Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘appreciation’

Ordinary Act of Kindness—More than Ordinary

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on January 26, 2017| Leave a Comment »

If we all do one random act of kindness daily, we just might set the world in the right direction. (Martin Kornfeld)

At water aerobics, I decide not to use water weights, even a lighter set. Yes, physical therapy has brought enormous improvement. However, I feel twinges, minor muscle pulls warning more pain, and decide to stop while I’m ahead. I’ll do the exercises my therapist gave me later, with deep breaths, seeing all as well—even if that wellness only lasts until the next news broadcast.

Another member of the class asks if I want a set of weights. I tell her why I’m abstaining today. She is relatively new to the class, and exudes a gentle friendliness. When we meet, we smile at one another as if we’ve been friends for years.

“I’ll pray for you,” she says.

I’m surprised by her response. After all, I am basically okay, almost-there recovery-wise. Yet, she offers concern on a spiritual level. A blessed presence.

“Thanks,” I respond. “That means a lot to me.”

Later, dinner has ended and dishes are washed, although there are other chores that swim through my head as the wash machine heads toward a final spin. I work on manuscript edits. I wonder if my head is moving faster than the whirl in the basement.

Then I hear a soft ping on my laptop. A message. From Cecelia, my almost-daughter-in-law. How are you? The chores will wait. She genuinely cares. Perhaps we will chat for only a few minutes. Then again, we may converse for an hour. It has happened before.

The everyday has been interrupted by another everyday experience—a simple reaching out, an act of love.

The state of the world has not changed. The state of the moment has. May this moment weave beauty into the next, with enough strength to defy the ugliness. May I work toward peace and not return hate with any of hate’s relatives, subtle or blatant.

 

heart-cloud-on-yellow-background

Read Full Post »

Author Kelsey Timmerman: Finding Empathy

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 20, 2017| 1 Comment »

Acceptance and tolerance and forgiveness, those are life-altering lessons.  (Jessica Lange)

Today’s blog is the longest I have ever posted. Yet only this introductory paragraph comes from me. Kelsey Timmerman wrote the rest of it; I copied it verbatim with his permission. If you come from a different political platform, please hold on until the end. The purpose is not primarily political. It is human. Step into someone else’s shoes—at least for a few minutes. Peace, upon all:

…

…”I hated them because they voted for a man who I despised because of his hate speech. I hated hate so I hated and hated myself for hating.”

I wrote this piece on my blog after the election. Sharing again here on inauguration day:

THANKS FOR THE INSPIRATION, DONALD TRUMP. LET’S GET TO WORK.

There are a lot of reasons I didn’t want Donald J. Trump to be our next president, but there is one reason (and probably only one) that I’m glad he won.

The night of the election, I went to a watch party hosted at The Downtown Farm Stand. Gary Younge from the Guardian was there too. (Can you get more liberal than drinking organic beer and eating organic free-range, potato chips with your GMO-free friends, including a reporter from The Guardian? Probably not.) Like everyone else we expected to watch the election of the first female president. I can’t say I was a vigorous supporter of Hillary Clinton (there’s something rather unappealing about political dynasties), but earlier that day when I cast a vote for her I did get the “feels.” I have a daughter and if her fascination with burping and farting ever goes away, I’d like to think she could have any job, including President of the United States.

At the party, I thought, “If Trump did happen to win by some miracle, I’ll be more inspired than ever to get busy on my personal work and my work with The Facing Project connecting people through stories to strengthen community.”

At 9:30 PM it was obvious that Clinton was in trouble. The myth of the “silent Trump” voter was a reality. I stayed up until 3AM. I watched President-elect Trump’s victory speech. I felt like someone had died.

I had solid reasons to feel this way:

Since I’m a freelance troublemaker, we get our insurance through the ACA healthcare exchange. I have an autistic son who receives more than $100K of therapy each year. If/when President Trump repeals Obamacare, will a private insurance company outside the exchange insure us with Griffin’s “preexisting condition?” Or will we have to end therapy altogether?

Then there is Trump…

Did I mention I have a son with disabilities?

There’s the rhetoric of hate, fear, and misogyny. But I don’t want to write about all the reasons President Trump scares the shit out of me and makes me disappointed for our country, and how I feel for anyone that’s been labeled an outsider or other by the creepy nationalistic vibe that he represents. I want to write about how his being elected has inspired me more than ever to build empathy through stories.

On Wednesday I mourned. I skipped my morning workout and zombie-like drove Griffin to preschool. As I moved through the day, I’d see people and speculate that they voted for Trump on the smallest detail–what they wore, what they drove, facial hair. I was prejudging everyone and once I determined that they were a Trump voter, I hated them. I hated them because they voted for a man who I despised because of his hate speech. I hated hate so I hated and hated myself for hating.

On Thursday I was giving a talk at Northern Kentucky University. First year students at NKU read Where Am I Eating? as a common read. I had decided to make the talk entirely about the election and not mention our election once.

I told the story of a family who lived in the Mathare Valley slum in Nairobi Kenya. After a disputed election in 2008, violence spilled out across Kenya. The losing party was protesting the results of the election in which a candidate of the Luo tribe lost to a candidate from the Kikuyu tribe. Luo protestors went door-to-door in Mathare Valley and asked questions in their native tongue. If their questions couldn’t be answered, they killed all those inside. Shaddy Hopkid Marsha, the middle brother of the family, spoke both languages. He gathered up his neighbors and hid them inside his shanty. He answered the questions. He saved the lives of his neighbors.

“How many houses, dorm rooms, apartments, do you have to go from your home until you don’t know the names of the people who live there?” I asked the students and myself.

I shared a story about standing outside of a mosque in Bangladesh while men in prayer robes poured out. This was 2007, and, as much as I liked to think that the constant barrage of “fear the Muslims” in our media and society hadn’t sunk in, it had. My heart beat faster. I was nervous that if they knew I were an American, they wouldn’t like me. I was afraid. But then I spent then next month hanging out with people…people who were Muslim. They were amazing.

“How can we fear people who we’ve never met?” I asked the students and myself.

I shared Amilcar Lozano‘s story. Amilcar left his job as a garment worker in Honduras and risked his life to come to the United States where he works today supporting his family in a way he couldn’t if he were actually with them. No matter where you are on the immigration debate, you can appreciate the sacrifice Amilcar made for his family and the courage it took to make his journey.

“When we start with stories instead of politics and ideology, we can have a conversation with anyone regardless of what political team they are on or who they voted for,” I told the students and myself.

I talked about knowing our neighbors, listening to them, not fearing people we don’t know, and about the responsibility we all have to use our own privilege and opportunity to help others.

It felt so damn good not to hate. It felt good to take positive action to make a difference instead of complaining about things I couldn’t control.

On Saturday, the Facing Racism Project in Muncie project shared 38 stories of people in our community who had a racism story to be told. The event sold out in a matter of days. I’m the co-founder of The Facing Project, a nationwide nonprofit storytelling initiative that seeks to build empathy, and I was also a writer and a part of the planning committee for the project.

The stories reminded us all how far we’ve come as a society, yet how very far we have to go. To collect the stories, volunteer writers sat with volunteer storytellers to listen and collaborate on each story, and actors brought the stories to life. Well over 100 people were involved in the project.

The participants and the audience reminded me that there are people who are willing to sit and listen to difficult subjects. There are people who are willing to connect with people who are different than them.

After the election, we didn’t wake up in a different country. This is our country. If you were surprised by the results like I was, we obviously weren’t listening to other people enough. We let our politics and our politicians divide us. We need to connect and seek to understand those who have different opinions than us.

Universities, bless their souls, are providing safe places for students to mourn the election results. I’ll give you Wednesday. Wednesday I needed a safe place to just not do Wednesday, so I stayed home as much as possible. But Thursday? We don’t need quiet places to be alone, we need to be meeting people, getting engaged with all parts of our community and not just people who look, think, and act like us.

I will make this important caveat though: I understand why certain people are afraid of a Trump presidency. They are afraid of being deported, having a loved one being deported, being rounded up into an internment camp, of being unmarried to a loved one, of not being able to afford health insurance. Those of us who are less impacted by the possibilities listed above need to be there for the groups of people who feel like they may lose rights or be discriminated against. We need to listen to them and stand with them.

We also need to listen to the people who voted for Trump. I have loved ones who I believe are some of the best damn people on the planet and they voted for Trump. I side with Jon Stewart on this.

Here’s what he had to say to Charlie Rose recently:

“I thought Donald Trump disqualified himself at numerous points. But there is now this idea that anyone who voted for him has to be defined by the worst of his rhetoric. Like, there are guys in my neighborhood that I love, that I respect, that I think have incredible qualities who are not afraid of Mexicans, and not afraid of Muslims, and not afraid of blacks. They’re afraid of their insurance premiums. In the liberal community, you hate this idea of creating people as a monolith. Don’t look at Muslims as a monolith. They are the individuals and it would be ignorance. But everybody who voted for Trump is a monolith, is a racist. That hypocrisy is also real in our country.”

We fear what we don’t know. When we don’t know our neighbors, we fear them.

We all need to listen to each other and have empathy for one another. This election has reminded me of that and that the work that I do and the work of The Facing Project is more important than ever. I hope you have similar work to pour yourself into that isn’t just a Facebook post, or a Change.org petition, or protesting. Those things are fine, but if you really want to make an impact, you need to go beyond being against things and work on the things you are for. You need to become part of the community out your actual front door.

If you aren’t sure what to do and want to build empathy story by story, The Facing Project needs volunteer coaches and editors. We also need resources–you can donate here to the Building Empathy Story by Story campaign – http://give.classy.org/empathy .

Since the election, I’ve completed the first draft of a book proposal and shipped it off to JL Stermer–another global quest–and feel absolutely reinvigorated and as passionate as ever toward my work with The Facing Project.

And for that I’m thankful. It’s not a new world. It’s the same world and this election has been a reminder we still have a lot of work to do.

photos taken from Facing Project web page, highlighted with Word tools

A team studies possible approaches in the top photo. Autistic children celebrate who they are in the lower pic.

kelseys-post-hatred-is-not-the-answer

 

Read Full Post »

At G’s Funeral: He Was not His Disabilities

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 8, 2017| Leave a Comment »

We don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are. (Anais Nin)

I am at the funeral of a man whose name I have heard for more years than I can count. Yet, I have never met G. He could have had brown, blue, or green eyes, been tall or short, had red hair or none.

Sure, I have created a picture of him in my mind. However, I have met people after hearing only their voices and my predictions have had a zero percent accuracy rate. Chances are, the image I’ve summoned keeps my prediction skills in the same nonexistent category.

I have come to support friends who knew G.

He had a mental illness, paranoid schizophrenia. Yet, he was not his diagnosis. When the people at his church came to know him, they recognized his unique sense of humor. The church members accepted G—as he was. He liked coming to services and being part of something important.

Smoking comforted his symptoms until that comfort turned on him and destroyed his body. One incredible day, with the prayer support of his friends, he gave up a three-packs-a-day habit within twenty-four hours. Too late, but nevertheless a miraculous change had occurred. He knew he had done something for himself.

As buoyed as I am by the beauty of the funeral service, I realize I missed something. I missed knowing G. The casket is closed. If I speak to the man inside, only his spirit may hear. I will not get a response, except in my thoughts and imagination.

I think about the anonymity of the casket. Those who mourn see inside with their memories. I need to listen even closer, and catch opportunities to recognize truth beyond the obvious, the judgments people make without even realizing they are making them.

Sure, a talkative lady with a quick smile is easy to approach. A child next to her who appears to have multiple disabilities may seem to disappear in the crowd—even though the child’s presence is like the ignored elephant-in-the-room. He is not his disabilities.

Sometimes I have no problem saying hello to people with obvious difficulties. Then, at other times I have felt every intelligent thought I have ever had drop away. Opportunities to make connections evaporate, especially when I feel anger in the air.

All of us are of infinite value. I pray to recognize that worth—even in the wrinkled face I see in the mirror. I can be hardest on me.

you are of infinite worth

Read Full Post »

Approaching a New Year, with the Moving Fragile Clouds

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 29, 2016| Leave a Comment »

Growth demands a temporary surrender of security. (Gail Sheehy)

Clouds don’t hold any shape for long; they form, disintegrate and reappear. I watch bright blue sky fill with white and then darken around the edges. Unusual for me to watch anything for long. I’m addicted to constant activity. However, both an asthmatic cough and a dull pain in the back of my head demand that I stay still for a while.

This year has almost ended. Some of 2016 has been sweet. Some of it has been so bitter I can scarcely swallow when I think about it. The clouds shift by. Change is what they do—part of what they are.

I’m not that flexible. My neck screams to me every time I turn too far left or right. My spirit continues to learn, through friends, grandchildren, and circumstances both within and beyond my control.

Sure, I’m tempted to worry about the factions that have divided this country. Moreover, I’ve seen too many deaths both close and far away.

Beauty remains despite ugliness and hate. I have a choice. Can I stay inside fear or celebrate the fact that my husband has chosen to lie down beside me?

A Happy New Year to all. May your paths lead you to become the best you were meant to be.

two photos taken from my front yard, MiFrame enhanced

image

Read Full Post »

Learning to See Differently—From a Friend with a White Cane

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 24, 2016| 1 Comment »

A good friend is a connection to life—a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world. (Lois Wyse)

A. and I sing along with Christmas carols played in the background at the senior Christmas party. She is not distracted by the colors and movement around her—she can’t see them. Her white cane leans against an empty chair next to her.

A.’s enthusiasm buoys mine. We have already exchanged gifts, nothing dramatic. She gave us the practical items we asked for: potholders and handkerchiefs. We got her a grocery gift-certificate. The gifts don’t matter. Our intentions do.

“You don’t know it, but you really helped me,” I tell her.

Then the leader of the senior program goes to the microphone and asks for quiet. Among a group of older folk, that’s something like suggesting a tornado stop mid-whirl. For a change, everyone’s hearing aids are tuned-in. A little girl plays a few carols on guitar, single notes, but the songs extend into complicated musical patterns.

The featured entertainer switches from guitar to keyboard.

“He’s good,” A. says, tapping out the rhythm to “Here Comes Santa Claus.”

Our friends at the table seem to pick up on her enthusiasm. A. wins one of the door prizes.

When we are in the car and returning home, A. asks how she could possibly have helped me.

I tell her about how our friendship deepened when Jay was in the hospital in the fall. I was having muscle spasms and needed to care for my recovering spouse. She was sunshine when I felt uncertain and more than a little frightened. A. told me then she could listen and would be my friend forever. Her assurance helped me get through a difficult time.

I watch as she feels the items through the plastic wrap over the basket of the door-prize win. Dish cleaner, a wash cloth, some unidentified smaller objects, possibly kitchen oriented. I can’t see anything tucked under the visible objects. I don’t know if any other treasures wait inside. A ceramic angel is situated on top, in the center.

At first I wonder how an angel could have anything to do with miscellaneous cleaning products. Maybe the connection doesn’t need to be obvious. Maybe the blessed isn’t separated from the ordinary. And a human-angel is appreciating a ceramic image with a tactile dexterity I have never experienced.

The winter solstice appears now. Each day slowly adds daylight. A. has never seen light. Yet, she has absorbed it through her being, even if her eyes can’t observe a single cloud, or recognize one shade of blue or gray.

I see the shapes and colors. However, I haven’t captured the fullness of what I can touch, taste, smell, see, and hear. Yet.

A., my newest life teacher, unlocks her apartment door. “Call you in a couple of weeks,” she says. I hope she doesn’t mind if I contact her sooner. This student has a short memory.

The Solstice: created from a public domain image

winter-solstice-with-background

 

Read Full Post »

Wisdom, Five-year-old Style

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 9, 2016| 1 Comment »

If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older. (Abraham Sutzkever )

My almost grandson, Dakota, is about to leave our house to spend the weekend with his dad. I am on the floor of my office/playroom. The area doubles as both.

Ella and I are making Play-Doh food for two baby dolls. She leads each scene; I follow, savoring every inconsistency with reality. Time follows a whim. Meatballs can be blue. Toy characters can be friends even if they are three times the size of one another.

“I love you, Ella,” Dakota says. “Be good for your daddy and I will be home on Sunday. I love you.”

A five-year-old angel stands in a room filled with the imperfection that happens when every toy finds its way off the shelves. I want to hug the little boy, and gather in the beauty I see. Instead, I wait in awe.

He doesn’t know how incredible he is. I don’t have the pre-school language to explain to him what I see. I listen, and allow him to teach. About accepting life as it is, not how I want it to be.

Utopia does not exist. Anywhere. Even in play. Some of the Play-Doh has dried out. My grandchildren love the stuff. It’s inexpensive enough to replace. The toys can be returned to the shelf in less than thirty minutes.

I look at the world scene, however, and the pain in my neck and back increases—a somatic response as helpful as screaming into a storm, telling the wind to stop, immediately. I work toward taking one step at a time, and listen to the nuances of each situation. Act. Don’t react, Ter. Easier said than done, but a lot more effective than war, on any level.

I am grateful my grandchildren live in town. They may think they have a grandma-playmate. However, they rekindle a long-ago child who believes in creativity and kindness.

I may never be able to convince my arthritic hands they belong forming odd-colored vegetables for a stuffed snowman and cow. Nevertheless, the children convince my spirit it can remain fresh and pliable, capable of change, open to love.

(Dakota’s drawings of my son, Steve, and his family: Mom, Steve, Ella, and Dakota. When asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, Dakota answered, “A daddy like Steve.”)

dakotas-drawings-of-steve-and-his-family

 

Read Full Post »

Finding Hope in Unexpected Places

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on December 4, 2016| Leave a Comment »

Sometimes our light goes out but is blown into flame by another human being. Each of us owes deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this light. (Albert Schweitzer)

My first physical therapy appointment has brought hope. I learn a few spasm-charming tools.

Later that day I occasionally hum along with the music during exercise class. My balance isn’t bad for a senior citizen. I can stand on one foot without needing to hold onto anything—not with the finesse of a mime or the grace of a ballet dancer, but miracles have their limitations.

No divine magic wand has struck the world and made everything well with the earth either. That does not mean I need to dwell on ugliness every second of the day. I have decided to act, speak, give, join groups that foster change, never with an attitude of hate.

Why is a pipeline more important than the law, or the rights of ordinary people? I believe the differences in race, religion, and ethnic origin add richness to our country and world. Responding with venom to those who can’t understand only creates more venom. Many organizations exist to help. With support. I pray help arrives in time.

In the meantime, I try to live today and find people who envision the light capable of uncovering both corruption and greed as well as the power of the people.

I speak to an upbeat, sunshine-minded woman after exercise class. She asks about my granddaughter, Ella. The woman comments on the sweetness of Ella’s double-jointed antics in front of the mirror, the last time Jay and I brought her to the Y. I answer with recent stories.

The woman tells me about her niece born weighing little more than a pound. The doctor and staff told the girl’s mother they didn’t expect the baby to make it—not with the number of complications she faced. The little girl just celebrated her second birthday.

This lovely woman and I hug. I feel as if I have been given a power boost, to face the next challenge, whether it be physical, in my immediate circle, or in the world.

Perhaps the next time I see my comrade I will find the words, time, and space to tell her she brought light to a blown-out flame.

Peace upon all, whether we agree on the best way to run-the-world or not.

annefrank-despite-everything-i-believe

Read Full Post »

Like Hanging onto the Last Autumn Leaf

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 26, 2016| Leave a Comment »

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. (Thornton Wilder)

Jay and I are in a checkout line at a store on Black Friday. The store is far less crowded than we expected. We see a woman we both know.

“How was your Thanksgiving?” Jay asks.

I don’t hear her at first, but soon discover why she looks sad. Her husband died two days before Thanksgiving.

We offer condolences. She is buying supplies for a party—to celebrate his life.

I nod, then follow an impulse. One quick hug. No words. She accepts the gesture. I let go before any public display of tears.

She lets us know she is not withdrawing. I nod again. Words can’t touch the reality. The stages of grief can’t be bypassed.

I think about the few leaves left on the sweet gum tree in our back yard.

I don’t live in a part of the world with perennial warmth. In the Midwest, the leaves have held on tighter than they have in past years. Bright reds and oranges contrast against dark bark. Moderate temperatures have lingered. Until now

Winter steals a huge chunk of the calendar year. I want to remain inside summer fun, celebrate days without pain, icy streets, conflict, or injustice. Although I know war, injustice, the us-versus-them notion, has been around since the tale of Cain and Abel. Dissonance has nothing to do with seasons.

The current state of the U.S. has heightened injustice. Yet, many people scarcely notice. And I mourn the loss of sensitivity: to the notion that women are equal as human beings; people with disabilities need to be treated as people, not as disabilities; clean water is more important than any industry…

Branches demand the leaves let go. New buds will take over. Eventually. In the human realm, new buds of change don’t have a specific season.

Despite loss, this woman my husband and I know, is celebrating life. Hers and the husband she loved. I don’t know the future. True, I see a lot of dark clouds.  I also know people who treasure both truth and justice.

I am alive when I am conscious of my treasures. As Jay and I come home from the store, Jay reaches for the heaviest items to carry into the house, exactly what I would have predicted he would do. He and I have been married for forty-five years.

“You know what I liked about today?” I tell him. “Spending it with you.”

Leaves cover the yard, front and back. More will join them. Of course, no one ever promised fully-alive would be easy.

last-of-the-november-leaves-2016

 

Read Full Post »

Not on the News: Acts of Kindness

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on November 17, 2016| 1 Comment »

Life is just a short walk from the cradle to the grave and it sure behooves us to be kind to one another along the way. (Alice Childress)

The media broadcasts a different spin on the same violence and shock-value stories, day and night, and calls them news. Naivety is not a virtue; responding with further ugliness isn’t helpful either.

Someone with a lot more wisdom than I have will need to find balance among the warring forces. In the meantime, can it hurt to spread kindness? The results may not be immediate, but the possibilities reach in a more hopeful direction.

I have two examples.

Recently, my husband and I made friends with A. She has a rich sense of humor and she loves 50’s and 60’s music as much as my husband does. She knows the names of bands and their songs.

When we met, I thought we were helping her because she needed rides to senior functions; she is blind. However, I soon learned that she not only discerns voices well, she listens, with sincere compassion. “I’ll be your friend for life,” she tells me. And I believe it.

As she gets into the car she talks about all her activities, and I wonder how she manages. “Okay if I drive home?” she asks. It is okay to laugh. She sings “Jingle Bells” in an elf character voice. She pulls it off.

The pain in my neck and shoulders relaxes. By evening the blessings grow when I learn about the second example of kindness.

My son’s girlfriend was with her son, Dakota, at a store. Next to the checkout were some too-expensive-to-buy-on-a-whim toy cars. The boy is five, and into action. His big brown eyes grew big when he saw the treasures.

This little guy has had some rough moments in his young life, but he is one-hundred percent charmer. That does not mean Mommy had the money.

I was not present, but I suspect Dakota’s interest was more in-awe than demanding because an older couple in the line behind Mommy bought the gift for Dakota.

The car is more than a toy; it is a symbol for the fact that kindness exists in the world, and it can continue to grow.

Do two examples of kindness, one friend with an open heart plus one generous stranger, obliterate hate? Of course not. Should we all stand in a circle and chant platitudes as if huge world problems didn’t exist? Would be nice if that worked. I suspect each person plays a different role. Some people may need to be in-your-face active, others subtle yet constant in integrity.

In the meantime, I thank a woman who taught me to feel the subtleties of warmth and chill in the air. She also taught me to appreciate seeing skies as blue or gray palettes, always changing, sometimes swirled with white, or edged in pink.

I thank an older couple who may never read these words.

Perhaps a greater handicap than blindness is not being able to care.

I open the door into whatever happens.

gift-car-nov-16-2016

Read Full Post »

Late-ripening tomatoes: a Metaphor for November 9, 2016

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 10, 2016| 1 Comment »

Remember, we all stumble, every one of us. That’s why it’s a comfort to go hand in hand.  (Emily Kimbrough)

November 9, sunrise hasn’t made an appearance yet. I pass through the doorway between our dining room and kitchen. Two green tomatoes wait on the windowsill for the sun to ripen them. I pause. One of the fruits has caught a pink glow; the other remains a solid, unchanged color. Perhaps, the two broke from the vine at a different time in their development. I can’t judge tomatoes any more than I can judge people. I have a black thumb.

My husband handles the watering and care of plants. If they survive, he deserves the credit. Cooking and cleaning remain in my jurisdiction.

My response to this moment also remains in my jurisdiction. Today seems darker than it usually is before sunrise.

Everyone is in a different stage of development. Human beings were born with senses—yet, we perceive the same realities differently. Some people are excited about the election of this new president. Others shudder; this man has no concern for individuals, especially women and people from other countries. He cares only for his own goals.

Events in my life that occurred in another century, long ago past, reappear in my mind. I imagine them viewed by many among the current generation of voters, as if the pain were no big deal, as if the possibility of being left for dead in a ditch, meant nothing. I didn’t die. Instead, my tormentors promised: We will be back for you tomorrow. I thought death may have been better because reporting the incident became another form of torture. The win, a Pyrrhic victory.

Abuse talk disintegrates into buzz words, leading into useless argument or emotional responses. Worse, it is immediately dismissed. Perhaps we have become hardened to the subject, the way we have responded to other forms of violence.

Nevertheless, I survived, and I survived well. I am a wife, mother, grandmother, writer, author. I learned to play guitar in my mid-fifties and have written songs and sung them publicly, even if my mother would have told me I didn’t have enough ability to achieve such a goal. Strangers have complimented me on my words, music, voice, smile and positive outlook.

Dawn appears. It always has. My husband brings home a bag of late, partially green tomatoes. I line them up on the window sill.

I can’t predict the future, and I won’t pretend that more than a little trepidation floats through me.

The sun rises higher. I pray to rise with it, joined by friends who stumble, too, but are not afraid to reach for the hand of another.                                             

tomatoes-on-window-sill

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »