The question

I remember being very pregnant and on my way to the doctor when my car died on a busy exit to the mall. We did not have cell phones then, so I got out and crawled up an icy hill to a gas station where I called my husband for help.

He told me he was busy and I should take care of my own car. I asked if he would come get me so I didn't have to crawl back down the hill and he said no.

So I called a tow truck and made my way back to my car where I kept trying to start it and finally succeeded. Then I hurried to my appointment with the obstetrician since I was already late.

It seems my husband changed his mind and did eventually go looking for our car. He was angry that I had not called to tell him it started, but why would I? He had said he wasn't coming.

I often think of this when I pass that corner and remember the embarrassment of blocking traffic and the fear of injuring our baby as I made my way up and down that icy slope.

But not until today, when I was walking, did I think, "Why did he always take the good car and park it at work all day, leaving me with the totally unreliable one to transport myself and our children to and from school and doctor appointments?

Sometimes it takes 37 years to ask the right question.

Feral Child

A feral child is one that grows up isolated from human contact, but I am beginning to believe we are seeing the creation of a new form of feral child. One that grows up without the benefit of actual hands on caring caretakers, a child raised by contact with television, movies, games and other children.

I see more and more children in elementary school, kindergarten through fifth grade, who appear to be growing up without learning what were once basic behaviors.

They may be well dressed, even well groomed, but after four years, not in a special needs classroom, but a standard, regular room filled with supposedly healthy children, still bite another child when angered, or need to be reminded to do simple tasks all the time. They expect substantial rewards for not doing mean things or for doing the right thing.

They do not listen. They do not even hear half of what is said to them at any given moment and their standard for behavior is the exaggerated and attention drawing behavior they see on television or movies.

No one at home seems to have the time, or inclination to teach them that these behaviors will not serve them well in the real world unless they become precocious young child actors who are paid to act this way.

And, sadly, the school seems to follow suit.

They are not rewarded for listening and generating correct behavior. Instead they given treats like lab animals for performing. They are not creative. They are sly. They are not truly happy and well adjusted. They are hungry for attention, whiney, and skidding by on the skin of their teeth.

These are the new feral children.

Conflict

I saw a woman walking out to her car tonight. I see people doing similar things all tnhe time when I am walking out here, but tonight something was different. I don't know what it was but I heard myself asking her if she needed help.

She said no, but then walked over to where I was and started talking. She was moving up here from Arkansas after a fifty year marriage. I expected to hear her husband had died, but it turned out her story was a lot like mine. She was just getting a later start.

And she needed to talk.

I had almost forgotten what it was like at the beginning. The hopes. The fears. The confusion.

She has sons and grandchildren here, so she is lucky.

We talked a long time, then I went on with my walk.

She said I should knock on her door sometime and we could walk together.

I was surprised at how conflicted I was about that.

Potholes

I have dealt with intermittent sadness most of my adult life.

It comes from situations where I felt powerless for one reason or another and it comes from some innermost part of me that walks a very narrow line dividing light and dark.

Over the years I have learned how to cope with it, not completely, but pretty efficiently in the long run.

My first instinct is to eat. There is comfort in eating that goes way beyond a full stomach, but it is also just another path to misery in the end, because being over weight has both physical and emotional baggage.

Next comes the urge to point fingers and blame. Knowing why I feel, or might feel this way, is such a temporary comfort. Other than showing me how not to do something, it makes little difference in the long run.

The only long term way I know to combat sadness is to do something that feels positive. It's like creating a rope to pull me out and up. I make plans, even if they come to nothing. I do things. Doing may be pointless, or it may inadvertently show me some positive way out, but it occupies my mind in less destructive ways than not doing.

Unless! Not doing is in the form of meditation or centering prayer.

I have cultivated a survivor attitude that works for me. At this point in my life I know what to do to combat this old enemy. I know how to avoid the potholes that leave me devastated and when I inadvertently step in one, it may take me a few days, but I know how to climb out. My expectations are much more practical now.

If the boat is flooded I bail. I don't contemplate the hole, or waste time being angry with the cause.

Landfills

Our world creates a lot of garbage and although we can recycle and reuse, there will always be  landfills that preceded today.

Garbage dumps don't go away, but they don't have to be pits of everlasting ugliness.

With a lot of hard work and ingenuity, it is possible to turn a landfill into a safe and useful place.

The fact that people know there is garbage below that lovely Japanese garden, or strikingly well balanced building does not lessen their loveliness, or usefulness.

The past is aptly named, but the future is full of possibilities.

Focal points

I have always loved looking at the world through the lens of my camera, but I never really thought too much about why.

Once I thought it was just so I could share these odd moments with friends and family, but today I think I realized some other reasons.

Looking for pictures gives me a reason, as if I needed one, to be more aware of my surroundings. And narrowing down what moves me about a particular scene can be an enlightening experience. Topping that off by trying to capture that feeling with my lens,  gives me an even greater appreciation for the moment.

It is looking at a vast panorama and distilling it down to one focal point that expresses the essence of it for me. Whatever that essence is -- which can be another enlightening moment.

Beauty exists in the most surprising places.

For me it is often in the contrasting spaces of light and dark, shadows and dazzling brilliance.

I love shadows. They highlight some awfully fascinating places.

An important thing to remember

The difference between expectations and what I really believe makes all the difference in the world, because I can't really expect something I don't believe in.

It means I don't really expect what I say, or think, or perhaps even believe I expect.

I may want to live forever, but I don't really expect to. I may want to be thin and healthy, but I never expect to actually get there. I may love the idea of being youthful, but don't really believe I am.

I have this niggling suspicion that most things are possible if I really, truly do believe them with all my heart and all my thoughts and all my soul.

The secret then, is not to find the magic word, or fountain of youth, or anything else outside of myself.

The secret is to find what I need inside of me.

Why am I here?

Sometimes life whispers in my ear and I find myself wondering that age old question. What is the purpose?

Am I a figment of some creator's imagination, a simple biological creation, a demi-god here to create my own miracles, or something I have not even thought of yet?

I know some people grow up believing they are entitled while others feel they are worthless. I grew up believing I came from great people who had a right to live well and because of that I must serve others.

I have always liked the finer things in life, but I have also always felt called to volunteer, starting as a fourteen year old candy-striper at our local hospital and moving through a variety of jobs through the years.

I have been fortunate that money is only important to me for the things it will do to make my life nicer. I have also been fortunate to have someone in my life who provides the bulk of the money.

What is my purpose?

I think it is to love. Not enable, or spoil, or ruin, but learn to really love, to teach and give and receive those things that make life worth living.

A very bad day

Days are just the intervals between sunrise and sunset.

Yet they have the ability to be distinctive depending on what occurs during this time period.

Any given moment is generally tolerable, or better, but some days are like Charlie Brown's Pig Pen, covered by a dark cloud.
 
This has been a difficult week for me. Bestest is living through the darkest time he's had to face since I've known him and I can do almost nothing to help him. My sister had all her bottom teeth pulled today and my brother's diabetes has caused him to face more surgery. I arrived at my volunteer job to discover the school in lock down, surrounded by policemen.

It turned out to be a failed kidnapping, but then at the assembly that followed, one child threw up and another fainted. I was working with a substitute teacher who had no access to the emails clarifying all the things going on so we were mostly in the dark.

I'd say this particular interval qualifies as a very bad day.

Making room

Nirvana, Eden, Paradise, perfect moments are exactly that. Moments. In the glancing of a moment I get a taste of that which cannot be owned.

If I waste my time there trying to grab hold of it, trying to keep it, or make it mine in some way, it is lost to me.

It is impossible to truly convey the being of that moment. What it is. What it feels like. How I feel during and after.

It is not my moment. I am simply in that moment.

It is as if I am translucent and the light passes through me, touching every essence of my being as it does.

And that is why, when I am searching for it, I try to empty myself and make room.

Anniversaries

The air is filled with promises I can't explain.

I feel it all around me -- a shimmering, a lifting of the veil, a glancing that carries me away.

I am in love with life and it brings me gifts I don't dare try to hold on to.

Forty six years ago today I thought I was marrying the love of my life. That world ended sixteen years ago and I thought nothing would ever be the same.

I was right.

Who could imagine this?

Listen

It is so personal and so indiscernible that no one can ever really feel another person's grief.

I can empathize and imagine. I can feel my love for you and my need to ease your suffering.

But even, with all of that,  I still don't really know.

And that is why I listen -- with my ears and head and heart -- just listen as you pour your heart out into mine and I feel the blessing of being here for you.

Being there

Childhood memories, which often seem whimsical at times, become the bones of a man's character when he grows up.

Chocolate Dilly bars became life lines for a sad little toddler who just lost his dad and then his mother for a whole long summer.

Watermelon as big as your head was eaten on an old wooden picnic table wearing just his underwear.

These and other stories were shared again and again and again. Memories tucked away for future days still to come.

A strong little woman who could do anything she had to taught her grandson he could do the same.

She was there to hold that tiny hand when he needed her most and he was there to hold hers as she took her last breath.

Blooming

It's that time of year, when we till the earth and plant the gardens that will feed us tomorrow and it is a process as old as time.

Digging up the dry hard earth, breaking up the big clods, sifting through it with our fingers trying to decide if it is just right.

Dropping the seeds in, sometimes in little clusters and others one at a time.

Knowing those seeds carry a heritage that goes back years and years and years.  Each seed carries the memory of its forbears, the strength to survive droughts, the softness to absorb the rain, the ability to grab whatever the earth has to offer and thrive if possible.

Each seed is the child of countless others and the grandmother of many more.

And each one that grows will struggle to thrive and blossom and produce both the fruit and the seeds that will carry its essence on.

Some call this the circle of life, others simple growth cycles, but the lucky ones, those who remember the one who started their cycle might call it love. And love is a complicated thing.

It is strong. It is imperfect. It is fallible. It is forever.

Growing up in the shadow of this kind of love is seldom easy, but those who do it are given something that loose seeds may never know. There is a sense of purpose and continuity that supersedes the moment and fosters authentic growth in the face of differences, so while it may feel discordant or difficult, it is never as far from the love as it may appear.

The blooms, the fruit, the product of such strength is a gift buried deep in the heart.

Me

Oh to see myself as others see me and recognize it as the truth, or perhaps, maybe not the truth.

The curse of being human, and trying to be honest is that I find it difficult to trust my own vision of myself.

I think I can give a pretty fair assessment of someone else. I have all sorts of tricks for doing that. I see them as their mother's child, as a son of Adam and daughter of Eve, as a human being who only wants to be the best they know how to be.

Trying to look at myself the same way is much more difficult. There is a part of me that says, "You know better."  Or I believe that I want to be something so badly, that I see it when it's not there.

I know better than to believe that seeing is believing. So much of what people see is only a facade, or fleeting impression.

Once you get past that, things get darker and a part of me always thinks that deeper, darker part is less than in some way. That earthy, baser, less formal part is what I value in those I really deeply love.

But it becomes a flaw in those I don't, so I suppose the challenge is to love more and include myself in that.

Looking at myself with love is not something I was brought up to do, so maybe I am not done growing. The hardest work is still to come.

If everyone really loved themselves I suspect the world would be a better place and the place to start is with me. Now that is a challenge!

Every day

Some things come and go in our lives, but children are not one of them.

Even though my children are grown up and have children of their own, I think about them every day.

Even though I have nothing to say about what they do, or where they do it, I think about them every day.

Even though I can do nothing to change their circumstances, I think about them every day.

The love that let them go out into the world still keeps a slim invisible tether that ties them to my heart.

Just a walk

Today I made a valiant effort to walk in Moraine View State Park, but the paths were not cleared and the thorny vines caused me to turn back after a few minutes. It was a lovely, and long, drive, but no walking.

I ended up walking here at home once more, but that means I haven't lost a day walking in a very long time now.

And it is beautiful here.

Sometimes I memorize the out of state license plates and sometimes I take pictures. Today was a picture day. The sun was just right for deep dark shadows and brilliant sun -- my favorite kind of photos.

In addition to the ducks, geese and lovely reflections, there was a woman doing Tae Kwon Do by the lake, a man trying to walk his cat, and two little girls throwing cereal to the ducks.

Did I mention it is beautiful here?

Naming

People want to know.  They want names and definitions. They think that knowing really is half the battle and it is -- but which half?

Not feeling well, having aches and pains, is frustrating, but just naming the problem isn't always a solution. It is all too easy to join a group of like suffering people and settle in. Misery loves company.

There is the false notion that if "everybody" has it, it is endurable, but why settle for that?

It might be better to keep trying different solutions until something works. And if nothing ever works?

Well, at least there is the hope that the next thing to try might be the answer. My experience points out that when I am doing something at least my mind is distracted and I feel better in that moment.

So here is to doing more than naming.

The gospel truth

I treasure old things.

Old furniture, old relics, old stories, old books, all these things can evoke feelings of venerability.

But . . just because something is old does not mean it is more of anything than something that is newer -- except older.

In the end these things were created by people and while I believe people have learned many things over time and probably extraordinary things given enough time; I don't believe the fundamental nature of humans has probably changed much.

I suspect man has always been driven by similar feelings and needs and wants.

People want power and control. It makes us feel safer. If I have the power to feed my children what they need to thrive I am a happy mother. And some people, having tasted power, want more of it. They will believe, or say, or do whatever it takes to get what they want, or what they believe is in the best interests of whoever they love.

Just because something is very old, or was written by a learned man does not make it the truth.

In order to judge the "truth" in something we need to know about the culture of the time and the place this writer had in that culture. Otherwise we are just picking and choosing those things that appeal to us and calling them truth.

That is folklore on a grand scale. Fascinating, but not necessarily gospel. But that being said, if I believe in something, it becomes my truth.

At last

Home.

It's more than a building. More than a feeling. More than so many seemingly disconnected things.

It's a little bit of this, a little bit of that, a feeling, a plant, a quilt, an old piece of furniture.

It's the modern new lamp with the oval shade, the drop down desk with the architecture decor.

It's a fuzzy footed fern, a blue art bird feeder, fine china bought at Goodwill and pictures collected over the years

It's a place where I feel safe to walk -- even in the moonlight where I find myself surrounded by geese and ducks and cardinals and woodpeckers.

It is good to be home. At last.

Decisions

It's April they say and some of the folks
are taking their word while some think it's a joke.
They are running around in blouses and sweaters
pretending this snow is just tiny white feathers.
But the crows are sitting quite low in the trees
and geese on their nests are knitting chemise
Woolly little shirts for their babies to wear
when they peck their way out into this frozen white air.
And I am out walking in my best woolen cap
and scarf and some mittens and other warm _____.

Stubbornness and Persistence

Persistence and stubbornness, one is considered good and the other not so good.

One requires effort and the other comes naturally.

I was born stubborn.

Persistence requires more from me. Walking thirty, or more, minutes every day, requires persistence.

Stubbornness fails me when I am disappointed or frustrated, or scared, or sad. The comfort of running to feed my emptiness needs to find a new way to manifest.

I need to replace the ugly voices in my head that say I've failed -- again -- with something more productive. Stubbornness tells me I can do that.

But only persistence can make it work.

Remember

How easily I forget.

This time last year I was walking in Washington Park in Springfield, Illinois and I was in a lot of pain. It would turn out to be the beginning of five months being nearly housebound because I couldn't walk.

I was beginning to wonder if it was the beginning of the end, if I would never walk again.

Today I spent over an hour walking around shopping then came home and walked another 35 minutes. I also vacuumed the rug, did laundry and cleaned up my deck after the dirty birds and a very squirrelly squirrel got into the seeds and made a mess.

And now I am sitting here pleasantly tired, writing My Thots and wishing I had somewhere to go. Not like to the movies, or anything like that, but a road trip!

I spend a lot of time dreaming of moving into a new apartment even though I don't think there is one in town as nice as this one for the price.

My life is so good right now.

I need to remember that!

Rare

Love is not equal, or fair, or measurable. It is simply unique.

It cannot be given by anyone outside the relationship, or sanctioned, or forbidden with any real success.

It does not have to be returned to exist. It doesn't even really need to be known. Although these things make it feel richer, they do not change its essence.

If there is truly any holy thing that exists, I believe it is love. Purer than anything else on earth it supersedes everything else and has only the highest of expectations or desires. Totally unselfish, totally other oriented, always in the highest best interests of the other, it is rare in this world.

An ineffable enigma in a world that likes compact concise definitions, it defies everything except its existence.

The icing on the cake

The greatest gift of all is time.Time spent doing something that the recipient loves doing and doing it with them -- not just for them.

Focusing on that person's actual desires, listening to their thoughts as they talk about them, allowing them to feel like the center of attention, making them feel important and worthwhile, is an incredible gift. One whose repercussions may last a lifetime.

While the instant gratification may appear to be spending a lot of money on a gift, it usually doesn't mean as much as making the effort to enjoy it with them.

Dropping them off at the show, sending them to camp, taking them to the beach, or Disney world are fun things, but if you want them to be memorable there needs to be personal interaction involved too.

Think of what people do for pets. Birthday cakes and candles do not impress dogs. New chew toys and balls are nice, but what that dog really wants is someone to throw the ball, play tug of war with the toys, go on a walk filled with new smells and places to run. People are pretty much the same.

Giving the gift of thoughtfulness, of time, of attention is real love. If you want to throw in something you buy too, that's just the icing on the cake.

On second thot

Where are all these professed Christians when it comes to taking care of ... well, nearly everyone that people in the Republican Party don't want to take care of -- the poor, the needy, the endangered, the suffering.

I read that we need immigrants who are legal and can hold down jobs we need filled. What about those human beings who need us? I'm pretty sure Jesus never said bring me your poor, your needy, your suffering souls if I can use them.

We also don't want people who come from "dangerous" countries, or "dangerous" religions, but there are very dangerous Christians out there too. It depends on where you are.

Pro Choice is down played in words, but where is the money to provide safe homes, good medical care and safe day care for all the unwanted babies born addicted to drugs, into intense poverty and homes where they are not only unwanted, but will be tortured and tormented until they die or someone finally discovers them chained up in attics and basements?

There is a danger in making moral laws that really only benefit the wealthy and well adjusted.

Petri dishes and pain

Pain is part of life.

I grew up with intense ear aches, leg aches, and joints that were forever out of whack.

Which allergies I have is less important than the degree of allergic reaction I have to each thing.

My body seems to dislike itself as much as it does foreign invasions.

I can do the simplest things and pull muscles or dislocate joints.

I have often gone to bed feeling fine and awakened injured.

No doctor can tell me why

If I had been conceived in earlier times I would have died before I was born caesarean, or died from pneumonia before I was one, so perhaps I was never meant to be. Maybe I am a biological mistake that escaped that great Petri dish in the sky and landed on earth.

It is embarrassing and painful and just a plain pain in the neck to deal with all these things. It makes me feel like a hypochondriac, which I am not.

I don't know what to do about all of this, so I generally just push on through and try to ignore whatever is wrong and gets in my way, which ends up making most things worse.  Still, I've done it for 66 years.

I've heard everything will be okay in the end, so if everything is not okay, it's not the end. I suppose that should leave me hopeful.

But . . .

Mother Nature

There is nothing like Mother Nature to put us in our place.

She has strength, tenacity, a brutal sense of fairness, and a total lack of favorites.

It is survival of the fittest, the smartest and the one who pays the closest attention.

Pitting ourselves against her is a fool's errand.

Sure, she created this world we trundle around in, but she could end it much more easily and people have been helping her move in that direction for some time now. If today's winds didn't make a believer out of you, consider, tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes and floods.

We have a chance if we start treating her right and learning from our mistakes, but that brings us right back around to survival of the fittest, the smartest and the one who pays the closest attention.

Life's magic moments

What if you have to grow into magic?

It happens when you are very young and then goes dormant around eight, the age of reason, when it is necessary to learn life's lessons the hard way in order to survive.

And then, as you age, it slowly comes back! Starting when? Perhaps that is different for each person.

But at some point it comes back and then the only question is: do you recognize it?

Those amazing coincidences may not be that at all!

Maybe you dreamed Bestest and he appeared!

But what if you don't believe in your dreams?

The toad waiting to be kissed got swept off the porch. The harmonica player in the evergreens who showed up practically on your doorstep later on was ignored. How many magical moments are lost to blindness and fear?

It would be one of life's little ironies. Like now having enough money to eat what you want, but you can't because of your health.

Don't stop believing just as your magic matures.