Happy New Year!

New Year's Eve.

Sixteen years after a divorce that I though marked the end of my life.

Little did I know that it was just the beginning.

It takes a long time to make big changes and when those changes come as you approach the half century mark,  it sometimes takes years -- sixteen years to be exact.

I cannot imagine how my life might have gone had I figured things out earlier, but it truly is better to be late than never to do something at all.

I find such peace in my life now.  Such joy in the most mundane things. Such contentment in simply being me.

I like myself, maybe for the first time ever, and that is certainly a milestone along the road to both healing and growth.

How many New Year's were met with me writing about my misery?  This year I write about my satisfaction, my love of life, my eagerness to see what else the universe has in store for me. And while I don't expect it to all be good, I do expect to be able to make it through . . .

with a little help from my friends.

Miracles

I spent the first thirty years of my life playing and growing up.

I spent the next thirty years thinking I was all grown up and knew what I was doing.

I am now in what may be the last thirty years.  I still love to play.  I'm still growing and I realize these things will never end -- if I am lucky.

As long as I am true to myself, the mystery is free to carry me along through one miraculous moment after another.

I don't need to share each of these moments.  They may not be miracles to you, but that's okay. No one needs to define another's miracles. Life happens both inside and out and when the balance is right, the world is a better place than most of us could ever have imagined by reading someone else's book, or watching someone else's movies.

Life is very personal and customized for every single soul-- it IS a miracle.

The old gray (muffled) goose

I think I walked through the twilight zone today.

Oh, it looked like any old walk.  It felt that way too!

Cold and clear with those cumulus clouds floating overhead like giant sky whales.  It was relatively bright and sunny for late December.

I stopped by the office to pay my rent then took the outer path around the complex rather than disturb the Geese's sanctuary.  Yes, there are geese here again -- huge flocks of them honking and floating and leaving little piles of goose grease on the inner sidewalks.

The universe decided to reward me for exercising and my youngest son called me on his lunch break.  I couldn't answer my phone with my gloves on and I couldn't get them off with my phone in my left hand.  I actually bit my index finger trying to remove them in time to talk to him. Then I had to put the phone up inside of my hood to talk.

I huffed and I puffed and I walked around those buildings -- all the while talking to my son who was a bit concerned but understood what I was doing. At some point I was getting hot and sweaty, so I pulled off my scarf and put my arm through it so I could remove the hood and unzip my coat. 

It wasn't until I was off the phone and back in my apartment that I realized my scarf was gone!  Losing it is like losing an wooly innertube --  very difficult.  I can't imagine that I didn't notice I dropped it since it was encircling my arm or my neck the entire time.

Well, except when it wasn't.  I went back to find it and it was gone. 

In the meantime I bought a really nice new one on sale. Tomorrow I wouldn't be surprised to see some old gander wearing my scarf as he swims about in the center of the pond.

Minds and imaginations

Being the highest predator on the list is not the blessing it may appear to be. Our physical attributes and imagination allow us to do things many other creatures cannot.

That should be a blessing, but I think it is a mixed one.

The same minds and imaginations that dream up cures for diseases, machines that work for us, and art to inspire us, also conjure up other less savory things.

We are not content to be warm, fed, safe, and productive. We covet being the "best," the "biggest," "richest," "most powerful" and we come up with ways to make that happen. 

But the worst part of being human is our fear.  These minds that imagine so many good things also dream up tales of terror about things we know little or nothing about. We fear people and ideas that are new, or different. We are terrified to take the time to learn about them for fear that they will get us first. And so it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy.

We fear those whose skin is different, whose religions are different, whose dress is different.  We fear those who speak another language, or whose habits don't match our own. Our fears create an aura of being "not the same" when our similarities outnumber our differences 100:1.

Fear is at the root of almost all evil. People fear the police and police fear the people. The rich fear the poor and the poor fear the rich.  Diversity becomes a curse instead of an opportunity and we walk around with what appear to be chips on our shoulders when it is the uncertainty inside us that keeps us off balance.

Here we are in Eden struggling to get out.

Going home

The faithful have come and gone along with Santa and his sleigh full of miraculous gifts.  Angels singing sweetly through the night have been replaced with people lining up to return gifts.  And pennies in old men's hats have been replaced by gift cards coming out of stockings.

It's still Christmas in theory but the mad rush to hoard presents has eased off.

And now there is time to savor the simpler joys of a season so commercialized that they have become almost meaningless to the newest generation of children.

The darkest evening of the year was lit with a million lights strung on trees and roofs, fences and windows. . .and tonight there was finally time to go look at them.

I took all of the Christmas songs Bestest recorded for me and hooked them up to the speakers in the car.  Then we drove down memory lane from one neighborhood to another until we had visited all of our old houses.

It was not a silent night, but it was one of reverence, awe, and gratitude, for all the myths of our own being.  Tonight we truly took the long road home.

A post Christmas musing

I was walking in the park today and ran across a herd of wooden reindeer foraging on a man made cliff.  An empty sleigh sat nearby and I could only wonder if this was where Santa Claus ended his nightly rounds this year -- and if so -- where did he go?

At least he took the time to unharness the deer.  They were frozen in various states and small clumps, but no man in a red velvet suit was anywhere in sight.

I imagined him peering out one of the windows of the pavilion, but if he was, I didn't see him.  I thought perhaps he was sleeping in among the leftover wrappings under the big tree, but there were no unusual lumps that I could see through the window.

I suppose he might have just up and left them while hitching a ride on a shooting star back to the north pole.  That seems kind of irresponsible, but then this is a man who spends most of his time cavorting with little elves.  Anything is possible.

I might have given it more thought, but I finally reached the end of my walk and I eagerly jumped into my car to rest and breathe.  Come to think of it if Santa was anywhere near as tired after his night's work as I am after my half hour walk, I can understand dropping everything when he was done.

Now if I could just figure out where he went, or how he got there . . .

This little light of mine

For all this talk about heaven, or reincarnation, or living in more than one dimension, my experience over the last sixty years, or so, seems to indicate that this one life here is pretty substantial.

Early in my life I wanted drama and excitement, but that was because I had no idea what life with, or even without, those things could be.

Now I prefer peace.

And I always find it -- sometimes in weeks, sometimes only in very small moments, but it is always here because I carry it inside me.

I didn't always understand this.  I grew up thinking people were victims of circumstance, martyrs to a situation, here to travel the dark and weary road hoping for the occasional glimpse of sunshine.

Now I understand that the light is also inside of me.  I need to turn it on and use it to my advantage, trusting that I am a good enough person so that my choices will also be in the best interests of those around me.

Finding peace or joy in life is not hedonistic. It is smart.  It is what is supposed to happen.  It is what I am here to teach those who come after me.  The darkness is the lie, the facade.  It blinds me to all the beauty in between the shadows.

And there is more than I ever imagined.

Small and sweet

Away in a manger, Oh holy night, silent night. . . traditional Christmas songs . . . carols . . . snippets of Christmases long long ago!

Tiny Tim eating a roast goose with his family, the little drummer boy making up his own song, jolly old St. Nicholas listening to a child's list for his friends . . . the joy of giving!

I'll have a blue Christmas without you, I'll be home for Christmas, dashing through the snow. . . being with those we love!

These are a few of my favorite things!

I asked my two youngest grandchildren what they wanted for Christmas.  The four year old pirouetted around the room, "A nutcracker of my very own!" The three year old was a little more pragmatic, "A space ship plane."

What was their biggest concern?  Not some tattle-tale elf, or not so jolly old elf snooping at the window with a checklist of good and bad boys and girls. They were feeling a bit contrite because they ate all the homemade cookies and Santa was going to get store bought ones.

My Christmas is perfect this year.  I spent time with Bestest making cookies, wrapping presents, singing carols.  I skyped with my youngest grandchildren as their daddy played Christmas music on the piano. We blew kisses and called out "Merry Christmas, I love you!" after they sang for me and went off to begin their own celebration. Tomorrow my daughter and granddaughters will come for Christmas dinner and we'll open presents under my tiny little tree.

It is Christmas in the smallest but sweetest way I can imagine.

Seek and find

Sometimes the best advice is hidden in the simplest things.

Remember the song, Row, row, row, your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream?

I think the secret here is in the gentle part. 

Float through life gently, be good to myself and others, try to be positive and not muddy the waters.

It's okay to make waves, just do it thoughtfully and with reason.

Then when life becomes the dream be grateful, accept it with grace and just enjoy it.

There will always be highs and lows, but if I roll with them and don't become too much of a drama queen, it will all be okay, because . . .

Life really is a dream.

Beautiful Life

I may not be writing a thot for the next few days.

I write because I need to, but lately my needs have been so well met, I sometimes find it difficult to write!

When life overflows into every part of my being I feel blessed beyond expression. There is nothing I can think of, or do that can come close to expressing the way I feel. Everything pales beside living.

That is a beautiful life.

Lucky or not

Why do some people seem to have all the luck and others attract problems like iron filings to a magnet?

Part of it really is luck, of course, but not all of it.

Life is a series of decisions and way back when we make our first decision, our path in life begins to take shape.

It's not fair, because many of our first decisions are almost out of our control.  "Spoiled" children have the odds stacked against them, as do abused children, or children born in third world countries, or children whose parents make lots of bad decisions.

Eventually, though, we escape our childhood and then it is up to each individual to decide which way to head.  Romantic notions are highly over-rated.  Choosing many things requires plain old cold logic.

Good health is a great harbinger of good luck.  That means not smoking, or over eating and finding a way to keep moving.  Financial comfort requires a bit of thinking too.  Willy nilly giving up the money it takes to have peace of mind may look heroic, or kind hearted, but it can also cause stress -- lots of stress.  And finding a way to deal with stress is paramount, it erodes bodies like wind does rocks.

The luckiest people are the best decision makers.

Loving life to the fullest

Sometimes I find so much vicarious joy in the things my friends are doing that I feel like I am doing it too!

I think that's one of the reasons I share so much on Facebook.  I want my friends to do the same thing when I am loving life to the fullest.

We can give gifts and stories and possibilities, but we can't really give feelings.  Those have to be felt by the person they belong to.

If you can find happiness in another's joy, you are among the richest on earth.

Questions

Geese flying over my apartment are not unusual, but this morning I was awakened by honking and looked up to see them flying south.  That is unusual.

I didn't think too much more about it until I walked later today.

Coming up on the goose pond I felt a sort of let down.  Something was not right.  The whole area looked bleak and weathered. The few geese, about twenty, that lay between me and the sidewalk around the pond didn't panic and run like they usually did.

And that was when I noticed it.

There were still a lot of ducks on the water and sitting in the grass around it, but all the rest of the geese were gone.

Sometime since yesterday and today there had been a mass migration!  Maybe I saw the tail of it when I woke up?

I wondered what precipitates such a huge move?  How do geese decide when it is time to leave?

We've already had snow and ice this year.  We've even had the pond freeze right up to the middle, but they stayed.  Now they were gone.

I wonder how many different flocks were here?  I wonder a lot of things, like when will they return?

And if the ones still here will spend the winter?

Visitors

I think I am making progress. 

Today I walked, like I have done every day now for two weeks, and I found myself thinking of Christmas songs instead of just focusing on getting through it.

In fact, I noticed the Canadian geese, the Mallard ducks and two other kinds of ducks who must have dropped in for a visit.  There was only one pair each of the new ones, but probably hundreds of all the others.

Our pond seems to be a very popular place for water fowl.

Maybe because very few humans come there in person.  They look out their windows.  They glance at it from afar when they drive around the complex. But they just don't seem to want to get out and walk through.

I'm sure that's good for the ducks and geese.  When I walk around it, on the sidewalk, they waddle, walk, fly and stumble down onto the ice and water no matter how quiet or careful I am.  I'd feel guiltier except that if it weren't for people like me there would be no pond here.

And it could be worse for them.  I could walk around actually singing those Christmas Carols rambling through my head.

Lions and tigers

Nature movies are one of those anomalies that I enjoy.

I love to watch the Tasmanian devil in its natural habitat.  I find it endlessly fascinating to watch lions in the wild.  I think kangaroos are the most amazing mothers in the world.

The language is clean, the facial expressions adorable, the actions honest and above board.

The music is generally geared to snag the emotions of a three year old and the narrator has one of those Disney voices that lead me to believe he is a certified animal speak interpreter.

And this is where the anomaly begins.  I noticed it when my almost three year old grandson was watching a documentary about dinosaurs and it shows cute little allosauruses running away from predators -- except for the ones that get caught and eaten.  It down played that last part, but my grandson didn't miss it.  As it happened he sat straight up on the couch and said, "It caught that one!" A mixture of awe and horror in his little voice.

Don't get me wrong.  There was no blood, no gnashing of teeth, no squeals of pain, just a meat eating dinosaur catching his dinner among a score of little ones racing for their lives. And the narrator, like all good nature narrators, kept the same upbeat, cute little tone in his voice as he mentioned it and went on.

Like nature herself, he made it seem simply natural and normal, which it is -- but still pretty hair raising when you have an imagination like me and my grandson who fill in all those unspoken details.

Sweet little nature movies, horror shows for the younger set.

Feeling grinchy

I think I am about to join the ranks of grouchy old people.

I have decided:

I do not fill out the same form twice.

I do not talk to recordings.

I do not stand in long lines when there are registers without cashiers.

I would rather go without than continue to promote such rude, irresponsible, and greed driven behaviors.

So there!

When all else fails

People used to go to the old medicine woman at the edge of the woods, give her a chicken and she would give them something for whatever ailed them.  They did the same with shamans, witch doctors, and old Doc Martin.

Sometimes it worked.  Sometimes it didn't.  What none of them realized was that given enough time, or if they believed, an awful lot of these cures could have occurred if they had run around the house three times and shouted, "Abracadabra!"

Our bodies are designed to heal themselves. And when that doesn't happen, making a change in life styles can bring about near miraculous cures.

I know people who believe depression is an integral part of life.  People who believe they cannot avoid the high blood pressure because it runs in their families. People who feel hopeless because the pills don't work for them. They are willing to change pills, change doctors, change almost everything -- except their lifestyles.

I know because it is hard for me to change my lifestyle. Eating the food I am accustomed to, intermingling with the people I am accustomed to, doing the things I am accustomed to, are difficult enough when I feel good, but when I feel bad?  It's almost impossible to deny myself the comfort of known things over unknown ones.

Yet, it has been proved to me time after time that life can be immeasurably better when I make certain changes.

I can't take a pill to erase great aunt Martha, or make an ice cream sundaes fifty calories. I can't swallow anything that will exercise for me, or bring more money into the house, but I can change the way I allot my time with all of the above!

Then when all else fails, I try the pills.

Best friends

What are best friends for?

That question is usually rhetorical.  People use it to validate what they just said, or did, but this morning, during a conversation with my best friend, the reality of it flittered through my mind like a butterfly on a warm spring day.

Best friends are our last bastion of comfort once we grow up.  As children most of us had a parent who was a natural sounding board, someone who listened intently and tried to give us a a rational, honest opinion, suggest healthy and logical directives, and do it all from a warm, safe and loving place. No one else will ever have our backs like that again -- unless we have a best friend.

A best friend is more than a "yes man."  He is truth spoken as kindly as possible and clearly as necessary. He has no underhanded agenda.  He is there because he loves me and wants me to be happy.  He has no need to be jealous, or envious, or compete on any level.

A best friend has no shelf life or due date when things will change because it is a relationship that isn't dependent on worldly worries.

So . . . what are best friends for?

To be a teddy bear with a voice . . .

Food counts

I woke up feeling terrible this morning.

My joints ached. My fingers and toes were puffy.  My stomach was upset.

My first thought was flu, but it wasn't that kind of feeling bad.

Lately I have felt better than I have in years. 

Then I realized that last night, after over two weeks of healthy eating, I ate a fast food sandwich on a white Kaiser roll, had a few bites of my daughter's chili cheese fries and topped it off with a brownie concrete.

Inflammation and system upset seem like a reasonable response to that.  I began feeling more normal late this afternoon, which might be expected as those poisons pass through my system.

Talk about validation! 

Be picky

Why do I watch television? (I would say we, but I suppose everyone has their own reasons for doing everything, even something as passive as turning on the TV.)

I like the company -- sometimes.  I don't want histrionics, or contrived plots most of the time. I don't want to be bombarded with other peoples problems, or stupidity. Consequently, I often turn on the weather channel, or HGTV (Or used to, it is also becoming a bit melodramatic for my tastes lately.) And if I want to be deeply touched I am particular about how that happens -- I pick my movies and events carefully.

News programs are an iffy proposition.  If it's just your run of the mill, repetitive news stories repeated over and over, approached from every angle, beat to death until I am numb to the atrocities of human kind -- I only watch it when I feel a need to rise up in ire, or am angry about something. Otherwise I get the important news on PBS in the car.

People seem to think that talking about something is the same thing as doing something and it can be, but it can also be like almost everything else in our society -- drug companies are creating customers, doctors, dentists, hospitals, are creating customers, charity events, and television companies are all creating customers.  The bottom line is often about money -- not information, or really even quality care or entertainment.

Television is running itself out of business with poor programming now that we have other resources for finding those things that truly appeal to us. And maybe that is a good thing.  Maybe it has run its course with the big cable companies and big networks giving us what makes them the most money for the cheapest price.

Studies show that depression is linked to television watching and so are attention spans in children, so having to actively pick and choose each item viewed might have other benefits besides just more apt programs. In the interim of changing shows, people might discover themselves.

I often find you much more interesting than the evening's scheduled programs.

A mind of its own

My brain has a mind of its own.  Well, duh, you say, what else is new?

Last summer when I attempted to walk here I had to be alert and on my toes at all times.  The lawnmower man, the one who whipped through here at forty miles an hour spewing grass like a corn reaper gone mad, nearly ran me down twice.

It's much less eventful in the winter, especially if I wear a hooded jacket. Turn to the right and what do I see?  The inside of my black and white herringbone coat!  Same goes for the left.

It's eyes straight ahead and after a while the stark flat land with a man made lake ceases to be quite the wonder it was when things were green -- and warm, did I mention warm?  It's freezing out there!

After a while my brain, like a sheep dog desperate for something to do, takes on a life of its own. I find myself chanting (only in my head, thank goodness), "Miss that turd, miss that turd, miss that turd. . . "

Instead of trying to avoid Blinky, Pinky, and Clyde, I am avoiding little brown barrels. It's a combination of PacMan and Donkey Kong.  There is no beeping, but there is honking and occasionally there is a great flutter of wings. And my job?

Just keep going, just keep going . . .

Talk to the animals

Have you ever wondered how we know we are the most intelligent species?

I mean, sure, we can measure brains, but exactly what are we measuring them for?  We can only measure them for things we know about.

We can build machines.  We can build houses.  We can control lots of things, or think we can, with our machinery and chicanery.

We can catch other creatures and put them in zoos or force them to do tricks for us, or work for us.

We can do so many things that are important to us and we assume other intelligent life forms would do the same if they could.

But what if those things are not important to other species?  What if they don't need cell phones to communicate across long distances?  What if they don't want to isolate themselves inside homes that destroy the earth's resources to build?  What if they don't need to own things to find fulfillment and meaning in their lives?

We only guess at what they want and need.  Because -- we have not learned their language.  We cannot sit down and have a conversation with them.  We can't even understand their most basic commands like stay, or come.

Just because they are different does not mean they are inferior.

Ice skating geese

They know that I approach and there is a ripple through the crowd
A shifting, an awareness, a gentle nudge towards the pond
Honking, shuffling, flying forward, one great surge,
Time to move, time to go, time to make decisions.

Safety waits on slippery rectangles of frozen water
Synchronized minds, robotic feet, marching towards the ice
Waddling, limping, flying up, a mass evacuation
Follow the crowd, follow the one before you, go, go, go!

Cleared for landing, they approach the icy black water
Feet skidding, wings dragging, voices loud in protest
Skating, slipping, sliding, then into the waves
And they are safe -- from me.

I watch these ice skating geese both sorry
And glad to have been a part of it all.

Less miserable

I grew up active and playing.  Then . . . I really grew up and learned I was supposed to go for the burn!  Push harder!  Don't stop till you drop!  The one who gets to heaven with the most stuff wins.  The magic dream is to have a mortgage I can't quite afford, cars that aren't paid off, more clothes than I could possibly wear in a year, a subscription to add two pairs of shoes to my wardrobe every month, the most modern update of every electronic device imaginable and enough medical tests to kill an elephant in the hope that life will be eternal.

It made me ashamed to live in an apartment with one rather small closet, a thirteen year old car, one computer, a phone, a camera and three pairs of shoes.

Walking twenty minutes a day seemed shameful because it wasn't at a gym on a two thousand dollar treadmill and I only ache a bit when I do it -- not burn.

I volunteer because I find full time jobs suffocating and I can afford to -- if I am willing to live within my means.

I cannot buy my children and grandchildren car loads of presents, but I do spend a considerable amount of time picking out what I can give them. 

I don't buy many souvenirs, but I take tons of pictures.

And today, as I walked around the goose pond looking at creatures who only own the feathers on their back and two webbed feet, it occurred to me that I like my lifestyle very much.

Finding the joy and love comes to each of us on different levels and whatever that is for me, has to be okay even if it isn't what it is for you. It only marks me as different -- not less successful, or less happy, or less anything -- except possibly less miserable.

Not intolerable

After spending a week with my son and his family I am trying to get healthy again.  I'm trying something new this year with the hope that it will "stick."

Last time I spent a year losing 90 pounds and promptly gained 100 back.

This time I am not trying to go low calorie, or all exercise.  I am simply trying to eat healthier and increase my exercise.  It should be simple, right?

It's not.

Even after a week of healthy eating I sometimes find myself drawn back towards those gooey mushy yummy things that make my bones ache, my ankles swell, and my heart work overtime.

But I'm trying.  This time with small changes that are not intolerable, so maybe they will last.

Friends treat people like people

I have to say something here.  I was trying to avoid it, but in the end I think it needs to be said.

I was driving home last winter when I came to an intersection near my apartment.  It was an area mostly inhabited by low income people, students, and people from the mission.  The light turned green and the sign above said, "right turn yield to oncoming traffic." I waited what seemed like eons and no one moved, so I went ahead and turned.  I was half way down the block when a police car zoomed up behind me, lights flashing, siren going full blast.  I pulled over.

The officer stormed up to my car and said gruffly, "You did not yield!"  I apologized profusely.  Then he asked, "Do you live near here?"  I told him I did.  "Do you have a license?"  Of course I did and I showed it to him.  He looked at it as he asked for my car registration, IF I had one. I gave it to him.  Then he said he needed proof I was insured.  I showed him my insurance card. He went back to his car where I'm sure he checked me out and found out I had a record so perfect I receive little commendations whenever my driver's license needs to be renewed and this year they told me I could just renew it through the mail unless something had changed.

He returned and said that I had better learn to follow the rules and that my insurance was almost expired so I BETTER GET IT RENEWED.  I meekly told him they have always sent me a new card  and I was sure they would this year too.

He told me I could go, but to be more careful, then he returned to his car.  I waited for him to turn the spotlight off so I could see if there were any cars coming before I pulled out, but he never did that.  I finally signaled, pulled out cautiously hoping no one would hit me and drove home.

Had I been a more volatile person, or younger, I might not have been as meek and cowed as I was.  This man was confrontative and even made me angry.

We will continue to have incidents like Ferguson as long as police officers feel they have the right to treat people this way.  I taught my children that a policeman was their friend, but this man was not my friend.  He was a man in charge of bad people he had to brow beat into submission.