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Posts Tagged ‘acceptance’

Hygge is about having less, enjoying more; the pleasure of simply being… Louisa Thomsen Brits, The Book of Hygge: The Danish Art of Living Well

Hygge time. A Danish concept. Moments when we are grateful and aware of the now. Not yesterday or tomorrow. Snow falls while Jay and I sip coffee.

He tells me about someone he met at the pool. “I killed two kids,” the man told him.

My first thoughts are DUI or an accident, but this is my time to listen. The man is a veteran. He followed the command to shoot. Children sometimes carried explosives. The dead are not people; they are the enemy. Saved by the military.

Jay tells him it wasn’t his fault. He did what he was told to do. The man answered, “But I pulled the trigger.”

Now that moment explodes through the man’s head. A mantra called PTSD, created by the battlefield. Guilt with no place to go. He wants someone to apologize for the command. Jay can only listen, a powerful tool for the moment. Not an immediate answer.

The man left the pool.

I had been looking out our front window and watching the lines formed by the houses in our neighborhood. The homes. I look for the focal point I have been discovering in art class. As a student at age 73.

Even a simple line remains true and honest, then easily misunderstood by point of view. A tilted camera. An I-already-know attitude. In the photo I didn’t want a picture of my car, the house across the street. I didn’t want the half-iced street. This tilt is obvious. Not every slant is.

In the picture I know the difference. In real life, perception can be blurry in ways that have nothing to do with eyesight.

The whiteness won’t stay. Neither will ten o’clock on a February Saturday morning. However, I hope the integrity inherent in a few moments on an ordinary couch, remains and grows into whatever I need to be now. Into tomorrow. Into each giving opportunity as it opens.

 

 

 

 

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At the end of the day, tell yourself gently: “I love you, you did the best you could today, and even if you didn’t accomplish all you had planned, I love you anyway. (Francois)

Turn on the news. Try not to scream, or worse, cry in despair. Integrity has been attacked. The legal system in the United States has been destroyed. Untrue statements repeat as valid, creating powerful weapons against justice. Absurdity and hate reach a crescendo.

And the notion that an honest tomorrow is promised, falls short.

So, why try to fight evil? Because I have value. You have value. The folk who have been misled have value. I remember a picture I took in County Clare in Ireland a year and a half ago. During a drought. A plant was growing through a hole in a rock. The growth didn’t happen quickly. It did happen after persistence.

To remain capable of giving even as the world seems to crumble. To smile, honestly, at a critic. Not easy. And no, I haven’t earned a halo. I have done the best I could today. May the rock break open just a little bit more. With the counter-weapon of compassion, while continuing to speak truth.

 

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Listening to and understanding our inner sufferings will resolve most of the problems we encounter. (Thich Nhat Hanh)

An old black car with temporary tags sped up our street during Saturday night’s rain. Hit and run. My rear-view mirror is no longer facing the rear without the help of duct tape. The glass cracked but didn’t escape onto the road to puncture tires. My car’s left side has superficial wounds yet lacks an immune system. It won’t heal itself.

My husband and I were not home at the time. However, two neighbors witnessed the event. They chased the driver. Later they identified her. The next day a police report was filed with my neighbors’ help. I am humbled by their steadfast assistance.

“You are loved,” my daughter-in-law says. And I pause, aware of the goodness of my family. Friends. One of the witnesses I barely recognize. The other has assisted my husband and me many times.

Cecelia, my daughter-in-law, and I speak often. I am more than twice her age. It doesn’t matter. Sometimes I encourage her. Then we reverse roles. Ego isn’t the decider. Being the best of who we can be, is.

Sometimes, insides break open like the interior of this near-dead rear-view mirror. It’s complicated inside and needs protection. Not smooth, matching the meant-to-look-perfect whole. Time to face what is, not what I want it to be.

I think about this person who used the street as a speedway. And I can’t judge. Old. Young. Color. None of it matters. Besides, I don’t know the answer.

I pray she no longer needs to run. From whatever, to whatever. The messiness inside the whole. A job that isn’t mine. That doesn’t mean I can’t care enough to wish her well. In whatever way a blessed journey can lead.

 

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If the person you are talking to doesn’t appear to be listening, be patient.
It may simply be that he has a small piece of fluff in his ear. (A. A. Milne, Winnie-The-Pooh)

Sometimes a sigh says more than a paragraph can. Kim, a YMCA employee, tells Jay and me not to give up. We’ve come this far. I can’t speak for my husband, but I have more than fluff in my ear. Both ears, my knees, back, and hair follicles feel impaired. How long have Jay and I been on the phone with our insurance company anyway? Trying to get some number-code, one we didn’t know we needed for a new benefit. Exercise for older folk.

Jay says we have been in limbo for an hour. Including transfers, wrong departments, and a disconnected line. We can join the Silvers Sneakers Program, for free. However, we have only been given partial information regarding the how-to. Not enough to get us started.

I am ready to bolt. Go home. Clean the toilet. Scrub the trash can with an old toothbrush. Empty the leaves from the yard, one at a time. Anything would be a better use of the day.

Then Niecey appears. A tall, attractive, dark woman who doesn’t look old enough to be eligible for Silver Sneakers. She has just finished her registration. She offers to help. We abandon the phone for the Internet. Within minutes the task is completed. *

Kim appears ecstatic, as if we had joined her family. Personally. “See. It was worth it. Thank God!” We join in a half-sung halleluiah.

Patience. Thy name is not Terry. Irritation could fit better. An overall distrust for systems, of almost any kind. Time to choose a different perspective. Not simply because a problem has been solved, but because good people in the world exist. I have a choice—to celebrate the presence of angels or get lost in memories of miscommunications. A sure slide into bitterness.

Kim’s smile reveals an inner glow. Her tight black curls seem to dance as she hugs me.

How long can I hold onto the kindness of cherubs—envision it with the same eyes that view continuous, ugly news events? I don’t know. But kindness is worth the brain cell use. For as long as I keep the fluff out of my ears.

 

*Maybe this help link could be beneficial for general information about the insurance benefit. Unfortunately, I don’t think there is a one-size-fits-all answer.

 

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Courage doesn’t happen when you have all the answers. It happens when you are ready to face the questions you have been avoiding your whole life. (Shannon L. Alder)

The summer of 1963. I’m at a journalism workshop in Detroit to prepare for a position on my high school magazine. And I have a date. Other pre-seniors, a group of at least six, give advice about makeup.

“More eyebrow pencil. They look pale. Lost.”

A description of how I felt. Strange. I had a date. With a guy I’d just met. Not the love of my life, but someone who would introduce me to a fancy restaurant and frog legs. Yet my memory of the moment says I wasn’t enough.

Today I look in the mirror and see one red, irritated eye. The itching is a unique form of torture and I am grateful for antibiotic drops. Pink eye is temporary. Human frailties are not.

I have survived adolescence by now. However, what is this thing in me that says rest must be limited? Does laundry really need to be done, now? I need to type even when the letters could be more fog than print. I take a break, a short one. Maybe not-good-enough has morphed through the years. Soothed with action.

The new year begins. May I remain open to change, especially if it doesn’t seem easy. Time to focus on the real. And grow inside both joy and turmoil.

 

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If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other. (Mother Teresa)

My grandson’s miniature cars speed across rug or kitchen floor and carry his imagination. I saw those possibilities for less than a few seconds as I waited in line at a local discount store.

As the couple behind me and I chatted, the man making his purchase, a one-dollar toy car, raised his voice. “It’s how much?”

I watched his dark cheeks tighten.

The cashier repeated the price in a barely audible voice.

I pulled out my wallet. Even if I had spoken before reaching into my purse, I would have been too late. I guess he expected the item to be further discounted. My mind-reading skills are rusty.

He ranted about how nobody likes him. Everybody hates him. Why doesn’t the store just call the police?

Nevertheless, he pulled out the dollar and more change than necessary to pay the tax.

I’ve been thinking about this slender, angry man and praying for him ever since. One dollar and a few coins couldn’t have saved him. He needed far more. An earlier justice probably. Love, when he was ready to recognize it.

He walked out. How easy such a simple event could have led to violence.

The cashier in the next lane hugged her fellow worker.

“That poor man isn’t well. You know it wasn’t you,” I added. And she nodded.

Yet, one tiny car travels somewhere. The only gift he could afford? I don’t know. No story is ever complete. May a blessing appear. Somewhere.

Since then Christmas hasn’t come and gone; it has come and begun. The day has nothing to do with a belief system. Presents. Parties. Enough lights to blind traffic. The ability to be peace transcends any religious border. Let it happen. Please.

 

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You know what the great thing about babies is? They are like little bundles of hope. Like the future in a basket. (Lish McBride)

I tell my hours-old granddaughter how beautiful she is. Everyone does, even if the message is a smile or a touch. Little bundle of hope. I look at her instead of the news. And leave my cold, wet coat on a chair. The outside world can wait while we meet:

You haven’t become complicated yet, Adeline. Your wants and needs are identical: warmth, food, protection, a pair of arms.

I pray for you, my old-lady blessing. Then I realize. You are the one blessing me with the freshness of possibilities. With love. As you grow may I learn to repair, seek no more than the basics, and celebrate life.

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