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Posts Tagged ‘choice’

One Oops Offers a Chance for Gratitude

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on April 28, 2016| 3 Comments »

Be content with what you have, rejoice in the way things are. When you realize there is nothing lacking the whole world belongs to you. (Lao Tzu)

Put too many items on a moving flat surface and a few are bound to slide off. If I listed everything I plan to do today, the city’s yellow-page phone directory would probably be thinner. That’s a huge hyperbole, but I feel overwhelmed.

So, when I drive away from the Y and realize that, oops, I’ve left my hand brace inside the building, I’m not surprised by my forgetfulness. And I am frustrated. With me. I need that brace. I’m performing tomorrow and don’t want my hand to cramp in the middle of a song.

True, the return trip is no more than a drive from exit to entrance, but backtracking isn’t on the sacred agenda.

Fortunately, Amy catches my eye as I approach the door to leave. Again. She is smiling. She has good news. She has been battling metastatic cancer. Her most recent tests have come back normal. This may not be the final report, but it leads in a positive direction.

Amy is an amazing young woman. She volunteers almost every day. And rides her bike, not a car. She doesn’t give up easily.

I wrap my brace around my wrist and realize the pain in my hand has lessened. And so has the weight of my self-imposed agenda. Suddenly, a few items fall off. And it is okay. They didn’t need to be there anyway. I add gratitude for people like Amy. The kind of addition that lightens the burden.

the brave and suffering The Optiism Revolution

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Water Exercise, the Gift of the Moment

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , on April 23, 2016| 1 Comment »

Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend. (Albert Camus)

I am thinking about leaving water aerobics class a tad early. If I took a shower at the Y instead of at home, those few extra minutes could come in handy to begin a task or two.

The house needs to be reassembled after some minor construction in our bathroom. Kids will be at our house again tomorrow. I need to practice my set for a performance next week, and I have a writing deadline. Actually, I have several, including this weekly blog.

The instructor moves one way and I turn another. Fortunately, I don’t collide into anyone else. Apparently this moment is progressing and my mind is shifting somewhere else. Oops. One more time from the top.

I catch the eye of a fellow class member. We talk. Our conversation doesn’t stay with safe subjects, such as the temperature inside the pool, or outside where Mother Nature lets wind, storm, or sun take random turns with the weather. Our hearts meet in the important places where caring for others matters. And that caring charges a toll with no set rate.  Unpredictable is standard.

This kind of real-life communication happens often during classes. Funny how I keep up with the instructor’s transitions when I am interacting with another person. Yet, when my mind wanders to places I can’t touch, I’m lost.

The shower can wait. At least until I get home. For now, I spend time with other water comrades. And celebrate the gift of the moment.

friendship in pond, pool, or random flower

frog hugging frog

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Large Seeds, Small Seeds, and a Thank-you or Two

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on April 16, 2016| 4 Comments »

The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

We planted our blue spruce tree forty years ago. It was a gift from my husband’s uncle who owned a nursery. Some of the tree’s branches no longer thrive. However, I only recently learned that no blue spruce trees have survived in a neighborhood less than a thirty-minute drive east of ours. I had no idea how lucky our front yard has been. Of course, the spruce’s care has cost a small fortune. But human life isn’t always easy either. Life was never promised to be an effortless road.

Dakota gathers cones scattered on the ground and gives them a ride in his toy yellow dump truck.

“Can I take these home?” he asks.

“Sure. As long as your mom says it is okay.”

I have probably stepped on or over the huge seeds and never noticed them. Dakota studies the shape and size of each cone. He lets the super-wet ones dry in the sun. Dark and semi-disintegrated cones remain with the lighter, more attractive ones. I don’t ask our almost-five-year-old why he is so enamored by spruce cones. It doesn’t matter. He has discovered something of wonder, and has given me the opportunity to observe nature—and a beauty that has been waiting for me to notice it.

The top of the spruce holds more cones not yet dropped. I think about how many seeds there are and yet how few produce trees. How often do I expect every kind act to yield results—or at least a nod of recognition? I ask the question, but don’t expect an answer. I need an awareness, not a count.

Gratitude comes in layers, over time. I got a call last night, about a gift a very special person wants to give me. He was shopping with his sister. They were having difficulty making a decision. At the time I’d been tired, lost in my own fatigue—and I almost missed the moment to know how important this call was, a far larger gift than any wrapped present. The what of the purchase wasn’t important. To me. But it was to him. And that is where my awareness took hold. I don’t remember whether or not I said thank you. But I do recall ending the conversation with, “And I love you, too.”

Now, Dakota’s cones go for fast rides up and down the lawn. And I wonder what a four-year-old boy envisions as he leads the truck through imaginary adventures. The dandelions, tucked in his pocket, fall out. He calls them pretty weeds. I call them gifts for the bees.

“Play with me,” he says. I Do. However, I always remain on the edge of his world. And catch occasional glimpses of the newness he sees. With the kind of appreciation that lets growth begin. For both of us.

cones

 

 

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Good People, Good Places, and Disappointing Spring Weather

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 10, 2016| 3 Comments »

It is good people who make good places.  (Anna Sewell)

I study this photo taken in a local park, and remember. Full bright blue sky. Sunglasses. Dark shadows with clear edges. And a day with my granddaughter, Ella.

Sure, light exists whether it is glaring or not, hidden behind gray clouds. However, cold wind, rain, as well as snow flurries steal the spring I expected this year.

Cold hasn’t taken away pleasant moments.

I had a delightful evening with my sister-in-law and brother-in-law last night as I served one more cold-weather meal—pork chops and sauerkraut.  

The antics of my grandchildren in my tiny office also bless my work space. The children leave a grand mess. But the chaos also brings suggestions for further stories as well as deep, sweet memories.

Last week at an exercise class I fumbled, as usual, through the transitions from one move to another. At least the continuous action healed the chill in my bones. Then I noticed a woman to my left in the row in front of me. She lifted one foot perhaps an inch off the ground, and then she raised the other, minutes later, while the rest of the class hopped to the right and then to the left. The lady smiled as if satisfied simply to be present. I wondered how old she was.

I guessed ninety. And discovered after class I was right when the instructor came to her and introduced herself.

“I’ll be back,” the older woman said.

And I hope she does return. She reminds me that internal warmth comes from far more than transient circumstances. Maybe someday I can learn that getting-all-the-external-parts-right isn’t the most satisfying life goal.

I look again at the picture of my shadow. I know it represents me. But I also know it reflects only a stretched-out shape created by an angle of light. One that can alter at any moment.

I pray to learn from young people like Ella. And older people like a surprise visitor in an exercise class.

Thank you, life, for today. In whatever shape it appears.

my shadow full sun West Fork park

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The Abundant Ordinary

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

Acknowledging the good that you already have in your life is the foundation for all abundance.  (Eckhart Tolle)

Sure I can take one thing at a time, I tell myself as I grab a breakfast bar to save time, then open the dishwasher to unload it. Uh, maybe not. Nothing like rewashing dishes because they have peanut-butter residue on them.

I’m trying to decide how Terry as overwhelmed-monkey-in-the-middle-of-chaos could have been averted yesterday…by multitasking on my own time today. Okay, from the top. Take one thing at a time, and acknowledge the goodness in each moment. As that moment occurs.

I try to plan for every contingency—in advance. Something like directing raindrops into rain barrels. Without overflow. Or flooding. No real-life messiness anywhere.

Simultaneous requests will probably not go away. Some folk may need to wait. Some tasks, too. Do I need breakfast first or should I return plates and silverware to their designated homes within my home? Either way I drop things if I move too quickly.

Right now I’m glad my grandchildren enjoy being with Grandma and Grandpa. My son has taken over plans for a family birthday party. I turn seventy soon. A friend offered to take me shopping for a much-needed bathing suit, although she can’t do it today. My suit has faded and thinned. If it could talk it would beg to be euthanized. I find a replacement. It won’t last forever either. Nothing does.

Humor and gratitude: a winning combination. My health is improving. And I decide not to take it for granted anymore. This day is a gift, a syncopated, less-than-choreographed, clumsy dance.

But each minor imperfection doesn’t matter.

Life is innately good.

Dance even if there is no music

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Thinking, Not Over-Thinking

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on March 19, 2016| Leave a Comment »

Never be afraid to sit awhile and think. (Lorraine Hansberry)

Think. Not over-think, worry’s first cousin.

I’m on my way to an exercise class. The class is my chance to kick, run, jump into a V-step or Charleston left, then right—all in my own clumsy timing. I’m definitely back-row inept. So what if the person in front of me is five foot eleven and I need higher heels to hit the five-foot mark. At least I won’t confuse anyone behind me.

Traffic is light for a Friday morning. I sit, drive, and take in the moment as my ’97 Toyota follows the familiar route.

The sky is blue, clear. And I breathe in and out slowly with the hope that my spirit can find similar clarity. A bird crosses the road. Too low. It almost hits my windshield. I’m reminded of the sparrow that lay dead in our driveway yesterday. I’ve seen too much loss lately. Large and small. I realize I can’t discover the beauty of each moment when I’m running on high speed in multiple directions.

My unwritten chore list is long. Again. I am hosting a friend’s birthday party this weekend. My office is also my grandchildren’s play area. The carpet is filled with tiny pieces of paper, remnants of kid art, what my mother called snibbles. Actually, I never heard the word anywhere else. So I asked my brother Bill if he knew anything about the word.

He speaks fluent German, and years ago, before we both had kids, he beat me at Scrabble. Regularly. I saved the score sheets and averaged the points. He was three points a word more proficient. But did he gloat? Heavens, no. We played cooperative games to see how many points we could gather together. Well over 700. That board grew with diverse, well-connected words and designs. Now Bill works to recognize people, not politics. The people of Palestine. Persons. Individuals. Not a lumped nameless mass.

This is where my thinking leads me now: I am proud of my younger brother.

He found snibbles in the Urban Dictionary. My bro, both intelligent and resourceful. And the sunshine outside seeps inside me just a little bit more.

In the meantime, daffodils are beginning to bloom. Grass pushes up green blades from thawed earth. The goldfinch has started to display his warm-weather feathers.

Beginnings. Each moment. As I sit. In the car. Or on the porch. As I stand. In the line at the grocery. Waiting. Anywhere. During celebrations and during painful times. Think, Terry, with expectant awareness. And live in the now. The naysayers will come. Ready to criticize another for hair or skin color, race, intelligence, or immigrant status. Ready to separate us from them, to say one group is more human than another.

But, you can’t be knocked over by hate, Terry, because you are caught off-guard in your own trivial considerations. One more time. Catch the beauty. Know it is real. Gain strength. Opinions change. Truth does not. Think. Think. Think…

bluebird and rainbow

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Readjustments and a Cake Made of Legos

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 5, 2016| 1 Comment »

The art of life is a constant readjustment to our surroundings. (Kakuzo Okakaura) 

Today could be declared Murphy’s Law day because what didn’t go wrong at least turned sideways. The details would take up too much space to list. Almost anyone living in the real world can give personal examples with little thought.

Readjustments take more flexibility than my agenda allows.

I finally get a chance to write—for what I think will be an hour—when I’m needed somewhere else. No question about it.

“I really hate to bother you,” my needy friend says.

My answer comes with a sigh, but not much thought. “I left a funeral no more than seven hours ago. Two women I know lost husbands this week. What am I giving up?” The answer is rhetorical because I don’t want to admit how much I cherish my precious, guarded quiet time. I think I can get through this.

And I do. My creative inspiration before the interruption lay somewhere between pause and stutter anyway. Most of my work this evening returned into the backspace key. I have already forgotten the erased words, and it is probably better that way. Like every writer, my work doesn’t fall onto the page the way the credits appear after a movie—in quick, neat-flowing lines.

Toys lay scattered on the floor of the room where I type. Another chore on the endless list. And then, I notice a block of Legos and remember my middle granddaughter’s building project. At first she wanted to make a building, with symmetrical sections and colors that match. Windows, or at least open spaces. Decorative pieces in fun places. A roof, all one color. But we didn’t have enough orange pieces to cover the top—not without a wrecking crew and a plan to make something smaller.

Eventually my granddaughter did start over. She designed a cake. She accepted the fact that our building supplies are scarce, and created an imperfectly colored celebration. A happy birthday for her sister turning twelve next week and a blessing for me today.

I can’t expect more from each day than what is. But often, each moment is enough—more than enough.

Miss Rebe’s art

Lego cake

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Celebrating Flaws?

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 3, 2016| 1 Comment »

We are flawed creatures, all of us. Some of us think that means we should fix our flaws. But get rid of my flaws and there would be no one left. (Sarah Vowell)

Sarah Vowell has written six nonfiction historical books, including Lafayette in the Somewhat United States and Unfamiliar Fishes. She is an actress. I’ve seen her interviewed and been mesmerized by her wit. Therefore, I read the last sentence—several times. “But get rid of my flaws and there would be no one left.” Should that read But get rid of flaws and there would be no one left? Or should it be, But get rid of my flaws and I would not be?

Then again, perhaps Ms. Vowell is onto something. Each individual is a part of the whole. We share flaws the way we share common emotional existence. No one has it all. Perhaps that is why we were designed to be social beings. I am part of the whole. The whole is part of me. Or, she could be saying that without flaws she is only a shell with no one inside. It’s a question for my grammar-freak friends.

Today gray clouds fill the sky, but an almost circular hole opens and lets the blue peek through. By the time I have driven to my destination the sun has won. For now. The TV news loves to forecast sensationalism and doom. Unusually warm winter temperatures should fight with cold air soon, giving birth to storms.

And I realize that storms inside me want to rise, too. They want to make a big fuss about recent mistakes, failures that feel larger and higher than the clouds. Yet, those mistakes don’t rise to more than my four-foot-eleven height off the ground.

Then four-year-old Dakota rushes into our house. His huge brown eyes let me know he is happy to be here. Little people don’t hide their feelings. He asks why at least a thousand times. “Why isn’t your hair long like my mommy’s?” “Why isn’t Jay back from the YMCA yet?” When he heard that I was going for physical therapy for my neck he wanted to know, “Are they going to take your neck off?”

Fortunately that answer was a simple no. I smile at his innocence. He doesn’t know how small he is yet, how much growing he needs to do before he is an adult. The statement, in an hour, has as much meaning to him as the unfathomable size of the universe has for me. I can’t grasp it. Nor will I ever comprehend more than theory.

Yet, none of the people I love are perfect. If they were I would have nothing in common with them. So, I thank Sarah Vowell for her honesty, and look at my flaws with a tad more reverence.

mistakes The Optiism Revolution

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Marcia and the Art of Embracing a Better Me (or You)

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 20, 2016| 1 Comment »

You are important, valuable and unique. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Live your truth and be amazing. (Ricardo Housham)

 Our outdoor thermometer reads twenty-two degrees; this is a step up from yesterday’s reading of eight degrees. I wait for the sun to shine as brightly as it does in mid-June, even if brightness and warmth are not synonymous.

Like many people I have survived trauma. Cold desperate winters remained inside my being long after each spring thaw. The situation is more common than most individuals want to admit. Since those days I have embraced the pain as well as the good that came from the past. After a lot of hard work. Time. Meditation. The love of friends.

However, I only recently learned that memories live in the body as well as in the mind. Why am I perfectly fine one moment, and then, without warning, an internal storm rises? I tend to retreat. Others strike back. The why isn’t always obvious. Even if I don’t act upon how I feel, the response remains.

As a writer I watch people. When threatened, one person may stare with contempt, mouth closed, jaw clenched. Another may fight without editing words or actions. We are emotional beings—whether we want to admit it or not.

The body remembers trauma, sadness, and loss even if the mind has long-ago gone to the next page. Am I depressed? Heck no! I have a loving family, a passion for writing, and more energy than many almost-seventy-year-old people. Moreover, the physical therapy for my misbehaving neck is working.

Nevertheless, I suspect that part of the disconnection between my head and shoulders has something to do with blocks inside my body’s memory. And that is where Marcia Erdman comes in. She does something called Defusion Therapy. She is also a licensed massage therapist. And she is highly intuitive.

“You give more than you have to give,” she told me once.

And she was spot on.

One brain therapy works for me because I don’t have problems that keep me from living life. I have blocks that keep me from reaching for the sky. No, I won’t harness every lofty goal, but why not try? Why not make the world a better place, simply by being in it—as fully as possible. Marcia uses an approach that includes Three in one Concepts. In essence this means that the mind and body work together to choose rather than react when stress inevitably appears.

Marcia’s system includes muscle testing and symbols, such as flowers, to improve areas that need growth. The highlighted sites explain the system better than I can. Besides, I’m a newbie. And for people in the Greater Cincinnati area, Marcia is accepting clients. Simply click on the link connected to her name.

In the meantime I watch the snow fall since rebelling against it won’t make winter pass any faster. Peace upon all. Wherever you may be.

 

becoming PIQ

 

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True Friends: A Group Known as Apple

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 13, 2016| 1 Comment »

Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got two lives to live, one is the mock-up, the other the finished version, and then there are all those versions in between. (André Aciman)

I am sitting among friends, other women who are senior citizens on the outside with young spirits on the inside. Every Tuesday morning we meet and talk about our lives as they really are, not as we want them to be. We call ourselves Apple. This name appeared before I joined, forty years ago. Someone in the group mentioned the biblical quote: “You are the apple of my eye.” And laughter resounded. Many of the women looked like apples—their bellies were swollen with advanced pregnancies.

Now many of those babies are parents. But the Apple name stuck. We’ve changed over the years. The singing and harmony that drew me in doesn’t exist. The room isn’t as filled as it used to be. Members have moved or found other interests. In the early days the stay-at-home wife was common. That changed. Many of us went back to work. So did I. But I was fortunate to find a part time position that didn’t interfere with the time for the gathering. One woman died in a car accident. Two others care for disabled husbands.

As friends we have seen one another through triumph and tragedy, seasons and years.

M knows I hate driving in snow. She called an hour before the sharing time began, and she asked me if I wanted a ride. No false pride here. I accepted with gratitude.

Now a squall begins outside. Complete with a threatening wind. The kind that sets my worry gene into gear. But I pause. Listen to my Apple sisters share inspirational stories. And laugh. No, the storm isn’t okay. But it exists. We can’t harness it.

A ten-or-twelve vehicle pile-up on our local Interstate is making national news right now. I don’t know about it yet. Awareness is good. Especially when that means a major highway is closed. Continuous in-depth coverage? Maybe not. Especially when it begins a rolling snowball of coast-to-coast anxiety.

I learn later someone I love struggled through the morning commute, slid on the ice, and had a generally difficult day because of that awful four-letter-word beginning with an s. Yet she managed—without the dubious benefit of my fears. I offer my help. She won’t need to drive an hour out of her way for a babysitter. If I could hop in a time machine and change her outcome, I would. But I believe in fantasy only in stories.

I’d like to say that every word I write springs from my soul like some kind of innate holy water of positive thinking. It doesn’t. I work at it just like everyone else does. And I’m grateful for my friends at Apple for their constant support and love.

We’ve come a long way from new mamas to not-so-new grandmas. Together. Thanks. May your friendships be filled with people who listen more than speak, share both their highs and their lows, and know how to laugh at their shortcomings. Peace—one imperfect day at a time.

apples

 

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