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Posts Tagged ‘gratitude’

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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Flour, Gifts, and Contaminated Bread (Maybe)

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , on June 8, 2016| 1 Comment »

Nearly all the best things that came to me in life have been unexpected, unplanned by me. (Carl Sandburg)

I like to cook and prefer baking from scratch. If I don’t know what the chemical ingredients are on the side of the box, chances are I don’t want anyone to swallow them. However, Memorial Day weekend didn’t give me enough hours to make a dessert for a family celebration. I picked a mix that didn’t have a what’s-inside list long enough to fill a full-length hard-bound chemistry text.

A new neighbor moved in on our street. I also wanted to bake a loaf of sweet bread for her. A welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift. But the time for that baking didn’t appear either.

Finally, a few hours open. I find an Internet recipe for blueberry bread. (I change every recipe just a little, part whole wheat maybe, and olive oil, but the link connects to the directions.) My flour bin looks nearly empty, but an unopened bag waits in the cupboard. First however, I decide to listen to a message on the recorder. A toll-free number. And I have no idea why I decide to clear the flashing red button now. The light does not interfere with measuring cups, blueberries, or cooking time. I expect the voice to tell me I’m getting a free medical alert system—all previous calls for this offer have been deleted.

Perhaps, I read some divine-intervention sign because the robo-call is from our local grocery store chain. The introduction begins with the usual, perky “hold on for an important message” and background music.

The deep voice advises that the store’s records indicate I may have purchased a bag of Gold Medal flour containing e-coli. The made-for-advertising voice continues with the package sizes and suggests a website.

Okay! Yeah, guess what, oven? You get a break today. At least until after a trip to the store for a refund. I’d planned to purchase an organic brand the next time anyway.    

As I read further, the recall seems to be overcautious. Most of the illness came from a few people who ate raw dough. Connection unverified. It’s the usual American hype. I am grateful for the caution. However, larger problems continue.

Yes, contaminants can appear in and on food. Monsanto has been accused of causing enormous harm according to multiple scientific studies; money and power protect the company. Another blog could develop from this one on that issue. I hope it does—on another page. Through many bloggers. For now, I look at serendipitous timing. And the learning that came during that process.

I have a friend who refers to certain unexplained well-timed moments as god-incidences instead of coincidences. She may have a point—especially when the moment continues into deeper thought. And greater awareness.

what is left of the blueberry loaf I made for Jay and me

blueberry bread

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Detour Season

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

Maybe who we are isn’t so much about what we do, but rather what we’re capable of when we least expect it. (Jodi Picoult)

I read the notice, but my brain interprets it in its own way: This road will be closed from April 23 until it is ready for the landing of the Apocalypse ship. Sure, I know another way to get to the Y. But, I’m not certain where the construction begins and ends. And part of that road leads to our friend’s auto repair shop.

My car is running okay, but it is a 1997 model—old by mechanical standards. And I have no idea how soon the ship will land. Okay, I’m exaggerating. However, the detour sign has become the new travel standard.

Expect long delays. Great! I need to pick up my granddaughter. At least back streets are available. And my direction-deprived brain knows them.

Life detours are another matter. An old friend learned her cancer has returned. Another friend battles a second bout of sepsis, cause unknown. I talk to someone I haven’t seen at the Y for a long time. She moved to Arizona, and then returned to Ohio because her daughter developed MS. The daughter needs constant care.

Even on a less serious level I woke up last week with pain in my shoulder. Too sharp to go back to sleep. Fortunately, I was able to figure out that movement made the discomfort worse. I had no shortness of breath. No heart problem. No reason to wake my husband.

Nevertheless, I had no idea what had caused the muscle pull. Even holding a book caused pain. I tried anyway. A day and a half of heat and rest revitalized me. The perfect time to notice the beauty of the moment. I fought the urge to get up, clean a dirty corner, work on my next book, jump through the next hoop, cross the next bridge, or detour, before I came to it.

Rest. Sometimes I get lost in my own overdone good intentions. Maybe the good intentions don’t matter as much as what I can do when the detours appear. This is the season.

enjoying scenery on a detour

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Ella and the Dollhouse; three stories, one staircase

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on May 25, 2016| 2 Comments »

Success is liking yourself, liking what you do, and liking how you do it. (Maya Angelou)

Ella finds two dolls inside the top floor of the dollhouse set up in the library. The male figure is noticeably smaller than the female doll. Nevertheless, they become Daughter and Daddy. Daughter and Daddy are their names.

One staircase and three floors is incidental. No problem. The characters move to the higher levels as if walls and open air did not exist. Hops are required on stairs. I become Daddy. Ella is Daughter.

When I comment that the leap from Daughter’s bedroom to attic has been a doozy, Ella does not respond. Either she is too involved in the game, or the slang term doozy is outdated.

“Carry me to bed, Daddy,” she says.

One plastic doll next to the other looks more like the letter X. But I have been living in the real world too long.

“Okay.”

And the same scenarios repeat. In cycles so rapid day and night have no meaning. The relationship between child and father does.

“Carry me to bed, Daddy.” Followed by, “Daughter needs ear drops.”

And Daddy carries Daughter safely—over the chasm of rooms that have no entrance or exit. Her ear infection disappears within two minutes per the library clock, and perhaps four trips up one set of toy stairs and one jump into the impossible.

I am Grandmother. Playing a role. When I first sat down on the floor my mind was immersed in the plot for a short story for grownups. It got sidelined temporarily. Somewhere between make-believe and the profound. In make-believe I enter the imagination of a little girl with special needs and special love.

Daddy is always available, whether he is big enough for the task or not. He shines. Daughter’s physical problems dissolve. Ella idolizes her father.

I speak in hushed tones. This is a library. Ella talks as if she were in the toy room in my house. A woman sits at an adjoining table. She does not complain. When Grandpa pulls out his car keys as we get ready to go, Ella offers to drive.

The woman bursts out laughing. She has been amused, not annoyed. I am happy to have the job of grandma.

Ella has left a few blessings behind.

Ella back view at Mt. Airy Park April 2015

 

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Happy Birthday to Me: Making Peace with the Past

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 19, 2016| 5 Comments »

Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow. (Melody Beattie)

My birthday has arrived—number seventy. I tell my husband: Let’s celebrate nature. No fancy restaurant. Forget anything that involves crowds. If something happens at the last minute and our plans need to change, I’m flexible. Postponement is one way of saying another day exists.

When I was young the new green of spring represented no more than background. When will we get to the zoo or the picnic? Travel without comic books meant blank, boring space. As a kid, I suspected I had plenty of time left. Adulthood belonged to some unrelated, untouchable dimension. After all, the grownup belonged to a different species. They knew all the rules. Kids didn’t get detailed explanations until after they broke the side laws.

And I was beyond naïve. As well as profoundly less-than-popular. My youth was shattered on an April night I expected to be murdered. I was in my late teens. In fact, as I screamed out that one of the men was hurting me, he said that it was supposed to hurt. And I expected to be found dead in the beautiful nature I had taken for granted. Details of that event are unnecessary. Let the past remain in the past.

I lived. But my mother reacted against me. As I lay in my bed the next day after returning home from the emergency room, she handed me a rosary. “This is what you need.” And I could not pull my fingers along the familiar beads. Instead I pretended to be in a coffin, and prayed that my room would morph into a funeral home if I remained still long enough.

It did not happen. Friends appeared. Few, but vital—Sue—I haven’t seen her in years. But she planted seeds that took decades to grow.

I write about the positive, the beautiful, the glory of being alive. Even while the difficult, the unfair, the ugly continue to try to destroy the world. I do not want to author a full-length-memoir. Sure, the past exists in the present. Someplace hidden within the body. Those tiny nits never go away, but they can teach instead of dominate. They can open the door for compassion.

I mention my experience now to show that I did not come from a utopian existence. With the help of arms and ears, not advice or dogma, I grew. With the direction of people who showed me that I had untapped talents, I found them. And wrote songs, poems, short stories, and a full-length middle-grade fantasy, The Curse Under the Freckles. Love became possible in a fuller life-isn’t-all-about-me sense.

Now, there are days when I look at the time on the clock, backward in the mirror, and wonder if I can get up yet to begin the day. There may not be a way I can go back and tell the despairing young-girl-me  that she was passing through a desert, not eternal damnation. But I can forgive my mother. She gave the solution she knew, albeit inadequate.

Moreover, I can pass on the word that what sometimes seems to be a dead-end may have an exit. And it can begin with something as simple as a genuine, non-judgmental I-care.

Happy Birthday to me. I don’t ask for seventy more years. Only for each day’s blessings, recognized as completely as possible.

May all know the beauty of who you are.

little Terry on flowered background (2)

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