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Posts Tagged ‘wisdom in unexpected places’

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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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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Dancing in Heaven by Christine Grote: Inspiration Touches Home

Posted in book review, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 12, 2016| 2 Comments »

Be who you are. / Give what you have.  (Rose Ausländer )

 I watch my precious six-year-old Ella in Occupational therapy as she threads the letters to her name through a fluorescent green pipe cleaner. She recognizes the letters—she has been reading for more than a year. But she struggles through fine motor skills exercises because of her small hands and shortened fingers. typical for persons with Down syndrome.

At times she breaks away and puts on a show, her head between her knees, a look-at-me-I’m-cute expression on her face. I remain calm without reacting, showing no censure. Only what I hope is a you-can-do-it look. The OT is in charge. And she encourages Ella. With both experience and love.

And I realize how much I treasure my granddaughter because another image of someone with handicaps far more severe, appears in my mind. Her name is Diane Smith. I have never met her except through the written word, Dancing in Heaven, a sister’s memoir by Christine M. Grote.

The book is available through Amazon.

front cover

dancing-in-heaven cover

When Diane was born young Christine had difficulty saying her name. Diane became Annie. In the 1950’s diagnostic skills were primitive. And Annie and her family went through hell as the frightening news appeared. Annie was seriously brain-damaged. She would never walk, talk, live a normal life.

Through Christine’s sensitive, never-glossed-over memories about her sister’s life, Annie becomes real.  Beautiful. An angel spirit in a broken body. Yes, I suggest a box of tissues nearby. But I also recommend absorbing every word.

 Then, perhaps, the next time a man, woman, or child appears bound to a wheelchair at the mall or some other public place, that individual won’t seem either frightening or repulsive. The natural response will be an ability to look the person in the eye and see a unique spirit, perhaps someone with far more courage than many people could fathom.

the author, Christine M. Grote

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 

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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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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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Little-People Art, Creating It and Living It

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 2, 2015| 3 Comments »

When will you learn that there isn’t a word for everything? (Nicole Krauss)

Ella has had enough play for the evening. Daddy is playing in a softball tournament. His team won the first game and the second is in progress. She doesn’t even want my iPad, usually a sure thing. She eases into my lap as we sit in the concession area and asks for her friend Nona. I didn’t see the little girl during the first game.

Nona is years younger than Ella. But our granddaughter doesn’t limit her friendships to children her age. Nona has a sparkling personality. And she has inherited artistic skills. I suspect that she and Ella communicate on non-verbal levels, through action, color, play. Little people see more than adults realize.

artwork by Nona Adams-Jones

artwork by Nona Adams-Jones

Ella puts her head on my chest. I straddle the hard bench and I’m amazed at the length of time my senior body remains still without stiffening into one four-foot-eleven-inch cramp. Something innately beautiful in Ella softens me.

Simultaneous loud conversations merge into a rumble. Ella’s arms are covered with dirt from the playground area. Her hair could use a brush. At the table across from me someone spills a beer into peanut shells on the concrete-slab floor. The noise and distraction don’t stop my granddaughter from falling asleep. I can’t take off her glasses without waking her.

This frozen-grandma scene would not appear to be pleasant. Nevertheless, I choose to remember it—every detail. I have no desire to join the laughter surrounding me. I would rather savor holding this blonde little girl, recognizing the trust she has in me, basking in her unconditional love. Another kind of artistic moment.

Soon she will awaken, sleepily, and see Daddy. He is her world. She is excited to give him her coloring page from daycare. I will give up this moment soon enough. For now there is no need for words. I remain still. Privileged. The grandmother of a girl with Down syndrome and up gifts.

Art comes in all forms. Sometimes words fail when they try to capture gifts that develop and change as this moment eases into the next.

shirts from past celebrated Buddy Walks

My husband and I wear these often as we watch our Ella grow.

Buddy Walk shirts

 

 

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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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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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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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