was just a teenager and it spoke to me so clearly that I never forgot it.  Fifty years later I have it!

All I want is a room somewhere
Far away from the cold night air
With one enormous chair
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?

Lots of chocolate for me to eat
Lots of coal makin' lots of heat
Warm face, warm hands, warm feet
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?

Someone's head restin' on my knee
Warm and tender as he can be
Who takes good care of me
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly

It can take a lifetime to get it right.

Advocaters

I once knew a person who looked at his arm when I asked him if he was hungry.  Of course I discovered he was looking at his watch, not some half full gauge.

In my new apartment I found myself looking at the gauge on the wall when I was cold.  It said 70, so I suffered through, miserable, but confident I would get used to it.  I finally went to the store and found a thermometer that matched the reading on all the others.  Assuming this was a reasonably correct reading I bought it and took it home.

Turns out the reading on my wall was five degrees lower than it said.  I bumped up the temp and life became so much more pleasant. 

Then something occurred to me.  If I am uncomfortable, what difference does the gauge on the wall make?

I have become so accustomed to trusting outside sources telling me what I like and don't like it is ridiculous.  If I am cold.  I am cold!  If I like a certain style of shirt it doesn't matter if it is thirty years old. 

We have slipped into commercial mode somewhere along the line.  Now people who sell us stuff tell us what we want and like.  When did this happen?  Why would anyone pay someone to tell them what they like?  Especially someone who is selling them the very stuff they advocate.

Echoes of myself

Power is highly over rated.

Bullies pride themselves on the power they have and mistake it for loyalty, happiness, even friendship.

Power is really only another word for manipulation, a poor substitute for the more important things in life.  Like true friendship, true loyalty, real happiness.

Constantly demanding proof of these things waters them down, makes them more of a concept than an actuality.

It seems to me that power mongers are so unsure of themselves that they can't imagine anyone else loving them for who they really are.  They feel they must watch out for number one first and foremost, then if there is anything left over they can give it to others.

If you deal in leftovers, then that is what you think comes back to you.

True abundance is an echo of yourself.

Bacon for breakfast

I am often profoundly touched by houses with carefully tended yards, or porches.  I imagine the people inside and I see strong, proud people who have a sense of what is important in life.  It doesn't matter if the house is in the poorest neighborhood and falling down.  The effort put into them shines through the poverty in a way that is not always evident in the wealthiest areas.

The same is true for ragtag families glued together by love instead of blood. Men and women rearing each others' children from former relationships as though they were their own is real down to earth Love (with a capital L.)

Pop culture and television reality shows often focus on the romance and extraordinary things people do, but it is in the little everyday acts that life becomes most meaningful.

That lonely little petunia planted by the mailbox, the arms that slip around someone's shoulders, bacon for breakfast -- this is love in its purest form.

Differences

The biggest difference between my house and my sister's is that all my clocks have the same time on them.  (And they are correct to within thirty seconds.)  Hers are a mad mad mixture of times geared to give her more of what cannot be saved.  (And none of them are the same time.)

But the heart of our homes is pretty much the same.  "We love our bread we love our butter, but most of all we love each other."* (And our children and friends.)

We want the best for those we love; and their misfortune, deserved or not, brings us no joy.

We feel the world has an infinite amount of room for love and that life's lessons are a never ending sign of our worth as human beings.

We tolerate those with opposite views only because it must be done if we want to be true to our own. 

Loving them is a little harder.



*Quote from Madeleine

Sad style

I am constantly amazed at the different views people have.  I see my apartment as a little jewel box snuggled down in the the best corner here.  It faces trees and grass instead of parking lots and streets.  It has amenities that please my senses and a well thought out compactness that feeds both my desire for efficiency and needs for storage.

One of the people who "helped" me move saw it as "the apartment in the back."  He couldn't seem to get over having the bed in the "living room."   In any big city in the world this would be considered a luxury studio and not all that uncommon, except for the trees.

I could understand him not wanting to live here, although he lives in a much less beautiful place, both inside and out.  I just cannot understand his apparent glee as he pictured me unhappy here.   Even my need to have the shower rod hung level, or the bed evenly placed against the wall was incomprehensible to him.

His goal in life appears to be to consume as much as possible as cheaply as possible, which is fine with me, but not my style.  I prefer a few fine things and deep friendships.  I find his inability to understand that sad.

M Day

Reducing something to its lowest common denominator appeals to me.

Of course the real challenge is to reduce it to its lowest most satisfying point.  Take away too much and things become stark, uncomfortable, more of a struggle to succeed than a pleasure to peruse.

Leave too much and life is cluttered, messy, cumbersome.

Most of these decisions and feelings depend on the person.  Some people are happy in a junk yard as long as there are infinite possibilities for discovery.  Others are overwhelmed by more than a Zen garden.

I fall somewhere in between and today is the big test.  What will be the final things I give, or throw, away as I move into my new apartment?