The joy underneath

Life has become increasingly difficult these past few years. Once more I feel the need to divest.

Accumulating stuff seldom makes me happy beyond a certain point. The things dearest to me are those with some sort of sentimental attachment and even these things do not embody the person. It is the memories that do that.

Hours have passed this week without me even noticing. Sleep overtakes me when I least expect it and evades me when I lie down in the silence. My mind is not at peace.

Holding onto things through fear does not make me happy. Fear that some day I will want a coat like this, or shirt like that. Fear that I will not have enough money to replace things if I gain or lose weight. Fear that people will think I am poor because I wear the same clothing too often.

I do not want to keep things to impress other people. I only want to keep things that enrich my life.

Maybe if I clear away enough stuff I will rediscover the joy underneath.

Reconfigure

I am living my life.

My thoughts shape it.

My actions define it.

My perspective evaluates it.

If something is not going the way I want it too, I need to do something different.

Loner

I think the true definition of a loner is a person who has no real connections with anyone. That could be literal, or simply a feeling of being unlike, or really unattached to anyone else at a deep level.

It is possible to go through life walking next to people, learning to express the correct emotions, even interacting with others without fully understanding what those things mean.

Living like that is akin to acting in a play. The character is spelled out. Her actions are relatively clear. Her voice is predetermined. Everything about her seems perfectly normal -- except she is not a real person. Outside of that scene she does not really exist.

The loner would like to be part of something, but there is always a stumbling block, a blockade, a barrier that separates her from what she suspects reality is. Attempts to convince herself otherwise are mostly counter productive.

It is like living inside the shell of a person. Observing her from within. A lab rat watching its own reflection, missing the sensory perceptions that occur to real, non-loner types.

It is possible to live with only one long tether connecting reality to supposition. Or, perhaps, one long tether connecting to reality makes living possible.

Tradition

Traditions have to start somewhere.

Why not here and now?

If there is something important to you, or me, it is up to us to make it happen.

No one can read our minds better than we can ourselves, so we have to become the arbiters of our fate, the captains of our own lives, the people who make our dreams come true.

Imagine your perfect world and get to work. You may not ever get it completely right, but you might do even better.

Light

Tis the season to be cheerful . . .

And even if it is only for a week, or two days, or one day, or even an hour, the universe is a better place because of it.

As silly as it may seem, I think every cookie baked out of love, every song sung out of love, every card written, any gift given -- all if done out of love -- makes the world a better place.

We need these beautiful manifestations of light in the darkness of this hour.

Belief

The river is unbelievably long,
winding down and around bends and curves I never see coming
Muddied underneath and obscured by fog on the surface
Seldom reflecting the bright sunny days children draw
with fluffy clouds and green fish moving in groups of three.
Staring at the glinting ripples, breathing into the dark waters
Searching for the calm, the oneness
Belief outweighs existence.

The river is unbelievably long
luring me into places I never wanted to go
Pulling at me with icy fingers through warm waters
Teasing me into accepting what I cannot change
with alarming alacrity
Swimmng, wading, trying to stay afloat
Reaching for the calm, the oneness
My mind is my savior.
 

Women and words

Sometimes life gets in the way of writing and as much as I love to write, or believe that it is a discipline that needs to be practiced every day, I also believe there must be something to write about.

In search of that I joined several groups of women this year. One group is my age or older. Another is closer to the age of my children and the last is a motley crew. My experiences with each of them are very distinct and very different from the other two.

But the one thing they all have in common is their fluidity. They do not meet at a certain time for a certain reason. Instead each one has different things that pop up here or there and I can choose to participate, or not, as the spirit moves me and no one will be offended, or upset either way.

I don't think these sorts of things existed in the past, at least not for women, who had to plan everything in advance so they could get babysitters, appropriate clothing, and sometimes even permission from their spouses. I like the freedom of today's women and we are women, not girls.

We do not need people to drive us places. We do not have to go everywhere in pairs. We can go out to dinner, or coffee, or drinks, or wherever we want simply because we enjoy it. We don't have to know who else will be there because we are capable of enjoying each other's company in the moment. And we are diverse groups, whose only prerequisite in these cases is that we are women.

They give me outlets I would have loved when I was a young woman and still find rich and wonderful now, but they do take up time that I might have spent writing in the past.

Rich

Living is a balancing act. I don't want to miss all the wonderful little treats and blessings hidden away in the tucks and folds of unlikely moments, waiting there to be discovered like Easter eggs delivered by a huge invisible white rabbit whenever I look away.

But if I get too close I miss the big picture, the one that can't be seen if I am trapped in an eight by ten frame on the mantle of some dusty manor house.

And again, if I find myself jumping from one perspective to another, consciously trying not to miss anything, I will miss a lot. The fireplace is filled with the ashes of lost opportunities, things that never came to pass because I was focused on not missing that minuscule thing under the microscope, or far away thing through the telescope.

The ebb and flow of life and love, moments and adventures, fantasy and fact, light and dark, archetypal and mundane is so rich. I feel like a huge whale scooping up delights by the tons and filtering it out again, hoping to retain enough to keep me alive for one more mouthful.

And sometimes I am so discouraged by the doctors and dentists, the philosophers and newscasters, the specialists who feel it is their duty to keep me on the straight and narrow, the down and dirty, the road stomped safe and flat by a million other feet, that I feel like giving up.

Life needs to be lived and the older I get the more necessary it becomes for me to live it! I don't want to spend years on a shelf, to be viewed like some stuffed copy of the human I once was. I want to burn bright and get blown out on a dark and stormy night listening to the thunder outside my window and being glad I'm inside safe and warm.

At the table

One of my dearest dreams, since I was a young girl, was to be able to sit at the feet of a great teacher and learn.

I learned a lot by eavesdropping on my father and his associates. Sitting in the back seat of the car, at the table when they ate lunch, over coffee, at conventions --  those were days off from school where I learned more than I left behind.

Most of my life, even though it was rich in things I loved, has left part of me starving. I seldom feel qualified to take part in great conversations, but in truth, there have not been many around me. The business world talks of profits and money. The elementary school world talks about behavior problems and record keeping. Flower people talk about flowers. Nurses talk about body parts.

A few religious people and musicians have brought up more esoteric things once in a while, but mostly I have been that hungry little face pressed against the window looking in at things I could only dream of.

Now I have been invited in and I sit at the feet of the Masters listening to them talk and laugh and discuss things I often must look up to understand.

And it is heaven.

Hibernation

It has been one of those days on the frozen tundra of an Illinois winter.

The world is one big ice globe and I didn't feel well, so I stayed inside doing -- well, nothing.

Turning on the television turned out to be more of nothing. The programs were mostly sordid reality take offs and ugly newscasts, which just made me feel worse. I finally turned to my last resort (before Netflix or Amazon) and watched a Hallmark movie.

Frankly it was much better than I expected it to be, but I still fell asleep and woke up a couple hours later having missed the ending. That is okay, I thought, because they are playing it again! Same male lead, same basic venue,(an inn.) The tone was the same. The pacing was the same. I actually watched it for a few minutes more before I realized the female lead was different. Then for a bit, I thought they were just showing a remake of the same movie (this couple was also going on a picnic.)

And finally I realized it was an entirely different movie - well not really, but it was supposed to be. I didn't know why this channel seldom draws me in, but I think I do now.

I got up, gave up all pretenses about it being daytime and crawled into bed where I was really warm for the first time in ages, and slept the rest of the day.

Boxes

I just read an article about what it's like to be this age, or that and I found it unfamiliar even though I have been that age.

I would like to think I am some extraordinarily unique creature who, alone, does not fit the mold, but that would not be true.

I don't think it is possible, or fair, to look at another's life as a blueprint for our own. Doing that might limit the possibilities. Feeling the need to do something similar might take up the time better spent inventing a more personal way. Even when the result is similar, we should have the knowledge that our path was our own and inventing it one of the great joys of living.

I have seldom found myself fulfilled by many of the things people rave about and that is across the board. Boxed up pursuits are only jumping off places. After peeking at them, it is more fun to find out where the angora came from in that sweater and how it was put together and by whom before it was wrapped up to fit inside a shirt box with a tag on it. Or, having gone inside a church and spending time learning there, to branch out, look at nature, listen to the Silence and ponder the miracle of actual being.

I like the novel, the fascinating, the deep and dark and brilliant. I want time to explore and think and experience with my own body and mind. I want to hear your thoughts and dreams and wondering, but I need the space to experience you in my own way.

So what is it like to be me, or you? Now or back then? In sickness and in health, for better for worse, till who knows when?

Let's get together and talk about it.

What I do for love

I never regret the things I do out of love.

In fact, I have a very difficult time doing things I don't love, at least for any extended period of time.

That is not to say that all loving things are easy to do. Some can be really hard, but then they are worth the effort.

Most of my life has been spent doing what I love.

That is a blessing I cannot be too grateful for.

Happiness is

Happiness is personal.

Unhappiness is too.

Both can be a choice. I cannot always make things go my way, but I can usually choose to go a different way. And while that may not make me happy, it might do a lot to alleviate the unhappiness.

Good people

In the midst of all the money grubbing, power pulling nastiness that seems to have taken over our country, I flipped channels and found Dolly Parton's fund raiser for Gatlinburg.

This is more the country I have loved all my life.

People are gathering together to help those who are hurting.

I have been through Gatlinburg many times in my life, starting when I was sixteen and my aunt and uncle drove us through this little town with black bear cubs  rifling through the trash and later on, after having driven my own sixteen year old son to work at a summer camp, we rented a house up in those mountains.

I took a photograph up there that was so stunning we blew it up and framed it to hang over our mantlepiece. Now those woods are gone along with the lives of people and pets and other animals who became the victims of a fire started by some teens playing with fire.

In the midst of the sorrow, it is good to see so many people coming forward to help those they don't even know, but who are kindred spirits to good people everywhere.

Work

No matter how hard I try, my sense of self worth still seems to be tied to what I am doing.

That means that when I am doing something that seems worthwhile, such as transcribing interviews like I am doing now, or raising my children, I feel really good about me.

But then when I am not doing much of anything I don't think much of myself.

That is why volunteering is so important to me. I see a reason for what I am doing or I wouldn't be doing it. Then I feel I have a reason to be.

Somehow work done out of love is so much more fulfilling.

Holy people

Human beings travel across the world seeking people and places where miracles happen. Religious pilgrimages are popular among the devout. Holy people draw followers like bees to honey.

It is sweet to believe that some deity out there throws out threads for the devout, or lucky, or holy to find and if they keep their finger on it long enough, for just the right reasons, and in exactly the right frame of mind, their wishes will be granted.

The magic of childhood fairy tales morph in the magic of religious traditions.

But what if all these miracles have less to do with holy people and places, words and objects, or anything else outside a person?

What if the most sacred place, object, word, thing in all the world is simply a human being, or perhaps even a living creature, or even more unbelievable, everything?

What if we already live in that magical place everyone dreams of and are blind to it?

What if miracles come to us, from us?

What if belief is the answer? Belief in ourselves, that we can heal, or change, or be all that we can be. What if that is what the Bible means when it says we are made in God's image?

How simple. Or not, because that kind of belief can't be faked. 

So we trick ourselves and each other by handing over the power to find it by creating places and words and people who are special, or holy and ask them open the doors for us.

It's my wonderful life

There have been times in my life when I wondered how much longer I had to endure this life. At the time I could not imagine any way things could get better.

And then they did.

Last spring I looked around my studio apartment and thought, is this all there is? My grandchildren are far away. My friends live far away. I have nothing to do, especially in the summer. Am I going to live out the rest of my life this way?

And then I joined a meet up group and met lots of kindred spirits.

And then I got a keyboard for a birthday gift and rediscovered how much I rely on playing to drag myself out of the doldrums.

And then I felt my creativity starting to reawaken.

Now I have more to do than I have time to do it. I am going to coffees, book club, dinner out, brunches and game nights. I am playing my keyboard, writing stories and My Thots and drawing and working on another book with Bestest.

And life is wonderful. It's not perfect, but it is very very good. I wouldn't trade it for most of the other lives I know about and that is saying something.

Sometimes

Sometimes I forget how satisfying it is to do my own work, express myself in my own way, simply be me.

Unfettered by fear or feelings of inadequacy, it leaves me feeling like a child again. Ready to write scary stories in haunted mansions. Eager to draw pictures with words.

Sometimes I want to just take globs of words and splatter them all over the page; creating a poem or picture of Pollock-ish proportions and not care what the world thinks.

And sometimes I like to be careful, to tat tiny delicate phrases that are out of date and long over due.

Traditions

We have a new member of the family, my younger brother's third great grandchild! A beautiful baby girl born to a handsome young father and pretty mother who carries on the strangest family tradition.

It is not a tradition started by my immediate family, but it is all in the family.

In 1955 a sixteen year old girl had a baby who became my brother's wife sixteen years later. Now, through similar situations that brother is a great grandfather to three children born to parents under eighteen. Their grandfather was only thirty five when it began.

So far all these children have managed to, at least, finish high school and one has her MA. I hope that tradition continues as well.

Children having children is not a tradition I am proud to have in our family, but I am glad they are managing to continue their education. They all love and support each other, but the saddest thing is their lack of knowledge.

Not one of them realizes, or understands, the experiences they have missed by taking on so much responsibility so early. They all stay close to home because they have to at that age. And the odds are better than even that their children will be constrained by the same ignorance that led a girl in the fifties to start this tradition.

Fitting in

Annabel is a cat.

That seems like such a direct and simple statement, yet all cats are different and Annabel is like no other cat I have ever had.

To be fair she is the first cat I've had that was not a young kitten when I brought her home. She is all cat.

On her own from before nine weeks, her first memories are probably of being locked, alone, in a cage facing a wall in the animal control center. Everything she knows about being a cat comes from some place inside of her.

After her first twelve weeks, since she knew no better and had no choice, she turned to me. Wrapped up in my large gray plush blanket I am the mother. Only when I am asleep does she come and cuddle up against me and even then mostly when she isn't feeling all that great. I can tell she cares for me, but she shows it by curling up between my feet on the foot of my recliner every so often. Or she will lie down touching my shoes, or paw my chair once in a while. Twice she let me hold her for a few minutes.

She has learned everything else by watching me intently as if trying to equate the things I do with the things she needs to learn. I brush my teeth and rinse my mouth under the faucet. She reaches out with one paw and scoops water into her mouth if I leave the faucet dripping. She eats only from her glass dishes and won't touch food on the floor. She will fetch her stuffed mice and return them to my shoes if she is in the mood, or chase the laser light around the room if I make it seem like a real animal. However, she knows full well I make it go, because when I stop, she comes to me to make it go again. If she spills her food, or gets litter off her rug, she will try and sweep it up with her foot.

There is a real little lion inside of her, but it is an accommodating little creature trying to fit in with the only family she knows and I appreciate that.

Hope

Sometimes life is so sweet it's like a candy cane, one delicious piece wound around another so tightly it seems like it is all one big whole. All happy and perfect and wonderful - - and scary, because if it is that simple it could just as easily be all awful and dark and sad.

Most of the time life is a bit bitter sweet and somehow that is a little better all around. The sweet feels sweeter and the bad is ameliorated by the good.

The trick is to focus on the sweetness, or the best, without forgetting about the bitter and bad. That way hope has a way of finding its way in between everything and when there is hope, all is bearable.

That's the story of

My friend's nativity scene is the product of a blended family.

Baby Jesus has a little baby brother, also named Jesus.

There are three mother Marys, but only one Joseph as far as I can tell. Lots of shepherds and angels, a few wise men, several kings, even a sacred cow or two.

They are all colors and sizes and I suspect a fair diversity of ages.

It is just the sort of thing the Jesus I learned about in preschool would have loved, but almost certainly not something many fundamentalists would be able to tolerate today.

Funny who changes things.

Looking at which side?

The line between happy and sad is so thin that holidays often blur them right together.

Memories, dreams, wishes, fears, all jump on that train and take it even further.

Focusing on the present helps clear it all up, because in this moment, right now where I am sitting in a chair, next to my cat, life is pretty darn good.

Sometimes that is the best I can hope for, better than many people ever really have, so I'm going to be grateful for that . . .

In this moment.

Deeper than

Everything changes.

People grow up. People grow older.Tastes change. Habits change.

Everything changes.

Except love.

Love is like the ocean. It moves and waves. It ebbs and flows. It is warmer somedays and cooler others,  but real love finds a way to be constant in the ways that count.

Instead of changing, love only burrows deeper.

Death of salesmen

I had an experience today that was right out of some zany old fashioned comedy.

Only it didn't feel funny.

I received a very nice shirt as a gift. It didn't fit and the store would only give me store credit when I returned it. That was on Black Friday and there was no chance of buying a new garment on a day like that.

I went home, ordered a shirt online and my store credit didn't work. I finally called them in person and got it ordered.

Yesterday I got an email saying they were out of my item so today I went back to the store to see if I could find a replacement. Most things were not my size and the ones that were, were not things I would wear.

With the possible exception of some sweaters hanging in a tight jumble way over my head.

I tried using the hook to get one down I thought might be my size, but it wouldn't work. When my arms were finally too tired to even try any longer I found a clerk, but she said she couldn't help me. She asked another clerk if he could help me, but he said it wasn't his department either. They called for help, but no one would come.

I left the store.

I went to return another shirt I got, but that store said they no longer accepted returns there if they were ordered on line. Now I can pay to return it by mail or drive to another town an hour away, but they thought that store might have closed!

I called. It hasn't and they will accept the return if I bring it down there.

I might just make do with the clothes I have. It is way too much trouble trying to find new ones. Either way I will never shop at these stores again.

My brother Tom

Some people would say my brother Tom is a failure in this life. I might have thought so too at times, but not now.

I was looking at our family Thanksgiving photo and realized that he brought over half the people.

Whenever there is a family wedding or funeral, we can expect him to show up with his children, grandchildren, great grandchildren and most of his ex wives.

He has a best friend that's been around since they were in high school.

One of his friends thought so much of him that she left him her home and farm until the day he dies.

He may have poor health, no money and a bad habit or two, but he certainly has nailed family.

Cleaning up

It was one of those days when I did all the little things that needed doing.

Some needed doing back in July when I should have mailed the birthday present I mailed today.

Some were predestined like picking up my car from the the auto body shop where it was being repaired from being rear ended. Also calling my insurance company to check on providers then calling back and forth with my doctor about how to deal with a medical issue.

Others were smaller things like getting gas for the rental car, finding an odd size battery that runs the remote control for my lights, gluing two of my twenty year old runes back together, running by the dealership to have air put in my tires, balancing my checkbook, ordering cookies for Fahrenheit 401, and sending new pictures to my brother.

I am surprised at how good it feels to have all these things wrapped up for a while.

Yes!

I have had to copy and paste any S's I wanted to type with my laptop keyboard for well over a year. That meant I had to find a capital S on the Internet whenever I wanted to use one. In between, as long as I didn't use the copy paste for anything else I could keep a lower case s on it.

My son told me he had a friend who used to remap his keyboard and change the use of the keys, but he wasn't sure how. He suggested I look on line.

It took a few days, but I did just that and found a program called Sharp Keys. I had to fish a bit in order to download it without any extraneous programs, but it was out there.

There were no instructions, but it was fairly straight forward. It took me four tries, in between each of which I had to restart the computer, but now my caps lock key is a fully functioning S.

Such a simple thing but it makes my life so much easier.

A very catty Christmas

I pulled last year's Christmas tree out of the box and noticed that about a third of it was flat from storage.

That worked perfectly for this year's plans, because this year I have a nearly eight month old kitten who is into everything.

She drinks from my bathroom lavatory, climbs up the side of the bed under the spread to sleep, and will only eat from her second hand martini glasses. My leather footstools and desk chair look like sieves.

I can only envision her knocking over my little tree and chasing the ornaments around the room.

I checked out a hanging Christmas tree on Amazon and not only was it expensive, but according to reviews it had a tendency to come apart in the middle.

I attached a binder clip to the back of last year's tree and hung it up. Now I have a sweet little three dimensional tree that appears to be coming through the wall.

Enjoying life

It is important to know what is important to you.

Otherwise you might go through your whole life doing things you don't really care that much about: things that may be important to other people: things that are important in the grand scheme of things: but not really high up on your list.

I know someone who likes to mow grass and scrub her kitchen floor on her hands and knees. These things are important to her. She often calls me to tell me how much time she spends doing them, as if looking for my admiration or approval, but they are just not important to me. I try to be nice, but I don't understand and have a hard time believing she feels this way.

I like to volunteer. I prefer volunteering in school libraries, but I just like doing things people need done, so they don't have to pay someone to do them. The floor mopper really does not understand why anyone would work for free.

The truth may actually be that I don't want to mop floors or mow lawns for any amount of money and especially not for free. If I had my way I would live somewhere without lawns (woods, beach, condo) and let someone else mop my floor if it needed it.

I find it really satisfying to help people learn to read, or like to read. I love working with Bestest on his books. Education is the most important job in the world, in my opinion, so anything I do for it makes me feel really good.

But for you, and evidently many others, this may not be true, so it is important to figure out where your passion is. That is the key to really enjoying life.

Blowing in the wind

Today is my birthday and I looked around, suddenly thinking, everything I own, everything about me is in this room.

How can a whole life be condensed to 425 square feet of space?

A second later I realized this is only one physical manifestation of my life, the hub.

The dearest, most valuable parts of life fit into a heart or brain, much larger and much smaller than a luxury studio apartment.

Almost anything I have in here can be lost and replaced as I know. I've done that already.

My eternity will be carried away on the wind except for what is left in the minds and hearts of those I have touched during my 67 years on earth.

Happy Thanksgiving

Today is Thanksgiving (and the day before my birthday) and I am grateful for so many things.

First and foremost I am thankful for my beautiful children and their children. Even though I don't see them as much as I might like I know they are safe, well loved, and cared for.

I am thankful for Bestest, my siblings, and my friends.

I am always thankful when I can pay my bills with relative ease, because that is not always the case. I am also grateful that I have a comfortable clean place to live, as much food as I want, or need, and enough clothing to be decent and warm.

I am thankful to have a good solid car and pretty solid health.

And finally I am thankful for hope.

Civilized

We have elected an American president who shuns all those things that represent civilized society. He is on tape gloating over how he can sexually abuse women. He has been recorded making crude, rude and blatantly awful comments about good people of all sorts.

Our president has been heard promising to do illegal things because he sees nothing wrong with them. He is backed by white supremists and the KKK. He finds little value in kindness, courtesy, or even science unless it furthers his every whim.

He and His people can commandeer our Supreme Court and states. They can threaten our news media. They can take away our already legislated rights.

But they cannot make decent, educated, civilized people respect them, so there can be no facade of respect while we struggle to retain our rights in the United States of America.

We have to tell it like it is and stand shoulder to shoulder with each other under a man who finds little value in everything we believe in.

Thanksgiving

I am going to spend my morning doing preschool crafts and being a surrogate grandma today.

I don't know how the child will feel. I hope he, or she, has as much fun as I will.

I can barely wait. I know I will love it.

Transitions

I belong to a club of women who like to get together, in small groups, and do things. We vary in age from 25 to my age and talk about everything from the Aztecs to zephyrs and a million things in between.

It is interesting how much we all have in common even with all our differences.

Last Saturday we sat around a pizza at the Lucca Grill talking about transitions and how they take place without us really noticing them, not even those that might seem big.

Things like: when did I stop kissing my child's toes, or when did we stop reading books out loud? 

There we sat, an accountant, an attorney, and me, all trying to remember the last time we held our child's hand to cross the street.

That may not seem important, but on the grand scale of motherhood they were pretty sweet times and it's hard to imagine those things can just disappear like a cloud fading into the atmosphere.

Rainbows and elves and Santa, oh my

Somewhere over the rainbow, as the world was turning dark, as hatred slithered along the valleys and slime began to creep upon the waters: light became the most treasured commodity of all.

Not the light of electricity, nor even witch"s fire, but a light so pure and rare that some might have deemed it magical. Where did this light come from you might ask?.

One big boy, standing in a line, a long line in a big commercial store.

Before him, right there in front of his eyes is his dream come true. And if he just stands there quietly, waiting for his turn, he will get to talk to Santa. He can hardly believe it and then . . .

it is his turn, All he needs to do is walk over there. Not far. Maybe just six little steps and he will be standing next to his hero. The man who makes toys for all the children in the world and delivers them on the night before Christmas. He knows this is true because his Daddy told him so, read him the story every year since before he can remember.

But he starts to cry and he can't move at all.  He is too full of wonder and awe . . . and that might have been the end of it all if his Daddy hadn't offered to go with him. Then, before Daddy could say another word, Santa's elf walked over, smiled at him and took his hand, and the elf was so nice he just went with her!

The next few minutes were so full of awe and love, understanding and compassion that the world became a little brighter. The hate retreated just a bit and the slime slithered back some.

It wasn't happily ever after. There were no trumpets announcing it to the world. No one in the back of the line even knew it happened, but the world was a little lighter, a bit better, than it had been before.

Bridges

Comfort zones, those places that wrap me up in memories and warmth and lure me into long periods of hibernation.

That doesn't mean they are bad places. It only means to be aware that not stepping out of them periodically can be dangerous to my growth.

Getting stuck in a comfort zone is like living in the zoo, or maybe even a museum. There are still things to see and do, but they get old after a while.

That doesn't mean they are not valuable. It only means the rotation is limited.

Most of the time, when I step outside my comfort zone, I discover it is only a bridge to a wonderful new experience. And if, once in a while, it is not, then at least it I can mark that bridge off my map and look for others.

I make a list of those things I am afraid of and new bridges appear in some unlikely spots on my map.

I never want to grow too old to go exploring.

Anticipation

Anticipation is the first present.

Before I ever open that big box in my kitchen I will shake it and thump it. I will read the return address and my name on the front. I will even try to lift it up and see how heavy it is.

I will go online again and again, looking at my wish list, trying to figure out if it could be one of those things. I will look them up and anticipate what I would do if I got them.

Eventually I have to peek inside. Just a quick peek, but it is enough to see this box contains something I didn't dare to dream of.

Now I am really excited. The anticipation is nearly killing me. I want to know all about it, so I try looking online again, but there are so many choices it really doesn't help.

I am enjoying this gift so much I can't imagine what it will be like when I actually take it out of the box and get to see it for real -- and set it up -- and play with it.

Each stage has its own anticipation to savor. I can stretch it out and out and out until it is actually my birthday.

Dream home

Knowing who people are takes more than fond memories. Every so often it becomes necessary to visit them in person and see who they are.

I know someone who used to live in my dream house, a lovely two bedroom house with extraordinary woodwork, crown molding, big windows, living room, dining room, sun porch, well made substantial bathrooms, surrounded by a park like atmosphere. It was exquisite.

They added on a family room and two story garage that didn't destroy the lines too much, but it is what they did with the rest of it that ruined it for me. Every surface, including the window sills and the check rails, the wainscoting, mantles, and furniture is now drowned in knickknacks. All sitting shoulder to shoulder to display, not its color or shape, because that is lost in the clutter, but its sheer volume.

The beautiful antique quilts that once adorned the beds and a wall or two now hang in mass profusion up and down the walls, halls, and rooms. The lovely Tiffany lamps are crammed up against so much stuff they just look like blobs of light in the darkness. The expensive furniture no longer invites you into rooms that are warm and elegant. The house feels more like one of those warehouse antique stores along the highway.

It is a sad, and sort of disgusting display of money gone bad. I don't know what it means. Perhaps all this stuff is an attempt to fill some sad void, or maybe it is just crass consumerism which seems to be in vogue now. I do know it reflects who they are, Trump supporters who proudly voted for a man whose misogyny, racism and bigotry cannot be good for their beautiful young granddaughters and African American grandson.

Money cannot buy clean air, peace, or equality. When the climate begins to change, causing floods, droughts, warm winters promoting bacteria and germs, too hot summers . . . When the first animals begin to die from lack of hospitable places to live . . . When the dictators and other unstable leaders in the world whip out their dirty bombs and point them at their antagonizers . . . no amount of money will help in the long run.

I will no longer mourn the loss of their beautiful home, because our beautiful earth will also be ruined.

The beautiful thing about my death is  that I will not have to mourn me and if others do -- then I am blest.

Death is the one thing I do not need to worry about. At least not my own.

(This was not meant to be out here yet, but since two people have already looked at it, I will leave it.)

Kindness personified

I have discovered the Tao of Bestest.

I didn't just discover it. It came to me as a disembodied voice for a while. Then it materialized in the shape of a comely young boy and today I realized it has crept into every moment of my being.

Don't tell anyone anything they don't deserve to know.

Be kind.

Love yourself for exactly who you are.

Be kind.

Live life to the nth degree. Suck the nectar right out of it.

Be empathetic, be kind, pay attention.

Be kind.

Some people have their Pooh, others their Piglet, and a few, the Tao Te Ching.

But I have the Tao of Bestest.

Practice

How do you stop a martyr from being a martyr?

Practice. Practice. Practice.

I swear, there are people who stand in front of the mirror rehearsing martyrdom.

Trying on hair shirts.

Tying concrete blocks to their backs.

No matter what they have to do, they can resurrect a reason to suffer, but I can run interference almost equally well.

Cornucopia

Imagine two elderly spinsters and their petite little cousins planning to share their Thanksgiving dinner. It will be elegant. Tablecloths, fancy table settings, and sweetly intimate.

Fearing their brother might find himself alone they decide to share their delicate morsels by inviting him and all should have been happy in Twoville.

But the uncle asks if he can bring his former wife and, of course, they say, "Yes! An extra plate is no trouble at all."

Of course after that he has to ask if she can bring her housemate who will otherwise be all alone on such a holiday and they graciously invite her too.

Soon after that he calls to say his youngest son has nowhere to go, can he come too? And the ladies begin to readjust the furniture and food in their minds, wondering exactly how they might graciously manage to stretch things this far on their limited budget.

Thanksgiving Day finally arrives, bringing the four original ladies together ready to greet five linebackers worthy of the Green Bay Packers. The dainty dinner has now expanded to feed five extra people whose shoulders barely fit through the dining room door, whose average height is a bit over 6' 1", whose average weight is somewhere around 250 pounds each!

The food, originally planned to feed four average to small people begins to look like a reproduction of the first Thanksgiving. Now there are two tables, a turkey, a ham, vats of potatoes and stuffing, cauldrons of noodles along with several pumpkin pies, two bowls of cranberries, baskets of rolls, tons of Irish butter, and gallons of vegetables . . .

and they hoped there was enough.

As ye sow, so shall ye reap

I am so disappointed in the voters. The ones who voted for Trump because of their racist views. The ones who voted for him because of their belief that Christianity is better than other religions. The ones who think they know better than God who should love who. The ones who have forgotten that we are a nation of immigrants. The ones who didn't bother to vote because it didn't further their particular personal views.

I am terrified that the people who voted for Trump will be disappointed in what they get and take matters into their own hands. And I am also terrified that they will reap what they sowed, because the rest of us will also suffer at the hands of those sowers.

Whenever hate becomes the by word of a country: when reason is fueled by getting even: when scapegoats come into vogue: when violence is more or less acceptable as long as it is against the right people, we know what is going to happen.

History is not some oral tradition that can be modified by a crafty word monger. It is written in blood and bones and buried in cemeteries and trenches all over the world.

Fear vs Fear

I think polling people about their choice of candidate might have been more accurate if they had asked the following question instead of who are you voting for?

Your neighbor's dog is barking night and day. It threatens your children, tears up your yard. What do you do?
 
1. Call Animal control.  (These are Clinton people.)
2. Shoot the damn thing. (These are Trump people.)

People used to dealing with things on their own, especially in rural areas, now feel even more validated by the idea that violence has its rightful place in the world.

After an election fueled by blaming different groups of people for all the woes of the world, it seems like an easy fix to simply get rid of those people and their ways.

Bestest says I need to remember these people were driven to these thoughts and actions by fear, but it terrifies me when I think of the things they might do now.

It is really scary to think of two opposing factions, both feeling like they are backed into a corner in fear for their lives, one trying to use due process and the other wanting the instant justice they feel they were promised.

Sadly ever after

Believing they have been elected king of the castle, Leisure suit Larry and Mengela have begun to pick the new knights of the triangle table.

A terrifying group of pretenders who think that if you're rich you really really know, they clamor around their king, hoping to scavenge two hundred years worth of blood, sweat, and tears.

Their eyes have seen the glory of the coming of their Lord and the dark tower glows with the power of the egos filling up its space while the wise men, the teachers and good people of the land cringe with shame.

Surely sadly ever after cannot be the legacy of a country whose people elected a new leader and lost to technicalities.

I'll take the high road

I watched in shock as Americans elected Trump yesterday and I think the hardest part is knowing that people I know voted for him.

The only way I can make it better for me is knowing that Democrats are going to take the higher road. We will use whatever we have to try and counteract any hateful acts we can.

I sincerely hope he finds a way to be a good leader now that he is in office, our country relies on him. With all three branches falling in behind him, there can be no excuses now.

At the worst, he will drag us down pathways no one ever dreamed of and even those with little education will be eager to usher in a more empathetic, compassionate and rational party in four years.

Sometimes the Phoenix must crash and burn before it can rise from the ashes and soar.

Eden

The plague that slithers over this land has left a trail of slime that will take months to wash away, if we are lucky.

It is possible that it will spawn maggots that will continue to try and eat away at truth, empathy and compassion for years to come, but I hope not.

I hope today marks the beginning of the light, the new age of reason, the day that the majority opened their eyes and their hearts to the possibilities surrounding us all the time, but hidden from view by the sulfurous cloud emitted by the fear of those who cannot, or will not open their eyes and hearts.

Eden has never left. It has only been desecrated by those who feel it is an elitist club for the people who worship gold and power.  Flush out the entitlement and judgemental attitudes, allow each and everyone of us to live and love in peace, and perhaps even make a small space for those who cannot abide this kind of blessing off in some distant corner, and we could find ourselves in the golden age of humanity.

Why do we let a minority ruin it for all the rest?

The ride

Is it my imagination or does life move on faster and faster?

Like a train:

racing downhill through terrain so lovely it takes my breath away

through fields so filled with horror I dare only peek for fear of losing my mind.

over bridges where to actually touch the earth would be too much for my mortal soul.

And onward.

With an ever changing group of fellow passengers whose presence magnifies, minimizes and covers up bits and pieces along the way making it a fugue in D minor at 24/16 time one minute and a heart throbbing love song the next.

One long day

This day was one of those unbelievably bad days. My car was rear ended at a red light. I was inadvertently pushed off my feet into a display at a department store by a man buying luggage. And then a huge man stepped backward onto my foot!

My car is a mess, but insurance should take care of it and it is drive-able. My body and foot are a little bruised, but fine and I had a great start to the day by having breakfast with friends at a fund raiser for autism, followed by a wonderful day with my sister and her granddaughters.

Still the election managed to loom up over and over, dulling the day even more than the accident, so it was good to open Facebook and find a beautiful posting by Bestest doing what he does best.

A charming, humorous, sweet combination of words that still managed to say, with exacting hard truth,why we need to be with HER in this election.

The bedrock fundamentals of empathy, diversity, love and tolerance are on the line and it is up to those of us who believe these things are important to vote for Hillary.

Wishes

Wouldn't it be great if wishes really came true?  If you could blow out your birthday candles and get even that one wish granted?

If I could send you wishes wrapped up in paper and tied with bows, I would.
 
I close my eyes and wish with all my heart that your wishes all come true.

I wish for you and you wish too and with all that wishing some of them are bound to come true.

So wish often and wish hard, but most of all wish wisely.

And when you have an idea that might help that wish along?

Use it, because that might just be what jump starts it all.

Adventures

Frolicking in the autumn mists has kept me young, but the thought of sitting next to Puff in his comfortable cave: drinking tea and eating crumpets for all eternity?

I'd rather live forever, a large gray haired child playing in gramma's attic.

Holding Roo's hand, listening to the wisdom of a large stuffed bear, and knowing that dreams are the time machines and magic carpets of the young at heart.

Smelling hope in a bouquet of weeds, drawing big words in the shape of a heart, and having adventures that skid straight past the bullies and into the mists.

When the wild rumpus begins I want to wear a crown and lead the good guys to the big rock candy mountain where we can build gingerbread houses and hide out together baking cookies to repair our walls.

I never want to grow bigger than that.

Great minds

My best friend in college saw herself running in slow motion across the quad. Her boy friend stood there watching her gracefully leaping and landing, her long blonde hair flowing behind her like a ray of sunshine as birds twittered quietly and their favorite song wafted through the air.

Bestest wanted to do something to loosen up his American Lit. class. The day after Halloween he envisioned the perfect plan, running into class and throwing a handful of candy up in the air so it could rain down upon them and break the ice.

I wanted to make my son's birthday party an innovative, moving experience. The theme was a circus and I saw streamers of all colors revolving in the air over the table. I carefully taped brightly colored crepe paper to our ceiling fan and flipped the switch!

My friend stubbed her toe and tripped gracelessly across the lawn landing on her face at her startled boy friend's feet.

Bestest injured several students as the candy knocked off glasses and hit people in the eye.

The fan sucked up the crepe paper in one almost instantaneous flash.

The best ideas in reality and movies are often united only by laughter.

Existential pumpkin

Pumpkin pumpkin burning bright
On this your only Halloween night
Did you know quite what would be?
Were you aware what you gave to me?

I brought you home so sweet and firm
Scooped you out and made you burn
Carved your face and  pointy teeth
Then a soul I did bequeath.

Once a gourd born in a patch
Who only dreamed of hay and thatch
Whose only hope was to be canned
And live immortal in this land.

I gave you glory! Face and bone
So you could guard my hearth and home.
Now your sagging eye and cheek
speak of life lived in a week.

Pumpkin pumpkin burning bright
On this your only Halloween night
Did you know quite what would be?
Were you aware what you gave to me?

The gift

The purest thing that ever touches us,

Limited to no body of any sort, not human, nor pet, nor plant,  nor any other thing,

Diluted by nothing, not time, or place, or words, or event,

Needing nothing, not feeding, or holding, or owning, or being,

Not happiness, nor pleasing, nor any selfish thing,

Given, not earned, or bought, or perhaps even recognized.

Is my apartment haunted?

I am awakened in the night by loud bumps that seem to come from nowhere and most especially not from the apartment above me. No, these bumps come from somewhere inside my apartment and they even wake Annabel up!

I will leave the house with everything in order and come home to find pictures askew on the walls, boxes moved on shelves, single books knocked out of the bookcase!

My Iphone will be unplugged in the morning, the water in the bathroom lavatory is found on at odd times and last night I found the toilet paper all unrolled and on the floor.

Is my apartment haunted?

Well, the loud bumps turned out to be ice landing in an empty ice container in my freezer.

The rest is more terrifying than that!

I have a cat!

Egoween

Halloween costumes are the stained glass windows of the soul.

Allowed to choose whatever they dream of being, or fantasize about in the name of a holiday, or party, people make some interesting choices. Of course some people pick what they think they are supposed to pick, but even that tells me something.

I have had two go-to costumes over the years and although I tend to wear them because I have them, they still reflect a lot of my personality.

Raggedy Ann, the big floppy, comfortable doll with straight ragged hair, big blouse-y bloomers and a silly smile is who I am on a day to day basis. I like being comfortable, friendly and creative. I love being loved in that toddler huggable way Raggedy Ann is treated. I am Raggedy Ann.

A big black cat is my other costume, because it only requires attaching ears and a tail to a black sweatshirt. Yet, it is also part of who I see myself as. I like being a little unpredictable, playful, perhaps a bit sophisticated and sometimes even self-centeredly sharp and feisty. Yet, underneath it all, is still that soft cuddly thing that likes being cuddled.

Who are you?

Small town America

Small towns are often romanticized in homogenized, pretty little tales that have nothing to do with reality.
 
Moving in as an outsider is certainly not easy, but growing up there and never leaving cannot be easy for people who actually think about what is going on.

People tend to settle into comfortable ruts that go unchallenged for generations.

Who you know counts more than what is legal, or right.

If you have money people believe you really know and that money carries a lot of authority.

Decisions are made, politics decided on, and prejudices justified by generations of traditions.

The local newspaper is more concerned with keeping people happy than printing the news.

Libraries, especially school libraries, are censored by a few self righteous know-it-alls, as are teachers.

There are unspoken legacies that are nearly sacred. Cheerleaders, football and basketball players, class presidents, and The Ladies League leaders, fall deeply into this abyss.

And it is all so widely accepted and praised that to defile the fantasy is the worst crime in the world.

The musical

Scene one will open with the people gathering and moving toward left stage. There will be young men carrying all sorts of guns and a few more arcane things like knives, pitch forks, etc., wealthy old men with decorative canes and three piece suits with cigars clamped between their teeth, wealthy old women dripping in jewelry and a few militant women chewing gum and carrying an assortment of weapons.

They will all have somewhat vacant eyes, hard faces, loud strident voices and a flush on their face to match their gleeful smiles.

The initial song will be to the tune of We will gather at the river. But the words will be, "We are gathering for Trump, no matter what he asks of us . . . " The movement will be four four time, militaristic, but erratic in places.

Scene two opens with everyone wearing sheets, like the KKK, but each one will have a little orange fuzzy pom pom attached to the point on top. A large flat screen television will be hung high center stage showing actual clips of Trump pouting and shouting and spewing forth Trumpisms. The people will spontaneously respond, together, or singly, at times like an old time revival meeting. "Oh Yes!" rather than Amen! as they raise one arm high.

This scene will end with everyone marching off stage singing, to the tune of Onward Christian Soldiers, "Onward Trumply soldiers, marching off to war with our fuzzy pompoms fluttering forever more!"

Scene three will again have the screen in center stage. This time showing soldiers shooting aging beauty queens, lynching people of Spanish descent, burning mosques, and factories filled with slaves working for Masters. There will be crying children reaching through bars for their mothers and at the end a picture of swimsuit models serving drinks to old men around a pool.

The actors will  be back in their scene one clothes, dancing madly around congratulating each other and singing, to the the tune of Take me to the river, "Take me to the good life," but there will be increasing confusion showing on their faces and fear on the older wealthy women's faces.  By the end of this scene there will only be the biggest, brawniest young men and wealthiest older men left on stage, the others having slunk away.

The young men will gather in groups around the old wealthy ones like football players in a huddle, giving grunts and shouts of solidarity in the field.

Scene four opens with the tv screen showing world leaders in a garbled conversation no one can really understand and a recreation of the oval office underneath. A man dressed to look like Trump will walk out, pick up his phone and grow more and more petulant until he finally takes a key and opens a drawer in his desk. He will pull out an over sized button and punch it victoriously, smiling from ear to ear! He might even utter, "Take that!'

Then he will cover his mouth with both hands and look wide eyed at the audience as he realizes what he's done and a huge white flash of light will fill the screen on the television, flash on the stage and everything will go black as an orchestra quietly plays, "America."

Are you serious?

You are gonna vote for who?

You're kidding of course.

You aren't?

Which of these words don't you know? Misogynist, bigot, racist, petty dictator, liar.

You know them all?

You say all the military people who count are behind you?

Who are they?

You don't know?  How do you know you're right?

You realize your granddaughters are girls and your grandson is half African American, right?

Why are you grinning?

Because they are going to build a wall? Our president is what?

Where do you get your information?

omg

A brand new way

Choice. Six letters put together into a combination that can change a life.

There are always choices. They may not be ones I want to choose. They may not be comfortable, or easy. but they always exist.

Sometimes the trick is to find them. A little creativity can be the start of a brand new way of living, because even the wildest idea might lead to a new way of thinking.

And thinking is part of making a choice.

Believe it or not there are people who choose to be sad for a number of reasons. They choose things that have always made them unhappy and continue on. Being sad and needy can be intoxicating to some people. They equate it with life and love, but that can change. Life is full of choices.

Choosing not to be miserable is the first step. Now I have to change something. I often choose my old Thich Nhat Hahn thing of focusing on one tiny moment using my breath. Even that tiny breather gives me a new start.

After that, creativity is my best friend. I can choose not to focus on the bad thing and find comfort, or relaxation, or even joy, in something else close by. It may only be a distraction, but it is a beginning. If I am consciously doing all this, a beginning is a reprieve, a chance to feel good enough to do something different and after a while that can become second nature.

This isn't Pollyanna-ish, it's common sense. Life is not only linear. It is three dimensional, four dimensional, even five dimensional! Why not take advantage of that and find a place that is more bearable, or perhaps even happy?

The misery might still be there, it just doesn't have to be the only focal point.

Brodie

Brodie came into my life about six years ago when he was two. I lived in an apartment on the other side of town and used to walk my little shih-tzu every day, rain or shine. Someone saw me and called to say they were getting married and had a bulldog, pitbull and another little shih-tzu who did not get along with the bigger  dogs. Would I take him?

I said no. Shih-tzus are high maintenance little dogs and I didn't think I could afford two, so I called my sister and she decided  to adopt him.

Right off the bat it became apparent that he had some peculiarities.  He peed on furniture, shed and was a little jumpy. We think he might have been mauled at some point, but my sister fell in love with him and he stayed.

Later, when I couldn't get up and down the steps to take my dog out, she adopted him too.  I paid the grooming and vet bills till last year to help out.

Today I drove my sister and Brodie to my old vet in a small town nearby. They had an appointment and I was along just to help out. Brodie had sores all over his body that would not heal. Some were open and raw. Others were like fissures, but none would go away no matter what they did. Brodie would dig at his skin and chew out big bloody holes. He began peeing blood and we were there to put him down.

My sister couldn't do it, so she paid the vet and went outside. I held Brodie while they gave him a post op shot then they left us alone in a small room. He sat on my lap a while, then wanted to get down and walk around, so I let him. A few minutes later he looked like a tired puppy.  His eyes were droopy and he was listing to the side. I picked him back up and he snuggled into my lap and fell asleep. He drooled a lot, but he was very relaxed and in no pain. When I whispered to him and scratched his ears, or patted his back,. his tail wagged a bit at first. The he was sound asleep.

I stood up and put him on the pad of towels on the table and continued to pet him and talk to him just in case. I looked up and read this poem:

he Last Battle

If it should be that I grow frail and weak
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then will you do what must be done,
For this — the last battle — can't be won.
You will be sad I understand,
But don't let grief then stay your hand,
For on this day, more than the rest,
Your love and friendship must stand the test.
We have had so many happy years,
You wouldn't want me to suffer so.
When the time comes, please, let me go.
Take me to where to my needs they'll tend,
Only, stay with me till the end
And hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.
I know in time you will agree
It is a kindness you do to me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I have been saved.
Don't grieve that it must be you
Who has to decide this thing to do;
We've been so close — we two — these years,
Don't let your heart hold any tears.
— Unknown

The vet returned and gave him another small shot to stop his heart.  He never flinched, or even breathed hard. His little tongue just slipped out of his mouth and he was instantly gone.  It was very sad, but very peaceful and I'm glad I stayed with him.

God is not dead

What if god isn't dead?

What if the power that created us just threw up its hands and said, "Like the foxes and wolves and other wild creatures, man will not be tamed?

Realizing that after thousands of years we were still using most of our power and god like attributes for destructive and greedy projects, it saw an experiment gone bad.

Then, with the compassion we show for the wild and dangerous beasts we cannot control, it simply contained us and went on to create another Eden in another part of the universe?

Perhaps god is not dead, but now it's up to us to prove our worth.

The good people

I know little old ladies who claim they hate violence, but I find them watching programs such as, "They locked me in a box under their bed for two years," or watching shows where people fight over who the father of the baby is. Even more tantalizing is the real stuff in their lives, the divorces and gory details of botched operations and failed businesses.

Our priest used to tell the story of woman who always came to church on Good Friday and sobbed hysterically. He said he wanted to tell her she should come back on Sunday, that the story had a good ending.  She never did.

Religion is full of death and destruction, revenge and retribution. There would be no Christianity if Jesus hadn't died a slow agonizing death on the cross.

The joy of those who hand out the free turkeys on holidays is seldom dulled by the angst of those forced to receive.

There is nothing like a little darkness to warm our hearts and make us thankful for our blessings.

Mankind's creativity blossoms in torture chambers.

Attendance is up at races the year after bad accidents. Death row killings became a bit more humane when they were no longer spectator sports.

No wonder Trump has a following.  Unrestrained human proclivities are terrifying.

Extremes

Halloween is child's play compared to reality this year.

I can watch horror movies on my roku and find them tame compared to what is going on in our country.

We have a petty dictator running for president under a major party.

Weather men speak of high temperatures threatening and rain besieging.

Police  are shooting people, because they are jumpy and scared.

People are toting guns everywhere, at Walmart, in college classrooms, in restaurants, anywhere they like. Toddlers are shooting mothers. Children are killed in classrooms. And this is not the top concern?

Pharmaceutical companies hold drugs for ransom so they can live the good life themselves.

The terrorists come from every religion in this country.

People talk about voting third party as if that will "show them." Who is this them?  Even if you hate both major candidates, one of them will be elected, so it would behoove you to vote for the one you have the least objection too. There is no smiling teacher, or nodding mommy to pat you on the head and say, "Good for you! You voted your heart," because no one will know or care. (Except maybe you when you find yourself living the nightmare that could be our country in the future.)

 

Command central

Modern medicine does many wonderful things, but it is also responsible for many terrible things.

Mistakes have high consequences that are easily passed over as simple errors that are to be expected from such a high volume of tests, operations, and human interactions. It is understandable, unless it is close to home.

I recently spent a considerable amount of time and money on a kidney doctor I was referred to for blood pressure control and he did me no good in the long run. In fact left me with soaring blood pressure readings on four occasions. When he re-prescribed the very same medicine he had already ruled out, I left. In the end I found my own way to lower my blood pressure over thirty points.

Thirty four years ago I had a similar experience with a dentist who referred me to a gum specialist. They both told me I would lose all my teeth due to gum disease if I didn't undergo a radical cleaning that meant exposing all the roots of my teeth and going through years of therapy with them. I didn't do it and my teeth are in great shape.

The health of my body is a holistic endeavor and I am in the very center of it all.

A death in the family

Halloween and heaven and rituals, oh my.

Most modern religions claim to believe in an after life with God that is the most wonderful thing ever, something they are living to die for and yet . . . people are angry, sad and totally distraught when someone they love dies. 

Believing I was bringing my children up as Christians, I had to tell them something when we lost both their grandmothers while they were still very young. My son asked lots of questions. 

"Why doesn't she look like grandma now?"
I told them that the part of grandma that had loved them, laughed with them and played with them had gone to heaven to be with God. All that was left here was her shell.

"Why are you so sad if grandma is in heaven with God?"
That was an eye opener. I finally decided it was because I would miss her so much.

Then there is that weird thing following a death in the family where people who haven't seen each other for ages eat, drink and get emotional. As a young child myself I found these gatherings so similar to weddings that, to this day, I will use the words funeral/wedding interchangeably without realizing it. Lots of food and drama followed by a long line of cars following the person or people down the street past my grandmother's house.

This is the time of year I am most often assailed by conflicting thoughts of All Soul's Day, Holy Days, Holidays,Heaven and Hell, superstitions, and the rites and rituals jumbled together in our bag of modern coping mechanisms.


 

Lost in my head

I used to worry about what would happen if I ever got trapped in my head by old age, or senility, or something crazy, but my dreams are taking on cinema scope qualities.

This morning I dreamed I had agreed to marry a person from my past. (In real life I never dreamed of doing that.)

I found myself with him and his big extended family (think Alaskan Bush People) living in Australia as we prepared for the wedding. I was a younger thinner version of myself wondering why I had agreed to this wedding and wondering if I could love him enough to give him the marriage he deserved, because I knew I wasn't in love with him.

One of his brothers came to me and presented me with a sterling silver axe head inscribed with our names and the date of our marriage. It had no handle, was very sharp and although I was touched, it made me wonder even more why I was there.

His mother took me to see her very upscale galley kitchen, but I was too fat to walk through it. Their house was enormous. Think indoor football field big with tons of stuff packed around an empty center. Almost like hoarders on the edge.

His father took me downstairs where the wedding would be and I remember hugging my fiancee and  thinking he was so much smaller than I remembered, except for his leg braces which were just as big and heavy. Again I wondered if I was doing the right thing, but my son appeared for the wedding and I was so happy to see him.  I thought I would never see any of my family again now that I was in Australia.

Then the father and one of the older brothers took us to look at what was on the edges of the downstairs room and I saw fake houses and buildings and dioramas, that I soon realized had real people living in them and I asked if they knew this? The father said he did and took me into the one that looked like a snow scene.

We ran down a creature I thought was a yeti and it turned out to be Santa! There I was, lying on the snow holding onto Santa's boots when I got a text on my cell and woke up.

How disappointing!

Several times.

There are times in life when no amount of ranting or raving can change what is happening. Nothing is strong enough to bulldoze through the unfairness. For one reason or another, I find myself at the mercy of a seemingly impossible situation.

I have been there and the urge to kick something, or throw something is powerful. I've slammed a few doors, ripped a couple of hanging plants off the ceiling once and written endless pages in my journal about what I feel. What I would like to do. What I'm going to do. What I should have done.

And then, when all is said and done and time has passed, the fury passes. The frustration morphs into fatigue and that is when I invariably turn to Thich Nhat Hahn's words.

Breathing in, I calm body and mind. Breathing out, I smile. Dwelling in the present moment I know this is the only moment.

The simple truth of those words has changed my life - several times.

Just keep on living

Today was my daughter's birthday and as the family got together to celebrate, my sister called. It made me think about life and living and the women who have gone before me.

My mother's generation have mostly died too young and the reasons for this are many. Among other things they picked up habits their parents never had the luxury of trying. They smoked, drank, stayed up late and ate a lot of processed food. They were also some of the first people to drive more than they walked.

My grandmother's generation lived into their nineties. They did not smoke or drink because good Baptist's didn't do those things and they didn't eat much processed food until they were fairly advanced in age. They began as farm people and continued to garden and cook the old ways well into their middle years.

Both generations lived through the depression, but my grandmother's did it as adults. My mother grew up surrounded by stories of the end of the world culminating in hell fire and damnation. Terribly real and horrific thoughts to nurture a child on, especially during such a bleak period in history.

But I think the biggest difference between my mother's generation and my grandmother's was what they focused on. My grandmother was always looking ahead, planning on what she would do next, talking about being elderly, but acting young. Conquering dark times one after the other, from World War I when she was 18 and right on through war after war, watching men land on the moon, vaccines become available; I think they had a sense of being okay, of being in control to some degree, of feeling they could do whatever was necessary.

My mother's generation talked about death and dying. Old age beckoned with promises of release from the harshness of the world, death was terrifying, but still an escape from a world almost too hard to understand. They bought things with credit, had mortgages, televisions, the world called to them and left them unsatisfied with what they had. I think they gave up too early.

It seems to me that the most important thing to remember is that I need to keep on living. I will not be dead until I die, so there is no reason to go early into retirement homes and assisted living places. Give up paying jobs when they are too hard , but never stop working. Then it is time to do other work, to throw myself into hobbies and volunteering and art and music and anything else I think I might find enjoyable and creative.

No worries. I'll die some day even if I don't think about, but I don't want to waste good years sitting around contemplating that.

Over time

It takes a while to get used to sharing an apartment.

For everybody I guess!

Annabel, my six month old kitten has been here two months now and she has made her preferences clear.

The martini glasses are perfect for her food and water. In fact, when I used the old glass custard cups today, she refused to eat. They were fine a month ago, but I guess she's moved up in the world now.

Her favorite napping spot is between the pillows on my bed, but now she is shedding, I bought her a nice little bed. I put it between the pillows which is exactly where she wants it.

I am allowed to throw her mouse and she will fetch when the spirit moves her and she will sometimes come over and cuddle up next to me -- unless -- I touch her!

I am occasionally allowed to pat her back or perhaps her tail, but that's it!

I'm hoping we grow closer with time!

Don't fence me in

I think I must be having a bad dream and our forefathers are turning over in their graves.

Where is the dignity of a country when one of two major parties has let a man like Trump become their presidential candidate?

How did people become so short sighted and ignorant of consequences that they are willing to deny scientific facts and openly embrace racism, bigotry, misogyny and greed?

Our checks and balances have been off kilter for nearly eight years. The people at the top barely disguising their racism or ability to buy whatever they want.

We better pray those checks and balances come back into play soon, because we are beginning to look like one of those countries where petty dictators get up and strut around shouting, "Off with their heads"

Then everyone will be on the wrong side of someone's fence.

Routines - a Halloween story

She was born in 1890 on the day her mother died and she was so tiny her grandparents placed her on a bed of cotton in a cigar box in their kitchen cook stove. Her father, devastated by his wife's death abandoned both her and her brother in his parent's care and left.

No one expected her to live, even healthy big babies died back then. She did live, though, and both she and her brother were raised by grim Victorian grandparents who neither wanted, nor could afford them.

She had a dolly that she rocked in a little rocking chair until she was six years old when  her grandparents took that away from her because she was too old and gave her a thimble for her birthday. It was time for her to put away childish things and begin the routines and duties of a female in the late eighteen hundreds. The horror of seeing her doll burned in the same cook stove that had saved her life never left her.

Hemming hankies and sheets, making biscuits and learning to keep house made school seem like a holiday, but she was not good at her lessons. When her period started during class and embarrassed her by ruining her white dress, she was taken out of school for good. Life settled into the routine of cleaning house, cooking, the occasional taffy pull with church friends and her grandfather's whip whenever she stepped the least little bit out of line.

It is not surprising that when she met my great uncle, the family bad boy, and he paid attention to her, she fell madly in love. His parents, my great grandparents were not happy about this. They envisioned a better match for their bright, but mischievous son, so it wasn't until his 21st. birthday that he sneaked her out of the house and onto a train bound for St. Louis.

In between picking her up and boarding the train, they were married. He in his best Sunday clothes. She also in hers, but with a brand new pair of shoes she had managed to buy and hide away for just this occasion. Size two heels the shoe store had bought as samples for their window. New shoes for special occasions became one of her life long routines. Dutifully married and feeling quite pleased with themselves they boarded the train only to find his mother sitting there waiting for them!

Instead of going to St. Louis they went back to her house where they lived the rest of their lives. He driving a truck for, or working in the family business. She working in the hospital nursery caring for new born infants. It wasn't a bad life. They had their routines like on Friday night when they would walk downtown to the show and buy a nickel beer. The family was slightly horrified, but it wasn't forbidden.
 
Both of them loved children, but they were never blessed with their own and adoption was frowned upon by her new family. And so it was that a new routine was started. She was the one called on to stay with her new sister-in-law during her lying in and since they all lived in the Big house together, she continued to love and care for those children as they grew up.

Later she was called upon to do the same with the children of those children, (me) and finally with me and my children. Of course she didn't live with any of us, but she came and rocked the babies, played with the toddlers and watched over the older children as if they were her own. It was a routine that spanned over sixty years.

Sixty years uniting a family with tales of her own childhood and the childhoods of all the children she had loved and cared for. Sixty years of changing diapers, playing school and penny poker on the library rug. Sixty years of telling real ghost stories that tingled and terrified -- until she herself joined that ghostly specter who had rescued her from Victorian grandparents when she wasn't much more than a child herself.