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Archive for January, 2019

It gets really tricky giving advice. The older I get, the less advice I give. ( Anne Heche.)

My father taught me to consider the source. I find that easier now than I could as a teenager, before I knew who I was. Strange that I recall being berated because my eyebrows weren’t penciled dark enough. My hair was the color of spun gold, with eyebrows that disappeared into a fair, freckled face.

The advice-giver. Why are there so many of them? And why do they have voices that match the average street preacher?

And—does it need to bother me?

My brother-in-law has an MD. When he said I was losing weight too quickly after surgery and was risking metabolic damage, I listened. Advertisement come-ons could be another matter. An invitation to skydive because it jump starts adrenaline? Probably not.

What is the best and worst advice someone has ever given you? My dad’s fits somewhere at the top. Any advice that told me I shouldn’t try because I wasn’t good enough. Definitely. In the don’t-think-so category.

 

 

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Uncontestably, alas, most people are not, in action, worth very much; and yet, every human being is an unprecedented miracle. One tries to treat them as the miracle there are, while trying to protect oneself against the disasters they’ve become. (James Baldwin.)

Three hospital visits today. One man has improved. We talked without looking at the clock. And celebrated his recovery, even though it hadn’t yet appeared. The other two persons suffered far more. My husband and I stayed long enough to offer love in the form of an out-loud prayer. I told our friends we were there because we cared and would leave for the same reason. To allow them rest. A sweet, other-folks-care rest.

Not long ago I recall waking from a dream into a fully-lit hospital room. Into a strange half-consciousness. Now, I watch and remember those moments.

You are loved. You are loved. You are an unprecedented miracle.

And yet the pain in my own gut has not completely disappeared. Some things no one wants to share. Not completely.

Rain continues. Steady. Cold. It floods. It cries and creates huge puddles. The yard can’t soak up any more water.

No one season lasts forever. No one greeting falls the same upon every set of ears. May warmth arrive with fresh blessings

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The wisest mind has something yet to learn. (George Santayana)

 I’m trying to understand that nitty-gritty inside place most people have experienced but don’t define. Oh, I suspect vague words come up: tired, not-up-to-it, lack of energy. A glass of water waits on the TV stand four steps away and yet it takes me fifteen minutes to rise and grab it.

I’m referring to lost, static moments of staring into space. Not in a depressive way, more in a state of physical weakness. Recovery takes time.

Imagination. Come on. I know you are in there. Let’s play a simple game. How many gratitude connections can I celebrate in this room? From this beige square of couch.

First, I see a photo of my grandson. He raked leaves in our driveway before the predicted snow, but he had wanted me with him. He is eager to help but only seven-years old. He set up a chair in the garage and asked if I needed a blanket, too. My shoulders may have needed one; my heart did not. And the warmth lingers.

Among a stack of magazines are gifts. My brother sends me a subscription to the New Yorker. A long-time friend blesses me with Guideposts. Food for the mind. Food for the spirit. This same spiritual friend sends quotes I save and use often in my blogs.

My son scrubbed the rug and daughter-in-law helped with organization too heavy for me until my stitches heal. Steve and Cece’s love appears fresh, spontaneous. It remains in the air.

A sunburst. It doesn’t last long. They never do. However, it reminds me that aches don’t remain forever either. I haven’t reached a state of wisdom to be grateful for pain yet. I am up, with more strength than expected.

 

 

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I can be pretty dense about my own basic needs, when my focus is getting through the many small tasks of a day’s work and a day’s caretaking. (Lydia Millet)

I suspect that if I still were smoking, drinking, or using chocolate as a dietary staple, my New Year’s self-promise would be a rhetorical question. The word resolution has developed a seasonal flavor, worn-out by February, lost before the first green of spring. I’m trying a side door.

A spiritual group that has kept me reasonably sane for the past forty plus years, has developed a new approach to the New Year’s Resolution. We each choose a word that represents something in our everyday lives that needs development, improvement, or downright realignment.

The name of our group, as the illustration suggests, is Apple. When we named ourselves, our bellies resembled the round fruit. We were in our fertile stage of life. (Fertile now refers to composting.)

Yet life continues to call for change no matter how much we age. Development. New seeds within our understanding. How can we become better individuals? Never perfect. Perfection remains a definition in the dictionary, like utopia. After all, we choose only one area of change. Encompassed within one word.

The word—It must:

  1. Express a need that appears often enough to set a person back as often as daily.
  2. Be intrinsic to our own flaws, not someone else’s.
  3. Yet, not allow self-loathing.
  4. And include a sense of humor and forgiveness.
  5. The same word can be repeated the next year.
  6. Provided effort is honest.

Examples of words are: judgmental attitude, self-criticism, resentment…

The next question is how can we take a notion and act on it? Lifelong bad habits don’t disappear with a decision. They take observation, study, sometimes even outside help. Therefore, we listen to one another’s experience. And make minor thought moves, followed by small actions.

For now, I try to get through the day. So much to do and no doctor’s okay to do it. No, I can’t choose patience. That asks too much. Then again, maybe patience is a side effect of any journey’s choice. As unavoidable as conflict, pain, and another sunrise.

Peace upon all, and a blessed year all the way through.

 

 

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