Tolerate the intolerable?

I am heartened by the response to Indiana's new law and amazed that they find it surprising that many of us will not tolerate their discriminatory and prejudicial acts, no matter how well hidden they think they are.

How can people believe that as long as they claim to do something in the name of Christianity, or religion, or God, that makes it okay?  God has been so misrepresented, misquoted and misused that that He is probably almost apoplectic by now.

If these people have their way, today we don't have to serve gay people, or naughty people, or maybe the unchosen among us and some day we won't have to serve fat people, or short people, or people with hazel eyes. These are a collective of  horrible people trying to make the rest of us as intolerable as they are.

Squirrel applies for duck feeding position

Being gone overnight, I was a little concerned that the two ducks and squirrel I have been feeding would feel neglected.

I began feeding them when I discovered the squirrel had nibbled his way into the plastic container I bought to store birdseed.  He trashed the deck with bits of blue plastic and sunflower seed hulls while the ducks sat below him waiting,  hopefully, to eat any seeds he dropped.

After buying a nice glass jar with a metal lid to store the seeds in I figured they were now in a safe waterproof place where I was the sole decider of who would eat when.  I fully intended to be generous about doling them out and even drew a squirrel on the front label along with the word, squirrel carefully printed in large block letters.

There was no need for me to worry while absent.  Evidently the squirrel can read and duly lifted the lid, helped himself to the seeds then strung another couple of jaw fulls out to the ducks, if the deck is any indication.

I came home and swept seeds of every shape and size off the deck furniture and floor before replacing the lid on the jar.

Confusing facades

We all wear facades of some sort.

The beleaguered divorced mother of two, the successful businessman, the carefree bachelor, the poor laborer, most people use their cover to hide more than I ever thought.

It's only after getting to know them that I begin to see the real person, the one who could not pay bills on time even if they made a million dollars, the one who could not commit no matter what, the quirks and traits of those we make excuses for until . . .

It becomes obvious that it is not only the situation that makes the person, but the person who often creates the situation.  Not always, but often enough.

When pleas for help are just part of the facade, I am baffled.

Life's learning curve

This morning I set out to walk, very slowly, because my foot and my toe were both aching and tender.  Both were broken in my distant past.  It was cold. I wore my parka, a very warm woolen hat, gloves, scarf and hood latched securely over all. 

As I walked, I noticed that my aches seemed to lessen over time, a pretty long time, but still they were better.  Then, in the golden glow of a beautiful but very cold day I began to step outside my body and set my mind free.

I wondered if we are all the same?  If the learning curve is just lower and longer for most of us?  We have to learn the same lessons, but each in his or her own way.

The earth worm is satisfied to live in the darkness of the earth, fearing the light because it could dry him out in the wrong places.  The toad sits in the shade knowing that eventually food will fly by and all he needs to do is stick out his tongue and lap it up.  But the unicorn has learned to fly free, to escape the bounds of earth and even reality.

Maybe unicorns started out as earthworms, but were willing to go the extra mile to find the right conditions, the place and food and exercise that allowed him to morph into his best self and maybe we can all do that given enough time.

The question is:  how much time will it take?  More to the point, how long will it take me to learn that what I eat, how I move, how much I sleep, how much I read and study and how present I am, all change who I am?

It finds you

I've been thinking a lot lately . . . about passion and life and love and how they all come together . . . or don't.  About which one I would choose if I had to . . . which I won't . . . because I can't. 

A friend asked me what my passion is, what is the one thing I could not live without, what do I need to be alive when all else is gone?  We finally decided it was writing, because I can write my life when I am overwhelmed by living it; celebrate it when I am overwhelmed by loving it; create it when it seems to be deserting me.

I have asked myself what life is.  Is it the need to biologically recreate myself to prolong the species, or the time I spend between my first and last breath, or the quality of the moments that define my bliss?

And love?  What is love, really?  I have had many loves in my life, but I think bestest has taught me the most about what it is at its best.  Bestest is so huge . . . not physically.  Physically bestest would fit into the clothes of a large boy.  It is the rest of him that is so enormous.  That other part of him, the part that laughs and cries, reaches out, thirsts and grows, knows love like no other person I have ever met. He epitomizes love with its endless-ness. 

Now I know that in some strange way, love can only be given.  It finds you and gives itself to you according to its depth and understanding . . . and that is no small thing.

Plain ole class

My waning interest in radio and regular television is something that I guess I should applaud, but yesterday as I drove to my sister's house an hour away I realized it kind of makes me sad.

I almost always listen to the radio when I am alone in the car.  I love FM radio, but where I used to hear programs about all sorts of diverse subjects now I mostly just hear the same news hashed and rehashed over and over and over. 

News is important, but it is not necessary to beat it to death and dissect it a million times over. There is usually very little most of us can do to change that news in the moment and this kind of coverage tends to blow things out of proportion -- or make us numb to its real importance.

I assume it is the safe topic and therefore maybe the cheapest one to choose, but I remember when talk radio was filled with diversity.

There must be intelligent conversation that includes ideas about literature, or music, or art, or science, or anything other than political breast beating and calls allowing people to blow off their anger and frustration.

Life is about so much more than the extreme, the insane, and the crazy.

In a world that values money and power and histrionics more and more, we are losing track of all the things that used to be called culture, or classical, or just plain intriguing.

That is a shift in thinking that moves us closer to being simple reactors and when we move too far, the thinking stops. 

Think about that.

In a perfect world

When you itch I scratch.

When you're hungry I eat.

When you sleep I dream.

But when you cry I want to be with you so I can hold you and hug you and make the tears go away.

When you smell something delicious my nose wiggles.

When you throw the ball I want to chase it.

When you walk I walk with you.

But when you are happy my tail wags so hard I nearly fall over with joy!

Treasure hunt

He didn't have a treasure map, but he had instincts and an incredible amount of courage and curiosity, and he knew that rumors of a treasure in this area were rampant.

The natives were definitely different. Covered in feathers and speaking a language unfamiliar to him, they were intrigued by his presence.

A very tenacious and skillful climber, he had to chew his way past a very tough exterior before landing in the pot of gold at the center, eight pounds of fresh seeds just there for the taking.  The natives followed him as far as they could and then squatted below, waiting patiently.

And that was how I first saw them, one soaking wet squirrel, tail dripping with rain water, who had chewed his way into my plastic container, squatting in bird seed, while two mallard ducks sat on my patio floor below him, eating whatever he happened to drop -- or perhaps he was intentionally sharing.

Stuffies

Stuffies!

Bits of cloth filled with something soft -- stuffed animals!

Commonly played with by young children who treat them like the real members of families that they are.

If you can treat a stuffie with kindness and consideration -- give it the respect and love all people deserve -- you are probably a very good person.

I've never seen someone who loves their stuffies be mean or rude to any other person they come in contact with.  Exasperated maybe, even annoyed, but never truly mean.

The world of stuffies is a magical place inhabited by some of the best creatures that do not exist in the eyes of the mean and rude.

Just keep smiling

If it's not one thing, it's another.  Life and living are relentless.

The pace seems to increase with age.

Test after test makes it impossible not to discover what I think I believe and what I really believe.

I would rather not have the tests, but with them also comes the proof that troubles can be separated from the good times by living in the moment, because in this moment life is actually okay.

The future is seldom as bad as I fear it may be, but if I ponder it now it won't matter because I will still do all the suffering as if it is.

My mantra must continue to be:  In this moment life is good.  In this moment I can smile.

Treatments and cures and other unknowns

How many times have I imagined some horrible disease is rearing its ugly head in my body?

More than I can even remember!

So it would seem likely that when I do it again, I am once more on that imaginary path to unnecessary suffering and anguish . . .

But . . . what if this time it is real?

That is always the curse of those with big imaginations.

The next thing that worries me is the fear that imagining something can bring it, or something worse, into being.  I know for sure that stress is bad for me and I have seen people supposedly cured by what can be no more than the power of positive suggestion, or great belief.  I do believe we have the ability to heal ourselves of some things, but the belief has to be real.

Any kind of doubt denies the full power of whatever it is to work.

Belief, fear and doubt -- more powerful than some of our most popular treatments.

Life in the easy lane

Some diets are harder to follow than others, but when nature responds with throbbing toes, or aching joints, the lessons become easier to remember.

Unfortunately aching joints, especially feet, make exercising so unpleasant that even knowing it is good for me is often not enough.

And when the very things that are supposed to be so good for you are the same things I am not supposed to eat then meals become complicated.

Easy to prepare processed food, things that come in boxes, or jars, or cans are almost universally too salty for my blood pressure, so those are out for me too.

Fortunately I don't seem to need a lot of variety so I end up eating the same things over and over and over.  I do love variety though.

When Bestest is around we eat out at the most delightful places.  We also often walk miles, but the joy of companionship and the food at the end of the walk make that both healthy and bearable.

At the end of the day I realize that an affluent life may make it easy to live an unhealthy life style and it is up to me to try and do the right things for my own good.

It's about time

There is a time and a place for almost anything, but the wise person knows the difference between these times.

There is a time to play and a time to work and even if work is enjoyable it deserves the attention to detail in dress and demeanor and concentration I might not give to play.

But play is important too!  When it's time to play, it too, deserves the energy and release of joy dedicated to very special moments. 

I think the biggest difference between work and play is that play might come more easily and naturally than the other, unless you are fortunate enough to be working at what you love.

Most of my life my work was just that -- something I loved.  What a blessing that was.

Lately I have learned to play with absolute abandon and that is something else altogether.

The freedom to be who I am without the fear that I will disgrace myself in some unimaginable way has only come with time . . .

Some things are worth waiting for.

Paradoxes

It seems strange to love someone and miss them and yet still want them to be exactly where they are.

That is one of the paradoxes of love.

Love isn't measured by the pound.  It can't be bought, or divided, or split into equal parts.  It isn't just one thing -- except this grand open ended word that is used and misused so many times a day in so many different ways.

The deeper love is the richer it is and the richer it is, the more incomprehensible it becomes.

"I love you to the moon and back." "You mean the world to me."  "I'd give my right arm for you." 

Love is bigger than any of those finite things.  It isn't time, or space.  It isn't depth or breadth.  It isn't only feelings, or only actions, or any particular combination of things.

Love is a hybrid feeling unhampered by anything except me.

My ability to extend the idea of me beyond all other feelings, all other obstacles, all other needs and want the very best for a beloved makes it possible to love beyond reason, or need, or boundaries of any sort.

So those I love can live on the other side of the world, or with anyone else, or even not live, and I can bear the missing of them knowing they are happy and where they should be -- and knowing that my love for them is just as strong and real as it is when they are in my arms, because love is infinite.

Love is infinite in every way and every direction -- even those I do not understand.

It is the most unselfish selfishness I know.

Good people

Good people are often under estimated.

They aren't push overs, because push overs get talked into not good things sometimes. 

They aren't do-gooders, because do-gooders are often just people pleasers.

Good people are the ones who do the hard things, the right things, the kind things and the things others don't have the guts, or stamina, or will power to do.

You don't always find them up front and in charge, but when you do things are generally going very well.

You don't hear them singing their own praises, or using others' shortcomings to build themselves up.

In fact, they may be so busy building you up you don't realize who they are.

That's how it is with a really good person.

Incidentals

Sometimes I get so upset about how I look to people, what my clothes are like, how my hair looks, what people will think about me . . .

That is truly giving short shrift to the people I really love and respect, because those are not the things I remember about them -- and to be honest, not even the things I really see when I look at them.

I see the way they treat other people, their eagerness to please and help and be there for those they know and those who simply cross their paths.  I see the love they have for me reflected in their eyes and actions and in their ability to understand and know what is important to me.

I see the eagerness and curiosity that surrounds everything they do, the joy that pervades their lives, the way they handle adversity.

We are all each others' teachers and that extends my world and wisdom way beyond that tiny space surrounding me.

In truth, the real people in my world will always be here for me even when distance or death separates us, because I carry them in my heart and soul.  They are a very real part of me, ready to provide the same comfort and counsel they have always given me.

The important thing in life, the greatest gift we give each other is the life we live -- it is proof of who we are at our deepest core and is there to inspire and comfort and help give direction to all those who touch us.

Everything else is only incidental.

The night before Bestest

Twas the night before Bestest
And all through the apartment
The cleaning supplies were all working
My mop even twerking.
The swifter was fluffy, the sponge was all suds
And the washer was spiffing up all of my duds.
When right on my phone these texts did appear
"Come open the door because:
I am here!"
And there on my doorstep in bright living color
Stood Bestest himself a cute little feller.
He was grinning and hungry
And I gave him a hug
Then took him to the brewery to buy him a jug
A growler from Normal, a pizza and beer
And a long conversation with someone quite dear.

The gift of not giving

Can you be too kind?

Absolutely!

Creating an atmosphere that fosters dependence is not kindness.

It's the old adage that talks about giving a man a fish and he'll eat for a day, but teach him to fish and he will feed himself from then on.

Every creature needs to learn how to walk and work and find his own way. It is unkind to make them rely on you when they could be free.

It is a gift to receive and a gift to give.  When a life becomes lopsided and only gives, or only receives everyone pays a terrible price in the end.

Independence is a gift that allows each of us to find our own happiness and real happiness must be found to be owned.

A Bestest

Imagine someone who is so in tune with you, so safe, so understanding, that you can tell them anything and rest assured that all is well and all is well and all is really well.

The sole basis of your relationship is love.

There is no jealousy, or need to compete. Neither of you needs to own, or control the other in any way.

Both of you want the other to be successful and happy. Neither one of you is dependent upon the other to be whole.

You are willing to go out of your way to make sure this happens and know the other feels the same way.

This, my friends, is a Bestest, one of the greatest gifts anyone could have.

Today

Anyone who knows me knows how much I love music, especially live music and even more especially when it's played for me!

When my children were young I even loved listening to them practice.  Now they are older I adore nothing more than having them perform for me.  A song on my birthday is the most treasured gift.

On those rare occasions when I get to go visit friends and they play or sing for me I am ecstatic.

Today I was actually kind of experiencing the winter doldrums when bestest sent me a new recording of him singing, accompanied by his guitar!

It melted my heart and made this day a wonderful one.

I've got no strings

Some of us fly through life seemingly bent on having a wonderful time.  Others careen through, bouncing off wall after wall, hitting some head on.

I have to wonder what causes these anomalies?  Obviously a good majority of people simply walk forward, sometimes planning, other times taking their chances, but generally being fairly conservative.

It could be the luck of the draw, but as one of four children born to relatively conservative parents I am not so sure.  Our parents often told us stories, or voiced wishful thoughts about what life could be like, or was like for the rare genius, or rascal.  There was always a rash behavior of some sort followed by a downfall that turned out to be a windfall. These were only stories, completely unlike either parent.

Unfortunately there was never much discussion about how or why these stories played out in the end and that I believe is the secret ingredient to choosing life styles. (Or perhaps simply falling into them.)

My youngest brother was sort of adopted by our next door neighbors and when that happened he acquired a "father figure" who imparted many practical bits of wisdom not based on vague creativity or luck.  Consequently he grew up to be very methodical and very hard working.  He knew the best way to get from A to B was to develop a plan and follow it and he did just that.

Others rushed pell mell helter skelter into life looking for the drama, the romance, the excitement and found it to be much like running across a plowed cornfield barefoot.  Run one way and get into a furrow and life moved right along, sometimes confining, not too exciting, but safe.  Run across the tops of the farrows and life was a bumpy, sometimes exciting, but mostly harrowing experience. Life had definite ups and downs.

And one married a puppet master who pulled enough strings that it didn't matter what else happened.  

So I suppose I believe that life is what you choose to make it.  You just need to remember that there is a choice.

Human beings

The clashes between cultures is understandable simply because with all the barriers of language and custom -- they are un-understandable.

Yet, if I were able to get past the unfamiliar words, the unique clothing, the rituals and steps of unfamiliar people I would usually find the end is not so unfamiliar as I might have thought.

For all our differences, we the people are mostly disguised versions of the same character.

We love our mothers, our families, our town and our country.

We want to be able to earn a living, to hold our head up with pride, and to see that our children and loved ones are safe.

We are human beings first and anyone who does not believe that . . .

Is wrong.

Age

The beauty of age is the knowledge gleaned along the way.

In the beginning I was surrounded by people, by family, those who loved me and could care for me, but through the years we became separated by circumstances, miles, even death.

Time is not kind to people.

I grow older, I move, I bury those near and dear.

But a part of me remembers, relives, retains all that went before.

The past is never too far from where I am and so I reap the benefits of my experiences, memories, even my mistakes, and there are lots of them by my age.

I don't have a time machine.  I can't be twenty again, or eight, or even fifty, but I can resurrect the parts of me that were and they stand behind me wherever I go.

Normal

Describe the perfect human being, or what do I look for in a good human being?

There have been lots of wrong assumptions during the last century that resulted in all sorts of horrible things being done to people who were simply not "the norm."   I think that what scares a lot of people now is that we will find that "the norm" is much broader than they caret to believe.

This idea of sexual and stereotypical categorization is pretty primitive right now.  It places us embarrassingly close to what we know about animals.  Breeding is much less complicated than raising well adjusted people.

If we are as highly evolved as we think we are it might be time to rethink how we describe people. And then maybe our young people would not be so confused by the difference between being beautiful and being sexy.

One look at social media and most television talk shows seem to indicate that there is a whole generation, or maybe many generations who equate desirable with simple body parts, but anyone married for any length of time can tell you there is a whole lot more to a wonderful life than lushness.

Just saying . . .

Inherent guilt

Guilt is such an integral part of my being that even when I am doing everything right I have an impending feeling of doom.

If all else fails I find myself wondering when the next shoe will drop.  What have I missed?  Where is the fatal flaw? 

How can anything that seems so good really be happening?

Of course guilt is something that needs to be expunged.  Sometimes good things do happen . . . in spite of everything else going on, in spite of it feeling too good to be true, in spite of a history of things going awry . . .

Life can be very good!

The question is:

Can genius be lost?  I think there are a lot of theories about why some people, who seem to be very good at what they do, don't succeed.

The teacher in "Whiplash" felt it had to be beaten down and held to the fire, annealed so to speak.  Others feel it must be nourished and coddled, encouraged at any cost.  I'm sure there are examples of either one of these to prove it true.

But I wonder if the truth is simply that genius is. 

After all, a meadow lark will grow up to be a meadow lark and a kangaroo will grow up to be a kangaroo no matter what. Whether or not it is the best lark or roo is a matter of opinion, so whose opinion counts?

The one who makes the most money off of its talent?  The one whose heart melts when it appears? Or the creature itself when it finds a fulfilling and joyous existence doing what it loves?

Some people may feel that all of these are necessary in order to call it real genius, or "the best!"

I don't.