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Posts Tagged ‘wisdom’

A Positive Look at a Dirty Dust Cloth

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on February 16, 2013| Leave a Comment »

All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us. (J.R.R. Tolkien)

Cleaning and organization have never been my forte, but since my house has never learned to clean itself, the job falls on me. I suspect that if I ever learned how to direct that magical act, I could earn big bucks. It’s not going to happen. My budget doesn’t include paying for a housekeeper.

Therefore, since there were five kids playing in my tiny abode yesterday, I may as well roll up my sleeves, get to work and put toys back on shelves, clean up spills, and remove multiple fingerprints from the computer, walls, and table tops.

At one time I resented the time housework stole from my creative work. Then I learned to tidy up my spiritual life as I wiped down floors and removed Cheerios from the couch cushions. The ordinary actions of home maintenance remind me of the people who bring the most gratitude.

Sure our refrigerator is old and rusty. However, it has held countless drawings presented with love by some incredible grandchildren. It’s something of a grandmother’s unframed Louvre. No, the artwork doesn’t resemble anything painted by Monet, but the pieces were given with enough enthusiasm to warrant wiping off the ranch dressing smeared around the borders—even if those marks were made by the artist.

Cleaning is a time for me to recall what I have versus what I don’t. Oh, that doesn’t mean stray thoughts don’t sneak through, those negative notions that can ruin a moment like a fly dropping into a bowl of soup. But those interruptions don’t need to snowball.

Okay, dust cloth. Let’s get to work. And thanks, my dear husband. I am sure other wives will agree: There are few visions more beautiful than a husband on his hands and knees scrubbing a rug. Love you, sweetheart!

this place was clean . . .

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Ageless Enthusiasm

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 11, 2013| Leave a Comment »

We are always the same age inside. (Gertrude Stein)

My maternal grandmother was a consummate seamstress. If she could imagine it, she could sew it. When she was a young woman she took a notebook to store windows, made crude sketches, and then went home and recreated what she saw—tailored to size for select customers.

Once she made a dress with a spider-webbed skirt. I never saw it since she had constructed it long before I was born. It remains part of the legend of Grandma. No one ever mentioned how much she earned; I got the clear impression her work was severely under-priced.

I decided to become a fashion designer when I was in middle grade school, probably because of the stories I heard about Grandma. I loved to draw. I made detailed descriptions of the front and back of dresses. Since I wasn’t keen on cleaning up after myself, I left my work and crayons lying around for Grandma to pick up.

Instead of complaining, Grandma made one of my imagined designs for me: a teal sleeveless dress with V-neck and V-back with a long fabric bow that reached almost to the hem line, a cinched waist, and billowing skirt. My grandmother always made clothes for me that were a tad too big, a result of Depression-era thinking. Clothing needed to last—for as long as possible. Hard times could appear again, by her way of thinking. She knew what it was like to have no food in the house. She remembered an occasion when her cupboard had been bare until her brother stopped by with a bushel of green beans. So, my custom-made dress was mad to last a loooong time.

Perhaps that fear that those few dollars she spent on cloth may never be replaced made her gift even more precious. Nevertheless, I recall how excited I was when I saw her creation, the shine in Grandma’s blue eyes—her payment, a granddaughter’s enthusiastic thank-you. I felt an appreciation of my ability to be creative, too. I could put down an idea on paper, then watch it develop, step into real life.

Enthusiasm comes naturally to a child who knows she is loved. That love doesn’t have to be perfect, just available, from some steady source. Grandma’s quiet presence and steady needle were always there.

I may never know what gifts I leave to my grandchildren. I can only guess. When I picked up Rebecca from pre-school last week she told me she had a surprise and couldn’t wait to show me: a picture of mittens, one colored yellow and the other blue. The text read: “If my grandma made me mittens . . .” I gathered that she was stating that whatever I give my girls, it wouldn’t be traditional. So far they each have a song and  a poem. Rebe envisions mittens in mismatched colors.

As long as joy is included in some form, it doesn’t matter how it arrives, colored in yellow, blue, plaid or indigo.

“What should we play now?” I asked her, eye to eye. After all, we were the same age at that moment, both children in spirit, eager to share our enthusiasm for one another.

“House,” she answered. Always the same answer, never the same game.

growing old optional

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To Be Or Not To Be—A Sponge

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , on February 7, 2013| 3 Comments »

When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be. (Lao Tzu)

Somewhere I read or heard that washing a sponge in the dishwasher is a good way to destroy lingering bacteria. As I take a sponge that’s been through considerable scrubbing, with residue of Ella’s yogurt, spilled coffee, and whatever was imbedded on the stove top, I feel as if I could use a thorough run through the dishwasher.

Sure it’s great to be the confidante for several wonderful folk, but a time comes when I need to rinse all of that information away, relax, and begin again. I do not have a degree in psychology. I do have access to twelve-step material, a good church community, and an intimate woman’s faith group known as Apple. They all serve me well. Moreover, there is nowhere anyone can live—truly experience life—without picking up a few hints along the way. Nevertheless, all the assistance in the world doesn’t protect anyone from wearing out.

These are some of the hints that tell me when I am ready to wash my mental sponge with some downtime: meditation, fun reading, a cup of tea (without caffeine), an additional exercise routine or walk, perhaps a call to an understanding friend:

             sleeplessness or waking too many times during the night

            dreading that the phone will ring with more bad news

            an intense desire to overdo the chocolate

            losing and/or forgetting things.

These are some of the signs that come to my mind. In the meantime, I rinse out the excess soap and grime in my trusty sponge and put it in the top shelf of my old, but reliable dishwasher, and then wait for the full cycles of time to complete the process.

Eventually, the sponge will give up. It always does; it is made of finite material. But, hey, it’s been a good cleaning tool and has served its purpose. Fortunately, the human spirit can be taught depth, richness, and an ability to accept even greater challenges.

Okay, one…two…three. Press the start button and go.

dear stress

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February and Warm Possibilities

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on February 2, 2013| Leave a Comment »

Learn to pause … or nothing worthwhile will catch up to you. (Doug King)

There is a good possibility that snow could change all my plans today. It’s February, sometimes the longest month of the year. At least it feels that way when Friday begins with a traffic accident blocking traffic at the top of our street! However, as I wake up on Saturday I decide I am going to make this day worthwhile—whatever becomes of it. I recall the words of authors, Deepak Chopra MD and Rudolph Tanzi PhD:”

“In Superbrain, we argue that the real you is the “observer” or “witness” of your brain’s activities. Your brain brings you emotional feelings and intellectual thoughts, which most often present themselves in the incessant internal dialogue and monologue of the mind. We argue that the true “you” is the self-aware “you” that is astutely cognizant of the feelings and thoughts being evoked in the brain, but then uses them to enhance your awareness and elevate your state of consciousness, promoting a more enlightened lifestyle.” http://intentblog.com/deepak-chopra-reality-making-and-the-gift-of-self-awareness/

I saved a picture a family member took of ice on the windshield of a car at sunrise, such an appropriate image for today. The sun is present. It rises, but the ice obscures the view. Or—it could present another image: a beautiful design painted by Mother Nature, an opportunity to pause and enjoy instead of hurrying.

This hasn’t been a got-my-way kind of week. The writing I wanted to finish just didn’t find a time slot. The house looks like it’s been run over by three kids. It has. But this time has been blessed, too. The same kids who left fingerprints on my “things” left deeper marks on my heart. I smile as I wash those fingerprints away and look forward to the next round.

I’d like to say all the news I’ve heard has been good. One situation wants to tear my heart apart. All I can do for that one, however, is say the Serenity prayer, and be prepared to say the right word, offer love, and be present when necessary.

In the meantime, the wind rises and falls as winter rules the weather; a spring spirit thaws the mind any time.

photo by Jane Filos Dagley (taken in Camden, Maine)

sunrise through the icy windows Jane Filos Dagley

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Feeding the Inner Wolf

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on January 26, 2013| 2 Comments »

I have learned silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful to these teachers. (Kahlil Gibran, mystic, poet, and artist 1883-1931) 

I am aware of choice, a precious gift. When the beautiful appears I want to savor and celebrate it. Every moment can’t be mountain-top glorious. If it were, the wonderful would turn into take-it-for-granted.

In the past few weeks, life has given me many lessons. However, I am alluding to only two events. The first occurred one afternoon when I was unexpectedly confronted by someone who holds a long-term grudge against me. The second, far more pleasant,  took place as I prepared a family party. The details  of the first situation don’t need to be shared to be understood. Almost every living person faces folk on different wave lengths. This is the only point that matters: Do I allow someone rent-free space in my head or not?

When I think about scenario two, preparing to celebrate four family birthdays, however, I smile. Eight-year-old Kate painted assembly-line style, and told stories about what she drew: hearts, swirls, action. Enthusiasm for each person being honored flowed as she created. Five-year-old Rebe worked quickly with a few wild strokes across the page. She picked out which tablecloth we should use, and then played with Grandpa. Okay, so the afternoon wasn’t newsworthy. It highlighted the beauty of the gift of family. I treasured that, and didn’t waste the moment fussing about something I couldn’t control anyway.

The Cherokee legend of the Two Wolves explains choice well. The following story is taken directly from FIRST PEOPLE, THE LEGENDS: http://www.firstpeople.us/FP-Html-Legends/TwoWolves-Cherokee.html

An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.

“It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil—he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you—and inside every other person, too.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

I would like to say that I have completely forgotten about the person who harbors resentment against me. I haven’t. I am fortunate enough to have made very, very few enemies in my life. Strange, as I think about it, the great people of the world have fought many adversaries. Hmmn, looks like I may be meek, but I also don’t take many risks. Perhaps I am now in a position of opportunity, not threat. This place may present a new taste for the Good Wolf.

Whenever this person’s name comes into my mind I pray that she receives the same blessings I would want for myself. Then, all I feel is sadness for her and joy for me as the sun shines through the seven child-simple paintings hung along my back window. Seven is the ancient Hebrew symbol for wholeness, creation, good fortune. The Good Wolf symbolizes healthy spiritual choices in life. I think I’ll keep the girls’ art gallery on display a tad longer—as a reminder of greater possibilities.

feed the good wolf Optimism Revolution

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Old Porcelain Dolls Explain Flexibility

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on January 19, 2013| 1 Comment »

Never forget where you’ve been. Never lose sight of where you’re going. And never take for granted the people who travel the journey with you. (Susan Gale)

As I went through a box of the collector dolls I gave my mother, I only remembered two of them, curly-haired blond kissing dolls I bought in Metamora, Indiana at least fifteen years ago. Mom displayed them on a table my father designed, instead of locking them in a china cabinet with the others. Apart, the two figures appear contorted, arms twisted, faces lifted, mouths eager, fish-like. Together, they symbolized young love.

I’m not sure I saw them as symbols of my parents when I purchased the porcelain pair. All I knew was that as a child Mom had collector dolls that had been lost. (It’s a long story that doesn’t matter anymore.) I tried to fill that void. Kissing dolls felt appropriate. After my mother died, the pair sat poised in the same position for ten more years. Together, as if Mom, the love of Dad’s life were still with him.

The dolls old-fashioned green-and-white cotton clothing aged in the dust and air, even if their young features didn’t. I managed to get the stains removed. However, I stopped trying to redress the girl when a few stitches from the lace at the neck tore. Her rigid arms couldn’t bend. My hands felt almost as stiff as the porcelain. I decided to try later, or ask someone without arthritic fingers.

I discovered later that I didn’t need to ask anyone. Granddaughter Kate and a neighbor, nine-year-old Hannah, worked together to get our partially dressed doll ready for her long-time puckered companion. Apparently completing a task impossible for me, was so easy for Kate and Hannah they didn’t think to tell me they had done it.

The girls didn’t seem to notice the contorted forms of the pair when separated. They saw what was supposed to be, not my symbols. Their wisdom belongs to their own time, not mine. I am grateful for my young people as they are. Now.

The dolls remind me of the importance of balance and flexibility. Sure, my past is important. It taught, and not all of those seeds have taken full root. Perhaps. sometime before this journey is completed, my path will appear clearer. When do I give up, and when do I simply try harder? It’s not always easy to tell. That’s why it’s such a gift to have loving companions along the way.

As part of her inheritance Kate grabbed a large old doll I’m sure I didn’t give my mother—it came from Germany long before I was born. Little Rebe wanted something cuddly. Ella was more interested in a snack. Priorities change in time, preferably accepted slowly, savored. Lived each moment as it occurs.

And in that acceptance, blessed.

slow down

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Story and Time, Seen through the Eyes of a Child

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on January 3, 2013| 2 Comments »

Remember the quiet wonders. The world has more need of them than it has for warriors. (Charles de Lint)

My two other grandchildren are on their way to the Y with Grandpa. Our middle granddaughter isn’t feeling well today. She is staying home with me. When I ask five-year-old Rebe what she wants to do during Grandma-Rebe time, I already know the answer: “Let’s play house.”

Rebe is Mommy, and I am Daughter, no other name necessary.

“It’s time for school, Daughter. But first I have to wrap you in toilet paper.”

Okay. I expect confusion sometime during this experience, but not generally within the first few seconds.

“Uh, did you say . . . ?”

“Toilet paper. It’s Halloween, and you are going to be a zombie.”

“Oh.” That sounds more like a mummy. But, at least we’re back on the same page, and Rebe doesn’t request an actual wrapping. It all happens magically, as if the decision alone makes it happen.

We climb into the “car,” which is actually our rocking chair as a front seat and the couch as the back. I’m buckled into my imaginary car seat. “And tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” Rebe says, appearing pleased to tell me the news.

Wow! Time flies quickly enough in the adult world. In pretend existence the speed of light seems slow.

I expect our little girl to forget the sequence of her plan, but in a few minutes she stops at my crib set and steps out of character. “Grandma, can I move these to the living room?”

I want to say, no. After all, the set was a gift from my parents. The figures are large and breakable. But, Rebe needs to know she can handle the situation, that she doesn’t have to be afraid. She is capable.

“Carry one piece at a time, doll baby. And use both hands. Then, tell me a story about what you are doing.”

She follows directions. However, her voice is so soft and gentle that I don’t hear many of her words. I do catch a sweet, innocent reverence.

Finally, after she has placed the infant in the manger in the center of her scene, she crosses her hands over her chest. “You can be in my heart now,” she says to the figure on the floor.

I smile—at Rebe my granddaughter, at Mommy, my pretending partner. They both need a tissue. But then again, right now maybe I do, too.

the world as it should be

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Christmas Gifts in Size Extra-Small

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , on December 26, 2012| Leave a Comment »

There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. . .There are seven million. (Walt Streightiff)

I am four years old again. The year doesn’t matter because it didn’t then—I am eternally young. Santa delivers toys. The world reaches no farther than Grandma and Grandpa’s house a mile away. Television hasn’t appeared in our household yet, and the power of the commercial hasn’t been developed either, so I don’t ask for much: a doll, definitely, maybe some new crayons and paper. Coloring books limit my creativity, but fresh clean paper opens possibilities.

However, this year Santa brings the gift that fits me perfectly: a table that is just my size and chairs that I can sit in without dangling my feet. How did he know I would cherish this moment? I sit at my special table and watch the lights on the tree reflect the ornaments. In our house Santa decorated that, too—all while we visited our grandparents’ house and waited for Dad to arrive with the notice. You can come home now: Santa has left for the next neighborhood.

Years later, I learned that S&H Green Stamps made my table possible. Mom and Dad, not elves and reindeer guiding a sleigh, worked to make our Christmases possible. Perhaps I was a strange kid, but I stood in awe as Mom washed dishes and I asked, “You mean, all this time you and Dad have been giving us all this great stuff and giving Santa the credit?”

Mom showed no affect. Even then I thought that was peculiar. At age seven I didn’t know how much it had cost them to give. My father didn’t make a semi-decent salary until I hit middle grades. Somehow Mom managed to make meals for a husband and four kids out of almost nothing. A few pieces of chicken became a delicious soup; flour, sugar, yeast developed into breads suitable for a king’s table.

Now, as an adult, I realize that children don’t see with adult eyes. Nevertheless, their vision is valid, even sacred. Our little Ella smiles at a doll house inside a decorative bag on Christmas Day. Her speech is limited, so I can only guess what she thinks. The house is just her size, with little people who can follow her imagination into places only she understands.

What she doesn’t know is that the doll house was bought second-hand, in perfect condition, but nevertheless used. That way her grandmother could purchase other gifts too. Oh well, there’s a saying that goes back to eastern origin that expresses my motivation: “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” And I am grateful for that tree.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.

photo taken by Ella’s Aunt Sarah on December 25, 2012

doll house inside Dec. 2012

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Christmas Decorating, Third-Grader Style

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , on December 22, 2012| 1 Comment »

Look at everything always as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time: Thus is your time on earth filled with glory. (Betty Smith)

Kate rearranges my Christmas decorations on the windowsill as I prepare the table for cookie baking. Sure, I had items arranged according to size and balance. But her design tells a story. A porcelain figurine becomes a little girl opening a gift. The girl sits in front of a house. She has just finished making a snowman. The entire area is surrounded by angels. Kate takes a wreath that had been encircling a candle and places it on top of the house.

“See, Grandma, the people in the house decorated.”

I smile. The wreath is over half the height of the house. In real life this scene would either appear  on national news or a late-night comedy show. It’s hard to say. Nevertheless, the new arrangement will stay even if it is a tad top-heavy .

Then Kate moves to the manger scene on my breakfront. She picks up an unframed picture of my father in his World War II uniform, and pauses. I wonder what she is doing as she moves the three kings forward—long before the twelfth day of Christmas. The shepherd doesn’t seem to care. He waits, unconcerned.

Ah! The three kings have brought more than gold, frankincense and myrrh: they present a new arrival in the heavenly realm. In this picture he is a young man who had two jobs in World War II: company clerk and bomb disposal. He spoke many times of close calls, when he wondered why he had been chosen to come out alive.

Yet, he lived to be 91, long enough for his eight-year-old great granddaughter to decide that wise men would be willing to push ahead their celebration and appear for a special early visit. “Greetings! We have someone we want your newborn to recognize. His name is Bill, and he has lived a long and fruitful life.”

No, Kate didn’t add those words. She didn’t speak at all—didn’t need to say anything.  Her smile relayed the obvious. Love. It transcends language and opens the way to wisdom.

wisdom

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Confusion, The Positive Side

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on December 15, 2012| Leave a Comment »

Don’t be afraid to be confused. Try to remain permanently confused. Anything is possible. Stay open, forever, so open it hurts, and then open up some more, until the day you die, world without end, amen. (George Saunders)

The lectern at the church is too high for a woman like me who has slipped under the five-foot mark during the past few years. I smile, exaggerating my tiptoed stance. After all, it’s obvious that my father’s oldest daughter inherited his wife’s height.

Years ago when I acted as lector at another church, there was a wooden stool that could be pushed back and forth for the shorter readers. There isn’t anything like that here. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t a stage; I’m delivering a eulogy. I have five minutes, but hope to relay my message in less than three—not sure my tear ducts will hold out any longer. Now my balance threatens to give up, too; it doesn’t take long before I give up the façade of four-inch high heels and stand flat, my chin hidden as if I were in a bad photograph.

I have decided to be bold and speak as my father, a few octaves higher perhaps, and thank my siblings for the gift they were to him. I may be close to the ground, but my gaze reaches over my brothers’ and sister’s heads. No eye contact now. I’ll save that for later, when tears won’t create a domino effect and flood a perfectly lovely church.

As the service progresses, memories fly through my mind like drunken fireflies. I look to my right to see who is sitting in the pew where I was when my mother died. I recall my father’s quiet slump. Then I’m in a second-grade classroom and back again in the church, in the back, ready to walk down the aisle. Dad is at my side. Forty-one years have dissolved and it’s 1971; I’m about to be married.

In the next moment it’s time to go to the choir loft to lead a simple song based on Psalm 23. I’m uncertain because I haven’t practiced with the organist. I flub the words in one line of the second verse. Not too bad. Can’t let the fumble stop me. I want to be like my sister Claire who has sung Schubert’s Ave Maria so many times, she once sang it accompanied by an organ that sounded like an old-time organ grinder. Her first thought was, Where is the monkey? Yet, she didn’t miss a beat!

I look into the congregation and see my oldest granddaughter Kate staring up at me: the time gap between us is 58 years. Time. Space. Real, and yet illusion. My thoughts are as organized as tossed confetti. And yet . . .and yet . . . despite the sadness I feel a beauty that transcends the moment and embraces eternity.

moment of value Positive WoRdS to LoVe by

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