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Posts Tagged ‘appreciation’

The Up-side to a Down-decision: Funeral planning

Posted in positive thinking, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 28, 2015| 2 Comments »

Life is like a prism. What you see depends on how you turn the glass. (Jonathan Kellerman)

The four-syllables in mortality sound less harsh than the one-syllable, no-coming-back word, death. I roll both terms through my brain. I may be a senior citizen, but at age 69 I play on the floor with my grandchildren. And I get up again without complaints from my knees. I can tread water for well over an hour before my bladder says it is time for a break.

In many ways my success in life has just begun. “The Curse Under the Freckles” is available online. I just found out that it is also available at Barnes and Noble. As soon as I receive copies I will schedule local signings.

But the finality notion arises because my husband and I sit in a cemetery office—as we make our own funeral arrangements. We are choosing the greenest options, as well as the cheapest-possible. Something like trying to find a bargain at a high-scale store without gasping at the sticker price. Green burial may be our choice, but green cash is disappearing from our savings.

However, we do not want our sons to add hassle to their lives. It comes to everyone and more is unnecessary. I’m amazed at how comfortable I feel. Maybe it’s the outgoing personality of our planner. Maybe I’ve learned to savor life now.

I’ve never organized a party where I knew I would not be invited—well, except this last one where I will wait on the sidelines for incineration. (Hopefully only the earth version, as if I had the slightest vision of the surprises on the other side. Although I choose not to anticipate bizarre visions.)

This moment is not morbid. In fact, I send a message to my sister to tell her she needs to keep her gorgeous voice intact. When she is in her late eighties and I am about one-hundred and something I expect her to sing at my memorial service. I leave the message with a vague reference saying that I will keep in touch. About what? The funeral or my next grandchild story? She catches the humor.

The sun shines and a gentle breeze has pushed the August heat out of the way for a while. Our lives are not perfect; no one’s is. But the grounds at Spring Grove are beautiful. I savor the lines in my skin the way I celebrate bright flowers contrasting gray rock.

I’m not sure I could honor beauty if I had never seen its opposite.

Peace upon all wherever this moment leads you. I pray that it leads you into a more powerful life.

life before death the optimism revolution

 

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The Curse Under the Freckles—from the first dot

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 22, 2015| 4 Comments »

“What makes the desert beautiful,” said the little prince, “is that somewhere it hides a well…” Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

As I study Philip R. Rogers’ powerful rendering of my main character in “The Curse Under the Freckles” I recall the bottomless well when the story began, and the empty buckets that came to the surface. “The Curse Under the Freckles” can also be found at Joseph Beth online.

When Chapter One appeared in my first draft the tale had a different title as well as an older audience. I wanted to take a third-grader’s vocabulary and write a book for seventh graders. Although my granddaughter with Down syndrome was already showing an interest in every word in her story books, she opened my eyes to the larger world of kids with special needs.

Older children with limited reading abilities do not want to pick up a story about bunnies and kitties. Yet, the adventures prepared for teens and preteens contain too many words, too many syllables.

As I put together scenes, however, I felt as if I were trying to build a believable fantasy with stale super-sweet mini-marshmallow bricks. The plot reflected it, as predictable as an alphabetical listing and twice as boring. No subplots, insufficient conflict.

Bottom line—I wasn’t ready to serve. Many people believe that writing for children is easy. It isn’t. The editor and publisher’s expectations are higher for the author of children’s material.

Stories need to be fresh and entertaining yet stay within the realms of a young person’s understanding as well as the limits of respectability.

I don’t remember when I knew that giving up on my original goal was no longer an option. But I do know that is when the story took off—with plenty of hurdles of course.

Chase Powers, my hero, lost a few years. He became eleven instead of fourteen. He developed a sense of humor. His foes grew mightier. Some of my critique partners began comments with, “I don’t get this at all. But then I don’t even like fantasy…”

Oh well! Oh, very deep, what-the-heck-is-down-that-imagination-of-yours well?

One of my magical characters says, “It takes no courage to climb a steep mountain when you have been lifted to the top.” Sometimes this writer needs to listen to her own creations.

In the future I hope to help kids who have difficulty reading by writing in a style that is super-easy to read. This book travels through a 560-660 Lexile measure, fifth to sixth-grade reading level.

Perhaps, if I work hard enough I can tell a story with small words that touch and capture the wise. I know it can be done. My grandchildren have shown me that route. Often.

I’m not there yet. In the meantime I plan to have a signing at our local YMCA, and give a portion of my earnings to their autism program. These young persons have a lot to give; the program helps them to find those gifts. I have no idea how much water I can bring to the desert. But those extra drops aren’t noticed in the ocean.

One drop, one word, one action at a time…

back cover the curse under the freckles

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Tall, Short—But, Similar Inside

Posted in positive thinking, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 18, 2015| 4 Comments »

You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star. (Friedrich Nietzsche)

Perhaps I have too much chaos within me because I feel crowded in water aerobics class—actually there are only about twelve participants. Not exactly a mob. But the instructor directs us to continuously travel back and forth. The possibility of bumping into someone seems high to me.

My energy feels almost electric. I’m more than busy at the moment with babysitting duties and preparing for a newly published book to appear. In the water that electricity seems dangerous even if it is only a metaphor. So I swim into the deeper water and tread through the moves. I love the feel of suspending. And I see another benefit: a tall friend is here today. She buoys me with her spirit.

She and I look as different as a mountain and a valley. I need to stand on a step stool to get sufficient pressure at the locker’s swimsuit spinner. At six-foot tall she is at the deeper end of the indoor pool, but doesn’t need to kick to stay afloat. I look up to her physically—and as a person.

This lady talks about her dedication to family with the same offhandedness a person would use when counting loads of laundry. She gives because the need is there. She is not aware of her own beauty.

As we talk I sense similar teen experiences. When adolescence hit I would have pronounced angst with an accent on every letter if sharing feelings had been permitted in my home. Since they were not, the not-good-enough notion imploded and almost destroyed my spirit. Changing that attitude has taken time and effort. But I don’t regret the past. Because of it I am less likely to judge someone else. I also have  a storehouse of great fictional characters, all based on a confused, normal young girl—me.

My friend shares a current difficulty she is facing. It sounds familiar. She has a family member in hospice. Cookie-cutter supportive care doesn’t work for everyone. Sure, it would be great if so-and-so would play the let’s-have-fun-while-we-can game. But, sometimes the individual wouldn’t have played when he or she was twenty-three.

Later, I see my giving friend helping someone else. Her gift delays her departure when I know she has other tasks to perform, a long agenda for the day. I would like to give more details about that moment, but don’t want to break this woman’s anonymity.

Instead, I simply shout-out thanks into the electronic universe and hope treading water with her has brought some positive energy into me. I am thinking about her now with the hope that my words serve as a mirror reflecting the goodness I see.

It is contagious, in a positive way.

garland of beautiful deeds

 

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Simplifying—While Treading Water

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 11, 2015| 3 Comments »

An ability to simplify means to eliminate the unnecessary so that the necessary may speak. (Hans Hofmann)

 A warning on the side of the pool reads: eleven feet three inches deep. Even if I were tall enough to function in my kitchen without a handy-dandy step stool, I would need to tread. And that is okay with me. Making peace with something larger than I am seems to be the right move. Actually, making peace with me may be the next goal.

In a recent blog I wrote about the week when I battled daily headaches. A beautiful, psychic, and talented massage-therapist friend brought me unexpected answers. Sure the weather and stress were valid factors in my discomfort. But she discovered clues hidden inside my muscle memory. And she helped me to diffuse those interruptions into the universe. Then I could begin again. And accept both my gifts and need-improvement areas. Amazingly I was having more difficulty accepting success than frailties.

As I was growing up girls were not encouraged to do more than scrub floors and find a husband. In my life compliments came from outside my family every other blue moon, if I was lucky. I wouldn’t have considered repeating encouraging words at home. My mother would have shot them down. Her aim had bulls-eye accuracy.

However, I gained other-side-of-the-coin benefits from my experience: encouragement matters. The facade a person presents is not necessarily who he or she is inside. I have met saints as well as people who are more than a little rough around the edges. I have never met anyone who wasn’t human. Usually superiority claims fail somewhere—so do inferiority assertions.

The pool doesn’t care who enters. It makes room for a timid-toe or an entire body, whether it belly flops or swan dives. Not many people have come to the Y pool today. The sky is gray, overcast. Rain is expected at any moment. But a woman somewhat younger than I am joins me and my husband. Something about her radiates common interest, although I have no idea what that could be. I ask her name and make a mental note of it. We are both interested in the arts.

Before long we share who we are. In more than a superficial I-like-chocolate-and-movies kind of way. I feel honored by her sincerity. She hasn’t had an easy life. Yet, she gives to her family and doesn’t complain about it.

She inspires me and I doubt she realizes how much. Her sharing verifies what I am learning. Body and spirit work together. Opportunities to grow abound. Even the fact that a gloomy day has kept the crowds down feels like a gift. We would not have had the freedom to express ourselves during an every-whisper-is-heard moment.

“I hope I see you later,” I tell her as my husband and I leave.

I mean it. But even if this time is meant only for the few minutes we shared it is worthwhile.

As I hang my wet towel on the back porch I look out into the yard and speak to my recent comrade, even though she is probably busy tending to matters more difficult than anything I will need to handle tonight:

You reminded me that beauty is not sterile…

A statue is chiseled, not daintily pecked…

Worthwhile takes a while…

And when the necessary speaks, love needs to be the final word.

Thanks.

learning to be brave and patient

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When What I Can Do Doesn’t Seem Like Much…

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on August 5, 2015| 3 Comments »

Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can. (Arthur Ashe)

I can tell by the expression on a young friend’s face her news isn’t good. “No change in the tumors,” she says.

She reports no noticeable response to her chemotherapy regimen. She needs a miracle. Now. Something so dramatic it belongs in science fiction. An event the media could exploit. I want a cure that turns a staunch atheist into a street preacher. But I stay with the reality and look her in the eye.

I thank her for continuing to stand upright, giving what she has—sometimes more. I tell her about her innate goodness and hope she is able to recognize it, too. She shares an upbeat moment she had when she volunteered at vacation bible school.

“You’re the one who helped me,” a little boy said with enthusiasm. She had taken time with him on a project he had found difficult. I have no idea how well she felt that day. Nevertheless, she saw the beauty in the everyday, the glue-sticky-fingered mundane. I pray for that innate beauty to shrink her tumors. Eventually. Somehow. No matter how impossible that seems to be.

She does what she can…

Loss, I want to avoid it. That wish doesn’t come true, even in less serious matters. Today is the last day for a favorite aerobics instructor. She has found a full time job in her field. My good-byes are one of many.

Then I ask a member of the class how she is doing. She seems quieter than usual. Her brother-in-law has recently died. She is concerned for her husband as well. He was his only sibling.

Fortunately she is a hugger. I use my arms as comfort. They are the only tools I have. The woman’s brother-in-law will not return. But her smile tells me my arms are enough. For now.

This moment leads into the next as it plants possibilities into a limited, yet amazingly full existence.

not reduced by what happens to me Optimism Revolution

 

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The Miraculous Stove Repair

Posted in kindness, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 29, 2015| 4 Comments »

One way to get the most out of life is to look upon it as an adventure. (William Feather)

One more headache. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve had in the past few weeks. A mix of unstable weather and stress are the probable causes.

Walking with a heated bean bag on the back of my neck comforts my upper spine but doesn’t do much for my posture. I look like a reluctant version of the Greek god Atlas. Oh sure, lying down would be a far better choice, but I have too much to do and not much time to do it.

The stove top is clogged and not covered by warranty because a cooler leaked over the top. Customer error. My own father once told me I should take a mechanical aptitude test. He wanted to see how low a score I would get. Even so, I investigate solutions through Google. And hope the results don’t lead to even more expensive repair.

I need this research time for another task: preparation for a writers’ workshop. Charm only gets a writer so far. I want to have some work completed—in something better than back-of-an-envelope form.

The battle is on. No weapons, only wits, and mine belong somewhere at the lowest ebb of my throbbing pain. I miraculously manage to get the gas burners to light. The nub on a Samsung doesn’t look like the one on a GE stove, but I clean it with a stripped bread tie. The rest of the stove also gets a scrubbing with a combination of hydrogen peroxide and baking soda.

For me seeing the flames rise in a perfect blue circle is equivalent to a toddler discovering a new chemical compound. Nothing short of miraculous.

Long before I am ready to leave for my conference I need to babysit for my youngest grandchild. I will leave about noon and she will bond with Grandpa.

Ella and I play. She creates an imaginary world and I follow her lead. Adventure at its best. The bean bag stays out of sight for a while. Not long enough, but for a while.

Uh, Ella, can you give me your secret? A touch of your adventure?

So we take turns leading Dora the Explorer and Diego down a plastic slide. This moment. Not the future, not the past.

The conference will present itself as an adventure. And it does. No time for pain…

Finally, several days after the dust settles so do the headaches. I find a new definition for gratitude.

dear stress

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Lake Huron, The Blue Water Motel, and Peace

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 22, 2015| 3 Comments »

The answers you seek never come when the mind is busy; they come when the mind is still, when silence speaks loudest. (Leon Brown)

If my husband never planned a vacation I suspect I would never travel. Getting from one side of a maze-like restaurant to the other is enough of a challenge for me. However, Jay has a knack for finding the best places at the best times. Perhaps some generous heavenly spirit guides his selection. We may never know, and it doesn’t matter. I’d rather savor the gift than analyze it.

The Blue Water Motel on Route 21 in Grand Bend, Ontario is walking distance from Lake Huron. Pinery Provincial Park is a fifteen-minute drive away. The owners of the motel act as if they were our next-door neighbors, ready to help when we need anything. The guests in other rooms act as if they have known us all their lives, even if we neglect to add eh at the end of our sentences now and then. Yes, Jay and I seem to be the only non-Canadians.

I consider this place a plus since we were not looking for wax museums and endless T-shirt shops. Sure, there is a shopping-restaurant-ice-cream strip with an old-fashioned boat-and-pier flavor to it, but it extends along one or two streets. In fact, Jay and I almost missed it. The lake and beach called louder.

Blue Water Motel07202015_0000

Jay, the quintessential extrovert, relaxes when he interacts with other people, maybe has a beer. (I am grateful that when he says one-beer he is referring to a twelve-ounce can of Alexander Keith, perhaps two, never a keg.) I love the opportunity to edit without worrying about the phone, preparing meals, or washing as many dishes as one sink can hold—even if I do like to cook. I can focus on deleting stray commas and reconstructing sentences that look as if they were prepared in a blender. My good friend, Nancy Johnson, helps me via e-mail from miles south.

Perhaps she and I are separated by an International border and a six-hour drive, but the motel’s free Wi-Fi makes it possible for us to communicate. She finds errors that sneak into what-I-think-should-be-on-the-page. And I smile the width of the room with gratitude. Thank you, Nancy. And thank you, God. You gave me a great friend!

I don’t stay indoors all day, however. Canada is far too beautiful for me to make that choice. And this sixty-nine-year-old body needs exercise or it will cramp into one arthritic knot. My shoes bring back souvenirs in the form of sand.

Let one photo speak.

Lake Huron shore

In the evening we discover the sunset on Lake Huron. While my hubby may be outspoken and I’m introspective, we both enjoy nature. Neither one of us needs to say much. The horizon takes over the show. And we savor the joy of simply being. I photograph a younger couple from the back. They appear anonymous, unidentifiable,  as both old and young watch the powers of nature. It is  greater than anyone silhouetted against it .

silhouette

In the silence of a departing day we watch as the sun touches the horizon. Intense light contrasts the darkness, accepts both, and gives birth to color. No journey is perfect, but the serendipity is worth the effort.

Peace upon all. And a special thank you to Mark and Laura Boogemans for a delightful stay at your motel. Maybe, if we are lucky, we can visit again next year.

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Thanks, Paul!

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on July 16, 2015| 2 Comments »

Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans. (John Lennon)

We are going on vacation tomorrow morning. The living room has turned into an obstacle course of clothing and maybe-we’ll-bring-stuff. Our passports are next to the remote control. When each to-do item on our list is completed, another is added.

I open the refrigerator to get the last of the fruit. “Uh, sweetheart, why is the light out in the refrigerator?”

I don’t expect my mate to know. It’s a question I don’t want to ask me. The appliance is relatively new. Jay checks the circuit breakers. They are intact. Neither the toaster nor a lamp responds at that outlet. It is as dead as a pond fossil. The extension cord we use for outdoor Christmas lights connects the refrigerator to electrical life. However, it also creates a trip hazard.

This bandaged solution could help for a week. Maybe. I call my brother Paul, an electrical engineer. He answers the phone.

“That should be an easy fix,” he says. “A fifteen minute job. I have the tools.” He offers to stop by today.

I am grateful because I am the facilitator for a writing group that meets this morning and I don’t want to renege my responsibilities. Jay will be home to welcome our hero.

However, when I return after the meeting I learn that the easy task wasn’t as simple as my brother expected. Our second switch was poorly wired. It was the feeder and was destined to blow. He handles the repair.

Paul is a lifesaver, a frozen-food rescuer, a brilliant engineer, and an all-around good guy. Of course he wouldn’t accept pay for his services—not even a free meal at a restaurant. And I wasn’t thinking White Castle.

All I can do is pass on his kindness to someone else and shout out to the world, or at least my readers, that I have a brother who is the greatest.

We are now on vacation and will be home, or close to home, by the time this is posted. Not every moment here has come as we thought it would either. We got lost but found some incredible beauty. We had some unexpected rain and I finished some edits I was afraid would never get completed in time. Serendipity is both teacher and delight.

Peace upon all that comes your way, both expected and otherwise.

 enjoying scenery on a detour

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Two-month-old Birthday Cards

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 10, 2015| 5 Comments »

There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that receives it. (Edith Wharton)

As I dust the front windowsill I realize my birthday cards have been on display for almost two months. Some of the messages are serious and genuine, some silly. I celebrate all of them. The cards are an opportunity for gratitude.

However, there is a fine line between gratitude and clutter. If I saved every thoughtful token I have ever received from friends, hoarding would replace genuine appreciation. The sun can’t shine through paper, even beautifully illustrated paper. I will save some cards for future illustration-inspiration. One friend copied a quote on slick paper. It will make a great bookmark.

No one thing lasts forever. Resentments can clutter, too. Sometimes people act in ways that reflect deep hurt—then they fling their pain around as weapons against those who have injured them. They take no responsibility for their choices. As long as the ball of discontent rolls, there is no time to recognize the loss of both logic and common sense. And the discontent grows deeper.

Hate caused Problems MoveOn.org

I think about that as I linger over the cards and shut out unhelpful thoughts concerning a recent situation that doesn’t directly involve me. It affects someone I care about. Nevertheless, it threatens my serenity. I have no control over another person’s choices. Light without shadow doesn’t exist in the real world. And resentments and anger can block out sun for years, sometimes a lifetime. I can’t help anyone if I play that game. Lashing out with quick judgment is tempting, but leads only to more lashing out.

I sigh and then pray for the highest good for the folk who would wish harm. Within minutes I notice that my breathing feels freer. The sky appears brighter, even though gray fills the clouds with promised rain.

However, the mirror reflecting the candle can shine on and on and on… Thanks to all my friends. For all you give and for all you are.

cards

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One Smile, a Beginning

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 3, 2015| 2 Comments »

The world as we have created it is a process of our thinking. It cannot be changed without changing our thinking. (Albert Einstein)

The world as we have created it is also a process of our caring, social awareness, and empathy. It cannot be changed without changing our approach to one another, without cutting out all biases and prejudices, seeing with fresh vision.

Wayne, the son of my long-time friend, Gladys, now deceased, shared this story. It fits into the attitudes I share weekly in this space:

“The coolest thing happened tonight. A friend was treating me to dinner at Frisch’s for helping with some mulch. I noticed a table with some special needs adults and case workers right in front of our table. I made eye contact and smiled at the people facing my way and went back to eating dinner. Suddenly, there was an arm around my shoulder and it was one of the adults with Down syndrome from that table. He was dressed in a Cincinnati Reds outfit.

“‘I love you,’ he said giving me a big hug. And I told him that I loved him, too. He then did the same to the young man sitting across from me. This gesture was an example of unconditional LOVE. I felt as if I were in the presence of an angel. I am profoundly touched and grateful.”

Several of Wayne’s friends mentioned a fact those who know special-needs folk realize; their good works aren’t hindered by overworked egos. In my April 8 blog, Scot: It Doesn’t Take Much To Make Me Happy, I introduced a loving adult with Down syndrome. Scot doesn’t let formality get in the way of giving either. He hugs and he is good at it.

Not many people are able to express affection without some reservation. Actually without a lot of reservation. All living creatures deserve respect. And yet I can’t imagine petting a pit bull without a proper introduction. True, I’m allergic to the dander in dog fur. But, this strong breed has an undeserved reputation. And yes, both ego and fear form a larger barrier around me than I would like to admit. I can be shy around people I’ve never met as well.

Wayne is a talented musician. But he was not taught to act as if he were better than everyone else because of his gifts. His mother Gladys also showed me what unconditional love means. At one time I wasn’t sure that I was capable of much of anything. Gladys accepted me as I was—and then helped me to view my life differently. She overcame enormous struggles in her life. Dire Poverty. The death of her mother when Gladys was only six. Gladys lived in the present and saw the good in each day and in each person.

I suspect the gentleman who approached Wayne sensed the honesty in his smile. Wayne wasn’t patronizing the group at the next table. His gesture came from a sunshine-heart.

And perhaps the difference between the special-needs-huggers and the reserved normal folk is spiritual. Just maybe the word needs should be deleted and special highlighted. These people erase the non-essentials: What could happen if?… I don’t know you… This is socially unacceptable… All the artificial contingencies disappear and pure gift remains.

Perhaps, if the special folk decided to take the time to consider the sit-straight, don’t-look-anyone-in-the-eye rest of the world, they might feel sorry for the so-called normal sector.

But I doubt that they would look down on anyone.

if disabled people were head

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