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Posts Tagged ‘appreciation’

Katie, Twelve-Year-Old Consultant

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on August 23, 2016| 3 Comments »

Making a living is nothing; the great difficulty is making a point, making a difference—with words.  (Elizabeth Hardwick )

A Monday morning toward the end of August. Rebe has said goodbye to braces. Her smile is free from metal. She is at the orthodontist now for the final X-rays. And big-sister Katie and I shop to prepare a special meal for her. Ravioli, her favorite. A dessert Rebe will help make since she will want to be in on the fun. And a carbonated beverage. Cola, a no-no for younger sister for the past two years. Katie and I find small fancy bottles. We choose to savor, not guzzle, since sweet colas and nutrition don’t have much in common.

I tell Katie about the wind and rain at the Hamilton County Fair last weekend. Mother Nature overdid the crowd control. Sure, I had fun and met a few new people. The day was wild. But wildly successful? Not exactly. I expect my granddaughter to go on to other topics: sports, friends, crafts.

Instead she asks, “So, what are you doing to let people know about your book?”

I hesitate. Katie is twelve-years old. My next event could come in a few months.

“What theme comes throughout the book frequently? Use that. In different ways… Make it stand out.”

We are outside a store as she asks. She grabs my heavy backpack and I carry the empty reusable bags for our purchases. I am aware of the disproportion. Not only in weight carried, but in information exchanged. I look at her and laugh.

“What is so funny?” she asks.

“You are. Because you are amazing. Tell me. How do you know all of this?”

“I go to book signings.”

She does. With her father. Gregory Petersen wrote Open Mike. He is working on other novels and has done standup comedy. Katie has made friends with writers. She has a superb imagination. In fact, she gave me an idea I used in my next book. I will give her an acknowledgment.

Not everyone has a twelve-year-old consultant. But then, she fits my audience. And I think about the typical preteen. The typical preteen who lives inside the average adult. In The Curse Under the Freckles Chase doesn’t have much self-confidence. He is surprised to get help from an inanimate thing, a tree, a Rainbow tree that offers magical gifts he could never expect.

The tree helps its Star League member with its multi-hued magic. It draws out the color inside the Star League student.

Since Katie has been helpful I tell her to get something for herself—she buys a present for her sister’s birthday instead. I don’t need to savor sweet cola. I have this precious time with my granddaughter before she starts seventh grade. My Rainbow-tree granddaughter. She brings out color inside me.

following dreams

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Seeing Through Dilated Eyes: Past and Present

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 16, 2016| 2 Comments »

Intuition is seeing with the soul. (Dean Koontz )

As Jay drives to my ophthalmologist I sit in the backseat next to my granddaughter, Ella. Headlights from oncoming cars mildly bother me even though it’s daytime. Morning. No glare from dark to light contrasts. And discomfort from dilating drops hasn’t happened yet.

I am certain I need new glasses even though I got a stronger prescription last year. But am I a candidate for cataract surgery? Don’t know. Yet. Besides, the hot, polluted Midwestern air teases my lungs, constricted by asthma.

I sit next to Ella. By choice. At six she is old enough to entertain herself. We play games together. I look at a bright Ella instead of an outside sky I’m not ready to face even with sunglasses.

“Name an animal,” she says.

Mickey Mouse is also playing. I hold the toy and act as proxy. “Mouse,” Mickey answers.

Ella nixes that response. Mickey is a mouse. He needs to think outside his own species. At least I gather that from her head shake. And I smile.

“Monkey.”

Better.

She adds, “Moose.”

At the office Ella sits so close to me I have difficulty filling out the paperwork. She glides her hand down my arm and sticks her head into mine. “You be okay.”

I’m grateful Grandpa is taking her to the park. My sweet granddaughter doesn’t need to sit and recall her own surgeries. Including open heart. Twice. Although she couldn’t recall the first. She hadn’t been six-months old yet.

Ella's last day at Children's Hospital

“Fine. I will be just fine.” I bring my fill-in-the-blanks sheet back with me. Down the hall. Not far. But, my memory slips back to a day before Ella learned to walk. To the first time I realized Ella could connect with my spirit in an unexplained way.

I was sitting on the floor as she crawled across the floor. My husband was watching The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. He saw fiction. I saw a scene. A girl who could not escape. And I heard her scream. A waste of breath. The sound reached into my gut and ripped out my own memories… a moment that had been bad enough. The degradation afterward worse. I gasped.

My granddaughter could not have understood what I saw. Or remembered. Or felt. But, she climbed onto my knee and interrupted the scene, her eyes wide. She did not have language yet. Nevertheless, her face said, Look at me, not at the television.

At that moment I lifted Ella into my arms and returned to the present. The beautiful and blessed present. The horrid rerun of the past disappeared instantly with the power of her remarkable, aware soul. She caught me before my thoughts became entangled in the ugly. We moved to another room, another scene. Into the moment.

Ella has Down Syndrome, a tripled-twenty first chromosome. And, most likely, a tripled intuitive sense, a gift that is uniquely hers.

She is also right about today’s visit: I am okay. I need a new prescription for glasses. No surprise there. But, no cataract surgery yet. My vision may be surreal for eight more hours. And eyes a tad more sensitive. But, I don’t need perfect sight to recognize love.

“Name an animal,” she says.

And the game continues.

Ella back view at Mt. Airy Park April 2015

 

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Treading Water; Treading my next Response…

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 10, 2016| 2 Comments »

Never bear more than one trouble at a time. Some people bear three kinds – all they have had, all they have now, and all they expect to have. (Edward Everett Hale)

I’m at the pool on a not-too-hot summer day. Jay and I are the only persons in the adults-only side of the deep end of the pool. A woman enters the water. Her expression shouts bad mood, but I swim a bit closer and say, “hello.”

She does not answer until a few minutes later when I try again. I don’t hear every word, but I do recognize her expression—and it isn’t nice-to-meet-you on any level.

“I’m sorry,” I respond in a pleasant tone. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

She shakes her head and turns around. I give her space. And say a silent prayer. For her. The water has pulled out all the pain in my back that has plagued me for the past month. And I am not going to let her misery destroy my healing.

I swim away and within a few minutes she exits the water.

Then a young girl takes a swim test in the lane next to the tread area. “Am I allowed to take breaths?” she asks.

I smile and so does the lifeguard giving her the test.

“Yes, you need to breathe,” the lifeguard answers, her amusement obvious. But she maintains respect for the young swimmer.

The girl has a silent cheering squad. I want her to make it. No, I will not interfere. This is not my test, and on some level I suspect I could be embarrassing her if I spoke. But, I want this young lady to win. To succeed.

When Jay and I leave the pool later I see the unhappy woman in a lounge chair. She seems to be looking around her, as if targeted by people who somehow want to get in her way. Silently cheering her on isn’t as easy as encouraging the innocent young swimmer.

But, I don’t know what this woman faces. If my hello intimidated her, I have no idea what she needs. Nor will I probably ever understand. Saving the world is not my job. Responding with peace instead of hate, is.

pic: Thich Nhat Hanh, walking on earth in peace

walking on earth is the real miracle

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Lost Branches and the Long-ago Me

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on July 27, 2016| 4 Comments »

The most valuable possession you can own is an open heart. The most powerful weapon you can be is an instrument of peace. (Carlos Santana, musician)

Occasionally as I swivel in my desk chair away from the computer, I see an unframed black-and-white photo of me taken when I was in perhaps seventh grade. The private school uniform is a huge clue. The hair-style is late nineteen-fifties curlers. And I can be certain that the artificial rolls collapsed by noon, if not sooner.

Most of my memories from those days have disappeared as well.

The girl in the picture is a shy, unsophisticated girl, favorite place to go, the library. She is insecure in groups. Yet capable. At least in my head, I tell her my stories as I write them—as if she didn’t already exist somewhere inside this much older body. I wonder if she hears me.

me St. Dominic school

For a writer the internal and the external world need to meet. Perhaps these forces will never understand one another completely. For me, if open hearts and peace appear along the way, I have touched my purpose. At least for the duration of a page.

When my older son was a toddler my husband and I planted a blue spruce tree in our front yard. The tree was a gift from my son’s great uncle. It was my son’s tree. Years later the tree became the front yard and housed birds of all colors and varieties.

Then disease, fungi, spider mites attacked the tree. With the help of a huge cash loss, the spruce survived. Not all of its branches made it. For the bird residents the effect became more patio than closed door. No safe place away from predators.

But, the tree never has held a promise of safety. We have always seen feathers and dead birds in the yard. Cooper hawks. Preying cats, waiting.

I pause and look again at the long-ago picture of twelve-year-old me. Knowing the young girl doesn’t see the present. I remember how she walked home from school alone after a difficult day of taunting. How she prayed and wondered how the saints managed. Those characters had been presented as emotionless beings. The martyr, St. Lawrence, said as he was being burned to death: “Turn me over. I’m done on this side.” Is that true? Really? Then came saints who levitated and spoke to larger-than-life beings beyond the grave.

I tell her about the very ordinary tree and tell her to stay inside the very ordinary day. The beauty is all around her. In some ways I want to spare her more serious attacks to come, the pain, the pruning that will inevitably follow. I cannot. Any more than I can bring back birds killed by the Cooper Hawk.

“Paths through branches are now open. Free. You may not have wings. But you can still fly.” I’m surprised. I have spoken out loud. And I pray that my words carry peace.

blue spruce before and after

blue spruce before and after

 

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Imagination 101: how to approach the less-then-perfect

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 19, 2016| 1 Comment »

Think for a minute, darling: in fairy tales it’s always the children who have the fine adventures. The mothers have to stay at home and wait for the children to fly in the window. (Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler’s Wife)

The scene below could be an exploded toy box. A definite trip hazard. But, Ella has a plan in mind. She has decided today is Mickey Mouse’s birthday, a favorite theme. Bunny is his best friend. The building blocks represent a work in progress—for Mickey. The lumps of Play-Doh, albeit dry, are the blue dog’s food.

Each item has a purpose in play. However, the whole gets Grandma a little dizzy. I anticipate work for both me and the vacuum cleaner. Sure, the old table cloth is present for a reason. But its surface could be compared to a mesh bag. Not really suitable for holding items smaller than the holes. My beloved rug is at risk.

Sure, I could set stronger limits. But, the beauty of my little girl’s imagination is worth the fifteen-to-twenty-minute cleanup later.

She imagines a castle. The thin blocks become a road. Empty plastic eggs contain invisible treasures. For at least a moment, messiness becomes understandable as each part takes on meaning. At least from a child’s point of view.

And I wish this explained disorderliness could be transferred into real life, where judgment is quick. Hate is resolved with more hate. Greed is seen as success. Me-as-the-center-of-the-universe remains unrecognized as a problem.

Mickey is happy with everything he gets. Friendships occur without any awareness that Bunny is several times larger than Mickey, and she is a different color as well as a different species. The toys on the shelf are sufficient; Ella asks for nothing more.

The play area has now been cleared and cleaned. My husband and I need to walk through without getting injured.

However, another scattered drama will probably appear another day. Bringing further adventure. My agenda will remain on hold.

Ella will give the next lesson, without knowing she is the teacher.

imagination toys on floor

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One Warm Sweater: Many Stories Wrapped Inside

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 14, 2016| 5 Comments »

Life is about making an impact, not making an income. (Kevin Kruse)

My neighbor repeats the news twice before I hear it. And three times before it sinks in. The gentle man who does odd jobs for small pay, has bone cancer. He is in intensive care.

How can that be? Less than two months ago I invited him into my living room to pick up a huge package of chicken left-over from my birthday party. The weather had been chilly for an outdoor gathering, and the turnout had been sparse. The man had been grateful for the gift. He did not complain about illness.

Now I want to give him complete healing. It can’t be packaged. In fact, I realize I don’t even know this man’s last name. I realize that in the conversations I have had with him he revealed little about his life. A girlfriend or ex-wife. A child.

I suspect I missed some important details. Connections with someone important.

My mother-in-law, Mary, had a knack for drawing people to her from all areas of life: rich, poor, old, and young. She died more than a year ago. Yet, I continue to hear from the people who knew her. Stories about how she touched their lives.

I remember that I couldn’t tell her I wanted something: she would get it for me. My husband and I own a small house. Things continue to overwhelm its interior. Besides, what she gave me was far more important. She pointed out my spiritual gifts and talents; I had been taught to see only flaws.

So, when my sister-in-law brings out boxes of her clothes I am hesitant to take any of them. Moreover, in her final days my mother-in-law had lost a lot of weight. I expect most of the items to be too small.

Then, I see the Dale of Norway sweater my husband and I gave Mary. It had deep stains in it. My sister-in-law managed to remove them. An amazing feat. But, as Mary’s daughter, she doesn’t see the impossible with limitations. My sister-in-law, like her mother, chose social work as a career.

My mother-in-law managed to see beyond the stains in people to who they were. She wrapped warmth around them.

I reach for the sweater. “If it’s too small I will give it to my granddaughter.”

But the ornate metal clasps attach. The arm length is fine. No need to roll up the sleeves.

“I’m making an executive decision,” my sister-in-law says smiling. “It’s yours.”

Someday I pray to fit into Mary’s boldness. I may appear strong in print, but in a group I will most likely be the quiet woman in the corner, the one who leaves the room during an argument, the short redhead least likely to be heard in a loud crowd.

Then again, perhaps my calling may not be to follow my mother-in-law Mary’s assertive style. I can’t see the future.

For now, there is no reason why I can’t find out more about the condition of the neighbor with bone cancer from the person who told me about him.

Mary’s sweater fits. Now, I need to give it my style. Of giving, learning, and love.

Mary's sweater

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One Blue Crayon Too Many: Inside the Dryer

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on July 8, 2016| 6 Comments »

If you can’t make it better, you can laugh at it. (Erma Bombeck)

When I get out of bed my back and knees don’t want to work together. I knock a glass of water onto the floor while reaching for cereal. I sigh and decide to own my day, the pleasant and the unpleasant. It’s going to be good. Just take one thing at a time, Ter.

Then when I return to the kitchen to grab my water bottle before exercise class I see that Jay is already filling it. The spill has dried; I’m ready for hours two, three, four and five of the day. As they arrive.

I’ve heard a lot of family rejection stories lately. They have been shared in confidence. And can’t be relayed in a public forum.  I listen and recognize the hurt, but feel uncomfortable when retaliation comes up during the conversation. War doesn’t help. I’m right; here’s a list proving why you are wrong. I hope it scalds you. All the hearer recognizes is tone—original notion verified. Solutions rarely come quickly, or easily.

Then, there are friends who experience constant avalanche-style losses. I have several that I think about daily, sometimes more often, in the middle of the night.

Others suffer severe inconvenience. At a recent gathering of friends one woman told a story where so much went wrong, her journey became comedy. Her road trip, designed by human angels, included black ants, a flat tire, and one example of Murphy’s Law followed by another.

Therefore, when my husband found a blue crayon in the dryer—after it had ruined almost everything in a load of wash—I’d already had the lesson on perspective. Although my husband had not heard the same stories, he did not overreact either.  He has friends who suffer as well, and has come to understand perspective through their experience.

Unfortunately, one of the ruined items did not belong to me. I need to replace it.

One dryer has been scrubbed and one ego has been swallowed. “Uh, sorry.” And, yes, I am making good on the cloth that belongs to my church community. Actually, my granddaughter is sewing some new ones. And I will make sure she is rewarded.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons why I don’t go into long tirades on the righteousness of anything. In the next moment I could find another blue crayon in the final stage, the dry-and-set, of my so-called-perfect argument.

One more time from the top…check all pockets before hitting start. In any arena.

blue crayon stains

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20-20 Everyday-World Vision? Maybe Not.

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on June 30, 2016| 1 Comment »

When it’s gone, you’ll know what a gift love was. You’ll suffer like this. So go back and fight to keep it. (Ian McEwan)

Most people, whether they wear glasses or not, believe they see other people with 20-20 vision. I have neither X-ray vision nor psychic powers. But, I can erroneously imagine with little evidence that certain actions have clear causes. For example, a woman in the grocery store rages because the check-out lane isn’t moving fast enough. Obviously, she has an easily lit fuse. And, of course when her son demands candy and gets it, he is spoiled beyond rotten.

However, I don’t know anything about this woman and boy. I can’t document the fact that they are mother and son, not aunt and nephew, or babysitter and child-next-door. Missing facts lead to possibilities when it comes to fiction. I can give the woman a bizarre brain disorder. The boy doesn’t know how to cope and regrets his ornery behavior years later through an unexpected twist in the story line.

In the real world, both speculation and judgment are useless. Even if my original guess is accurate, what does it prove? I’ve limited future possibilities for the woman and child.

I’m reminded of the moment in water aerobics when I was talking with another class member about mundane and comical experiences. My husband joked loudly from the back of the pool. I responded with mock criticism, thinly veiled, since my smile must have reached from ear to ear. “Uh, yeah, he’s mine. We will be married 45 years in July.”

She responded, “My husband died 14 years ago.”

And I realized that I had been caught up in a moment of fun in the water, a few stories we had shared about grandchildren—not kicks through loss and grief.

We continued to talk. I deepened my sharing. We listened to one another. We spoke between jumps up, down, left, and right. We said good-bye on pleasant, perhaps blessed terms. I rode home next to my husband and celebrated human, imperfect, everyday love.

Today, I speak to a young girl, obviously successful. From my point of view. Then, the surprise appears. She has overcome difficulties, yet compares herself to others who have not needed to fight to win. The geniuses. The economically advantaged. I assure her of the beauty I see.

Chances are I have not eradicated all of her uncertainties. Any more than I have erased all of my own. But, I have learned not to assume my vision is 20-20. One more time.

Assumptions about people, groups of people, us versus them, lead to ugliness, disintegration, war. I’d like to eliminate hatred with the right word. The right gesture. It won’t happen. Even if debate and arguments were my forte. That doesn’t mean I can’t affect one person…and then another… and another. I may never know the outcome. I have enough trouble keeping my floors vacuumed. Taking over the job as a god is more than I could fathom. Ever.

Taking over the job as one useful, loving human being in a difficult world, is another matter. One. Only one. That needs to be enough.

rumi gratitude as antidote

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A Meditation While Treading Water

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on June 22, 2016| 2 Comments »

Time flows in the same way for all human beings; every human being flows through time in a different way. (Yasunari Kawabata )

My husband sits in a beach chair and chats with his step-sister. One side of the deep end of the pool is set aside for adults only. In this roped-off area I am the only person treading water. An ideal meditative moment.

June has almost disappeared. And sure, I can retrieve parts of it in memory. But, I almost missed two meetings because they seemed to be in the plenty-of-time-yet future. And then, suddenly, the dates arrived. And I wasn’t as prepared as I could have been.

Now I travel the pool invisible-labyrinth style. I watch the people in the distance, the sky, the trees. Take notice of color. Celebrate the moment. Watch for the metaphors that inevitably appear without forcing them.

Two small children wrapped in colorful life jackets cheer divers; perhaps the children are their friends or siblings. Then again, little people know only this moment. They could be applauding style, or a step into the unknown. Toddlers recognize no more than the current blue or gray. The baby pool behind them is not a place of confinement. It is a place of safety. Adults stand next to the little ones. They clap as well.

Earlier I’d been focusing on the dead trees behind the pool area, the ash that have suffered and been lost. Now I recognize green. Trees that have survived. Hope exists.

Not all reality is embraced inside the evening news. Even if certain political names and issues promise more destruction than dead trees, and appear like incurable viruses.

I recall an Ann Frank quote my granddaughter Katie repeats, “Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart.”

The water that had seemed so cold when I first let my shoulders drop below the surface, has suddenly warmed. I am moving. The temperature has not changed; I have adjusted. If I could soften the world I would. In the meantime, I simply touch one heart at a time, and pray the trend continues.

Pass it on.

Rumi: The Garden of the World

Rumi the garden of the world no limits

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Happy Fathers’ Day Times Three

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 15, 2016| 1 Comment »

Anyone who tells you fatherhood is the greatest thing that can happen to you, they are understating it. (Mike Myers)

I watch my sons interact with their children. Both the games and the more serious moments. And I see men who are creating relationships, not simply setting rules from an I’m-boss position. Sure, my sons set limits. But they also let Katie, Rebe, and Ella know it is okay to reach for stars. The girls are worth whatever effort it takes.

In addition, my younger son helps with the care of his fiancé’s son. When Dakota was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, he answered, “A daddy like Steve.”

What more could I want?

And yet my sons give to me as well.

A few days ago I called Greg, my firstborn son, when I was in a difficult and frightening situation. I was away at a writers’ retreat and my wallet was not in my backpack. I knew my husband was swimming at the Y. I asked Greg, “Are you home?”

He didn’t say yes or no. He answered, “What do you need?” And while he had very little time he stopped at my house and searched my couch cushions for the missing wallet. And then he called my cell and let me know he had not found it, but would help in whatever way he could.

I figured out where I had left my wallet with all its essential interior parts later—after stopping credit cards and replacing my driver’s license. All my money and identification cards were locked in a restaurant safe. And I sent Greg a voice message to let him know all was well. However, he must not have received the message yet when I called about something less important. He answered his cell even though he was busy at work. Of course I told him we could finish the secondary business later. And we did, while making plans for Father’s Day weekend and for the next day Grandpa and I have with his girls—our grandchildren.

Once again, what more could I want?

Not that long ago I called Steve in a state of near panic. I’d gotten lost on my way to a funeral. And never made it to the service. My husband was out of town at the time. While I knew my friends would forgive my absence, I had difficulty forgiving me. Steve, his girlfriend Cecelia, (also my good buddy) Ella, and Dakota seemed to know exactly what to say—and exactly when to simply listen. Yes, even the children seemed to be aware on some level.

When I was able to let my husband know about the incident, Jay offered me the same kind of listening ear and positive feedback.

This is a blog, not a full-length memoir. I can’t tell every story.

I am blessed. What more could I want?

Then, of course, there is the humor the men in my life provide. All three of my Petersen men know how to enhance a celebration or lighten a sad situation. Greg and Steve have a mock rivalry going about who is the good son. They have even signed cards or notes that way.  It’s the family inside joke.

Happy Fathers’ Day, Jay, Greg, and Steve. My mantra of gratitude repeats: What more could I want?

Happy Fathers Day

 

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