Thursday, November 25, 2010
For sure
If I needed evidence that my life had become bajiggity again, I need look no further than the gap between blog posts.
Sigh.....I need to see Spring again and it's not even Winter yet...
Monday, August 9, 2010
Blooming in a monsoon
When times get tough, the tough get going - or so the saying goes. Originally intended (I'm relatively sure) to mean that in difficult circumstances people dig in, steel themselves and work harder. Does this apply to plants in the garden too?
This summer my garden - trying very hard to bloom where I planted it - has been buffeted by monsoons, heat waves and winds. I have given up on plants that should have been fine - they were healthy when planted and hearty. They were tough and ready to get going. But they couldn't. So I've yanked them from the beds and put them on the weed heap - not even good for compost as they were beset by bugs and in a completely chemical free garden, there is a limit to what can be done. As a result I don't have the harvest I thought I would. This is both disappointing and scary. What if I completely depended on my garden to eat. Silly you say? Maybe, but not really. There are bigger crop failures - Russian wheat for example. Food will be more expensive as fossil fuels increase if crops/products continue to be transported great distances. Others in my little part of the country are saying what a bad year it has been for typically easy-to-grow crops as well.
Maybe when the going gets tough now, it's too tough for even the hardiest among us. Then what?
This summer my garden - trying very hard to bloom where I planted it - has been buffeted by monsoons, heat waves and winds. I have given up on plants that should have been fine - they were healthy when planted and hearty. They were tough and ready to get going. But they couldn't. So I've yanked them from the beds and put them on the weed heap - not even good for compost as they were beset by bugs and in a completely chemical free garden, there is a limit to what can be done. As a result I don't have the harvest I thought I would. This is both disappointing and scary. What if I completely depended on my garden to eat. Silly you say? Maybe, but not really. There are bigger crop failures - Russian wheat for example. Food will be more expensive as fossil fuels increase if crops/products continue to be transported great distances. Others in my little part of the country are saying what a bad year it has been for typically easy-to-grow crops as well.
Maybe when the going gets tough now, it's too tough for even the hardiest among us. Then what?
Saturday, July 17, 2010
One bad lemon
Today I learned from a friend that the cancer she was being treated for had spread. This was I'm sure a shock to her as she'd been told her prognosis was better than most with pancreatic cancer as she had been a candidate for a special surgery only done when people had a good prognosis. Since the surgery in the Spring she has been through chemo and was undergoing radiation. She was about halfway through it I think and now this. As I write about this I can't really find words to describe not only how I felt when hearing this (no matter how bad it was undoubtedly a shadow of how bad she felt) but how impressed I was with her acceptance, grace and strength in the face of this. She says she has no intention of being anyone's lab rat now that the cards are on the table. She has no intention of prolonging her life if that life is spent sick to her stomach and unable to enjoy the company of family and friends. We all say this, but how often does that resolve fade away when faced with the unambiguous, real end of one's existence?
This person is very dear to me despite the fact that I hadn't seen her often in the last decade or so. I want to go back in time and make up for that; to spend time with her that isn't available. She taught me much in the 31 years I've known her, not the least of which was how to make lemonade when life handed you lemons. But this time by her own admission, she can't do it. No more lemonade. This is one really bad lemon. And one more lesson she's taught: the ultimate in blooming with grace and strength exactly where she is.
(As a note, this is not the same person I wrote about last month.)
This person is very dear to me despite the fact that I hadn't seen her often in the last decade or so. I want to go back in time and make up for that; to spend time with her that isn't available. She taught me much in the 31 years I've known her, not the least of which was how to make lemonade when life handed you lemons. But this time by her own admission, she can't do it. No more lemonade. This is one really bad lemon. And one more lesson she's taught: the ultimate in blooming with grace and strength exactly where she is.
(As a note, this is not the same person I wrote about last month.)
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Long time no post
For someone who has always turned to writing (and has been told that she writes well) it's very, very hard to write regularly. There are always other things to do that seem more important. Like cleaning out years of "stuff" that's accumulated. Yet, when I do, I always find my writing - in the reports and memos from work long done, in the papers from my masters program, in the notes from the classes I've taught or designed but have yet to ever teach, and in little scraps and pages of ideas.
For a long time I've wondered exactly what it is that I'm here for; what exactly is my purpose? Today I came to a conclusion. If for no other reason, I'm here to write and to learn about things that interest me. I've long confused those things with the apparent higher purpose of the need to "do," as in "do a job." Er....like cleaning out the years of "stuff." Writing and learning are my purpose. Unfortunately, I've yet to figure out how to make a living at that. So it goes....
For a long time I've wondered exactly what it is that I'm here for; what exactly is my purpose? Today I came to a conclusion. If for no other reason, I'm here to write and to learn about things that interest me. I've long confused those things with the apparent higher purpose of the need to "do," as in "do a job." Er....like cleaning out the years of "stuff." Writing and learning are my purpose. Unfortunately, I've yet to figure out how to make a living at that. So it goes....
Monday, June 21, 2010
Maybe the last summer
I was talking to a friend today who has a serious, incurable illness. She has been fighting it for as long as I have known her and does so with a grace that I could only hope to emulate. Not to say there aren't bad times - or more precisely - times that are horrifically worse than others - but throughout it all she has maintained a focus on the here. The now. The possible for the day.
But today, for the first time, she talked about her impatience with others who don't have time to do things that are important to her. Not in a whiny, "I never get my way" way, but in a steady voice that matter-of-factly stated that she was aware that this might be her last summer and she didn't want to spend it mowing the lawn and doing other mundane things. She wanted to eat ice cream and walk on the beach and she didn't want to do it alone.
Yes, she said, she was aware that none of us know when our end will come, but with an illness the size of Texas always hovering nearby it's harder to kid yourself that you are immortal. She doesn't typically fixate on her mortality, but every day brings her closer to it. That conversation was a sobering reminder that "living" - however each of us defines what brings us joy - is the operative part of our life as we walk inevitably to the end of time.
But today, for the first time, she talked about her impatience with others who don't have time to do things that are important to her. Not in a whiny, "I never get my way" way, but in a steady voice that matter-of-factly stated that she was aware that this might be her last summer and she didn't want to spend it mowing the lawn and doing other mundane things. She wanted to eat ice cream and walk on the beach and she didn't want to do it alone.
Yes, she said, she was aware that none of us know when our end will come, but with an illness the size of Texas always hovering nearby it's harder to kid yourself that you are immortal. She doesn't typically fixate on her mortality, but every day brings her closer to it. That conversation was a sobering reminder that "living" - however each of us defines what brings us joy - is the operative part of our life as we walk inevitably to the end of time.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Routine
When I was growing up I watched my mother who was born in the 10th year of the 20th Century, do the same thing every day. Probably much the same (with different specifics) as her mother before her. My mother got up, fixed breakfast, worked around the house (cleaning, sewing, cooking), fixed lunch, worked around the house (cleaning, sewing, cooking), fixed dinner, sat in the living room watching TV and sewing, went to bed and repeated everything the next day. At least this is what it looked like to me - a routine occasionally punctuated with trips to the grocery, church, getting her hair done, visiting relatives or other things that bored me to death. Where was the excitement? Where was the newness? How could anyone possibly be happy with a routine life. And when I asked her about doing something novel, she'd say "later." Over time I stopped asking. She had made her choice.
Fast forward 40+ years and I find myself doing exactly what she did but with my own set of 21st Century activities. I can't easily visit relatives since they are all either deceased or disbursed around the country. And when something threatens to break my routine, I often say, "later." My routine is my meditation. I wonder if hers was too?
Fast forward 40+ years and I find myself doing exactly what she did but with my own set of 21st Century activities. I can't easily visit relatives since they are all either deceased or disbursed around the country. And when something threatens to break my routine, I often say, "later." My routine is my meditation. I wonder if hers was too?
Friday, June 4, 2010
A rabbit in the garden
There is - big surprise - a rabbit in the garden. He (I refer to it as a male) is wreaking a tiny bit of havoc on the new plants. Snipping them off at the ground it seems. Or perhaps he has a partner in crime.
He's tiny and quite tame. Almost as if he had been an Easter bunny let loose, but is really too small for that. I can walk right up to him and shoo him away before he moves a muscle. Perhaps he thinks if he's still as a statue I can't see him or will consider him yard art.
We've set traps in all the gardens, which by the way are fully fenced but I think he's still small enough to squeeze through. Another few weeks and he won't fit. But if he's caught before that he'll be relocated to a new neighborhood (I've requested this of my gardening gang, and hope they will oblige and not turn him into Hasenpfeffer.) Despite his havoc, I think he's too cute for dispatching any other way. If I get a picture of him in the next day or two, I'll post it. Then I'll be gone for several days, and surely by the time I get back he'll be in his new home.
He's tiny and quite tame. Almost as if he had been an Easter bunny let loose, but is really too small for that. I can walk right up to him and shoo him away before he moves a muscle. Perhaps he thinks if he's still as a statue I can't see him or will consider him yard art.
We've set traps in all the gardens, which by the way are fully fenced but I think he's still small enough to squeeze through. Another few weeks and he won't fit. But if he's caught before that he'll be relocated to a new neighborhood (I've requested this of my gardening gang, and hope they will oblige and not turn him into Hasenpfeffer.) Despite his havoc, I think he's too cute for dispatching any other way. If I get a picture of him in the next day or two, I'll post it. Then I'll be gone for several days, and surely by the time I get back he'll be in his new home.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Needs and Wants
Long before I moved out of the city I knew I wanted to get back closer to the life that I'd had as a child. Even though I ran away from it as fast as I could when given the opportunity. Life in the almost country in Indiana, next door to a dairy and farm was as much as a child of my era could possibly be expected to endure. No friends from school nearby, miles from any activities, and to relieve the boredom, my nose in a book most of the time. The cause of my dissatisfaction I now see was not so much the life itself but the "possible" and "desirable" life that was in magazines and especially on what was still a relatively new and highly influential medium - television.
Even in black and white (bore-ing) the lives that people led there were more interesting and faster paced than mine. And when we took the only family trip to California when I was nine, the deal was sealed! I wouldn't stand for the hokey, red-necky life of Southern Indiana any more. I would head to the city! I asked to be sent to boarding school in the fall following that vacation, knowing full well I was quite grown up enough, but my parents wisely declined. I was admittedly old for my age; no choice being an only child.
But looking back on the life my parents lived - without being too sentimental because it certainly wasn't perfect - it seems that they had what everyone wants today: time. Whether or not they used it wisely is another matter, one of personal choice I suppose. But they had it. They had weekends when few people worked and that looked very different than weekdays. They had connection to the seasons in a way that didn't require advertising to remind them that there were only 200 shopping days til Christmas. They had had things they did with their hands to pass the time that resulted in completed projects - some we ate, some I wore, some (the remodeled kitchen and bathroom) were still functioning when Daddy moved out of the house decades after their completion. They enjoyed the projects they did and took pride in their permanence, rather than needing to be constantly "updating" with the latest and shiniest new things. They had the time to repair what broke and mend what tore. Only when the item was completely beyond redemption did it get replaced. Clothes even had a second life as "work clothes" or in the end, the "rag bag." My parent understood and taught me the difference between "need" and "want." They unfailingly met "needs" and occasionally celebrated and indulged in "wants" making them an even sweeter experience. Absence does make the heart grow fonder; "special" today most frequently means what is on offer for lunch or on sale rather than than a long-awaited, much desired experience or item.
I tried for several decides to leave that upbringing far behind...but it was hardwired. I could turn down the volume but never turn it off. The slow song of living simply (long before Martha Stewart made an empire of it) and deferring wants to focus on needs was always in the background. As was a voice telling me to keep a sharp eye not to confuse the two. Although in many ways my life doesn't look anything like my parents' lives, it is fundamentally the same. I have just enough, am frugal and at peace with not keeping up with the Jones in any way that I can see. With all its peculiarities, my life is just what I need, and want. What more could I ask?
Even in black and white (bore-ing) the lives that people led there were more interesting and faster paced than mine. And when we took the only family trip to California when I was nine, the deal was sealed! I wouldn't stand for the hokey, red-necky life of Southern Indiana any more. I would head to the city! I asked to be sent to boarding school in the fall following that vacation, knowing full well I was quite grown up enough, but my parents wisely declined. I was admittedly old for my age; no choice being an only child.
But looking back on the life my parents lived - without being too sentimental because it certainly wasn't perfect - it seems that they had what everyone wants today: time. Whether or not they used it wisely is another matter, one of personal choice I suppose. But they had it. They had weekends when few people worked and that looked very different than weekdays. They had connection to the seasons in a way that didn't require advertising to remind them that there were only 200 shopping days til Christmas. They had had things they did with their hands to pass the time that resulted in completed projects - some we ate, some I wore, some (the remodeled kitchen and bathroom) were still functioning when Daddy moved out of the house decades after their completion. They enjoyed the projects they did and took pride in their permanence, rather than needing to be constantly "updating" with the latest and shiniest new things. They had the time to repair what broke and mend what tore. Only when the item was completely beyond redemption did it get replaced. Clothes even had a second life as "work clothes" or in the end, the "rag bag." My parent understood and taught me the difference between "need" and "want." They unfailingly met "needs" and occasionally celebrated and indulged in "wants" making them an even sweeter experience. Absence does make the heart grow fonder; "special" today most frequently means what is on offer for lunch or on sale rather than than a long-awaited, much desired experience or item.
I tried for several decides to leave that upbringing far behind...but it was hardwired. I could turn down the volume but never turn it off. The slow song of living simply (long before Martha Stewart made an empire of it) and deferring wants to focus on needs was always in the background. As was a voice telling me to keep a sharp eye not to confuse the two. Although in many ways my life doesn't look anything like my parents' lives, it is fundamentally the same. I have just enough, am frugal and at peace with not keeping up with the Jones in any way that I can see. With all its peculiarities, my life is just what I need, and want. What more could I ask?
Saturday, May 22, 2010
There has been a lot to write about since my last post. Apparently the spirit hasn't moved me.
Since April 3 my brother was buried, a good friend began her cancer treatment and another, more recently met friend died of cancer. It has not been a happy time. Yet life IS good. With all its sadness and frustration. All its disappointments and low blows. Those need to be felt; to be experienced and not stuffed down, dismissed or medicated away. They are life. They are real.
Since April 3 I've also reconnected with a colleague from the past, enjoyed getting to know new friends and begun the now-annual living out of part of the dream that motivated my move here; planting a vegetable garden. Such simple things mean so much to me; is it age? Is it accepting who I really am and giving up trying to be something someone else wants me to be? I need less and less yet I don't feel I suffer from any lack of material things.
Another long-time friend has a yen to travel and has been all over the world. She continues to take every opportunity (it seems to me) to go somewhere else. I've traveled some - even with her - and I envy (perhaps too strong a word) her the experiences she's had, yet I find I just want to be home. At home, just like my parents lived. For years I looked down on that as being so confining and provincial. Yet home IS where my heart is. Family IS those people who understand and accept me, wherever I find them. The time away from home visiting friends or working is enjoyable and occasionally profitable, yet, after a time, I am eager to head back home.
Like Dorothy said in the Wizard of Oz as she clicked those Ruby Slippers together to return there, "there's no place like home." Maybe I will regret not having traveled more. Maybe. I guess everyone has to regret something...
Since April 3 my brother was buried, a good friend began her cancer treatment and another, more recently met friend died of cancer. It has not been a happy time. Yet life IS good. With all its sadness and frustration. All its disappointments and low blows. Those need to be felt; to be experienced and not stuffed down, dismissed or medicated away. They are life. They are real.
Since April 3 I've also reconnected with a colleague from the past, enjoyed getting to know new friends and begun the now-annual living out of part of the dream that motivated my move here; planting a vegetable garden. Such simple things mean so much to me; is it age? Is it accepting who I really am and giving up trying to be something someone else wants me to be? I need less and less yet I don't feel I suffer from any lack of material things.
Another long-time friend has a yen to travel and has been all over the world. She continues to take every opportunity (it seems to me) to go somewhere else. I've traveled some - even with her - and I envy (perhaps too strong a word) her the experiences she's had, yet I find I just want to be home. At home, just like my parents lived. For years I looked down on that as being so confining and provincial. Yet home IS where my heart is. Family IS those people who understand and accept me, wherever I find them. The time away from home visiting friends or working is enjoyable and occasionally profitable, yet, after a time, I am eager to head back home.
Like Dorothy said in the Wizard of Oz as she clicked those Ruby Slippers together to return there, "there's no place like home." Maybe I will regret not having traveled more. Maybe. I guess everyone has to regret something...
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Another "aha!" moment
A new friend stopped in last night on her way to her get-away home here in Michigan. It was a lovely spring evening - warm enough to sit on the deck for a while - and we chatted about this and that as the work week came to a close and the sun went down.
One of the topics touched on was my interest in a small house in my friend's town. I'd looked at it months back because I was itchy again to move to what was more in line with the "there" I was looking for nearly seven years ago when I left the Chicago area. A place where I would fit, feel at home and bloom. But decided not to risk trying to sell my current loft in a down market. Prudent, I told myself. About six weeks ago I heard it had been offered for short sale. Too bad, I thought, the owners must really be in trouble. Maybe I could afford it now, but no, can't own two homes. Not prudent. Then just last weekend, I was driving by the house and saw something posted on the front door. I pulled in the driveway and walked up to the door. A foreclosure notice; the home was now a HUD property. Wow, I thought, that's really too bad. Those owners must be in a world of hurt. And again the little voice said, I'll bet this place is really cheap now! But no, not prudent. Owning two homes is crazy when you are consciously choosing a very limited income way to live. Crazy, stop thinking about it.
Back to the conversation...my friend said she hoped she didn't offend me and that while she loved my current home (this was her first visit), she really saw me in the other house. Said it suited me; that she saw me there. I quickly countered that while it was a lovely home and certainly the land had been a dream I'd held, that when I saw myself there I saw myself as 30 years old, but that sadly I'm not going to turn 30 my next birthday, but something that is a multiple of it. That a house requires much more work than a condo. And while these words were coming out of my mouth, I realized that what I was really saying had nothing to do with money directly. It had everything to do with a way of thinking that was limiting me. A way of thinking that limited my parents and kept them from doing things they wanted to when they could have. Not wildly reckless things, but things that would have made them smile and given them memories. Like my father taking a job in Chicago when his company wanted to transfer him (he ended up in the same job, hating it his entire career) or the family taking vacations (we took one vacation while I was a child and I know my mother had traveled a great deal before she married my father.) Of course, my parents smiled and had memories, but you know what I mean....I'm talking about their foregoing what someone recently called "re-liveable moments". And here I was, thinking I was being financially prudent when I was avoiding something that might be just such a reliveable moment. How smart was that? How often had I misunderstood my own intentions and limited myself unnecessarily?
I'm once again reminded that blooming where you are planted is not only about a place. You can be planted in a mindset too. And like any garden, a mindset needs tending too. I need to do a bit more weeding, to clear out misperceptions that are holding me back. And I need to enrich my mind garden with some ideas or dreams. Rather than focus unnecessarily on limits and what isn't possible, as my friend said describing her own life, my "aha" was that I need to "figure it out" as I go; not live tomorrow today or get stuck in yesterday. Yes, I am getting older, but I'm not "older" yet. Blooming where I'm planted means I need to correct mistakes, celebrate successes and smile and remember how I did both...
One of the topics touched on was my interest in a small house in my friend's town. I'd looked at it months back because I was itchy again to move to what was more in line with the "there" I was looking for nearly seven years ago when I left the Chicago area. A place where I would fit, feel at home and bloom. But decided not to risk trying to sell my current loft in a down market. Prudent, I told myself. About six weeks ago I heard it had been offered for short sale. Too bad, I thought, the owners must really be in trouble. Maybe I could afford it now, but no, can't own two homes. Not prudent. Then just last weekend, I was driving by the house and saw something posted on the front door. I pulled in the driveway and walked up to the door. A foreclosure notice; the home was now a HUD property. Wow, I thought, that's really too bad. Those owners must be in a world of hurt. And again the little voice said, I'll bet this place is really cheap now! But no, not prudent. Owning two homes is crazy when you are consciously choosing a very limited income way to live. Crazy, stop thinking about it.
Back to the conversation...my friend said she hoped she didn't offend me and that while she loved my current home (this was her first visit), she really saw me in the other house. Said it suited me; that she saw me there. I quickly countered that while it was a lovely home and certainly the land had been a dream I'd held, that when I saw myself there I saw myself as 30 years old, but that sadly I'm not going to turn 30 my next birthday, but something that is a multiple of it. That a house requires much more work than a condo. And while these words were coming out of my mouth, I realized that what I was really saying had nothing to do with money directly. It had everything to do with a way of thinking that was limiting me. A way of thinking that limited my parents and kept them from doing things they wanted to when they could have. Not wildly reckless things, but things that would have made them smile and given them memories. Like my father taking a job in Chicago when his company wanted to transfer him (he ended up in the same job, hating it his entire career) or the family taking vacations (we took one vacation while I was a child and I know my mother had traveled a great deal before she married my father.) Of course, my parents smiled and had memories, but you know what I mean....I'm talking about their foregoing what someone recently called "re-liveable moments". And here I was, thinking I was being financially prudent when I was avoiding something that might be just such a reliveable moment. How smart was that? How often had I misunderstood my own intentions and limited myself unnecessarily?
I'm once again reminded that blooming where you are planted is not only about a place. You can be planted in a mindset too. And like any garden, a mindset needs tending too. I need to do a bit more weeding, to clear out misperceptions that are holding me back. And I need to enrich my mind garden with some ideas or dreams. Rather than focus unnecessarily on limits and what isn't possible, as my friend said describing her own life, my "aha" was that I need to "figure it out" as I go; not live tomorrow today or get stuck in yesterday. Yes, I am getting older, but I'm not "older" yet. Blooming where I'm planted means I need to correct mistakes, celebrate successes and smile and remember how I did both...
Friday, April 2, 2010
Why write?
Sometimes I wonder why I feel the need to write. What drives writers - wanna be and big time - to write? It's been said that writing is a yoga - a practice. And that true writers, ones in practice rather than in name, write. That is what they do, whether or not anyone reads what they write, if they even write for public consumption. It is like breathing; if you don't do it you really miss it after a while...
I love words and ideas. Maybe that's why I write....at least why I write some of the time. And I've been collecting words for nearly two decades. Capturing quotes and keeping them hidden away for my own enjoyment, pulling them out to add to them or pick a favorite to use in something I'm working on. I always intended to "do something" with the entire list someday. The idea of a book flitted around the back of my mind, but that was so expected, done so many times. What could I add? And that was important, I needed to add something to demonstrate my worth, my skill, my - what? Presence, perhaps?
Anyway, I had let several months of quotes pile up without adding them to my collection. So I dug in today to get caught up. The process itself a practice, a meditation. I would see that I had accomplished something. In the middle of doing this, I came across a quote that I had to share here...
"You write to communicate to the hearts and minds of others what's burning inside you. And we edit to let the fire show through the smoke."
-Arthur Plotnik, editor and author (b. 1937)
Yep, that's true. I write - often struggle to write - to get what's inside of me out. Then I throw it away because it's not worthy of seeing the light of day. But every time I push the "publish post" button, I can feel the fire burning off the smoke just a bit more.
I love words and ideas. Maybe that's why I write....at least why I write some of the time. And I've been collecting words for nearly two decades. Capturing quotes and keeping them hidden away for my own enjoyment, pulling them out to add to them or pick a favorite to use in something I'm working on. I always intended to "do something" with the entire list someday. The idea of a book flitted around the back of my mind, but that was so expected, done so many times. What could I add? And that was important, I needed to add something to demonstrate my worth, my skill, my - what? Presence, perhaps?
Anyway, I had let several months of quotes pile up without adding them to my collection. So I dug in today to get caught up. The process itself a practice, a meditation. I would see that I had accomplished something. In the middle of doing this, I came across a quote that I had to share here...
"You write to communicate to the hearts and minds of others what's burning inside you. And we edit to let the fire show through the smoke."
-Arthur Plotnik, editor and author (b. 1937)
Yep, that's true. I write - often struggle to write - to get what's inside of me out. Then I throw it away because it's not worthy of seeing the light of day. But every time I push the "publish post" button, I can feel the fire burning off the smoke just a bit more.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Passages
It's been a long time since my last post and a lot has happened. Most notably my half-brother's death. It was not unexpected. Nor was it particularly untimely. He had been suffering with cancer for quite a while and when I saw him in January it was obvious he was not well, and not going to be well again. So the timing, just two months after my arrival for a visit in January and just a few days before his 80th birthday was perhaps appropriate. I think in some way he chose his departure time...I believe that within boundaries we have that power.
With his passing the last of my nuclear family disappeared. Although I have nieces and a nephew and cousins and friends and colleagues - and will hopefully make more friends and have more colleagues in the future - the last of my family, those people who contributed mightily to making me, me, are now all gone. This doesn't happen to everyone. Someone in a family has to be the last one standing. And I am it for mine: the keeper of the memories of our lives.
So while his death was a release from earthly strife for him, it created a bit of a burden for me. A new role and one that I don't particularly want. But, if it is like other things I haven't wanted and then got, being the memory keeper will make me a better person for having done it. I guess it is just another variety of blooming where you are planted. In this case, being planted at the end of the line.
With his passing the last of my nuclear family disappeared. Although I have nieces and a nephew and cousins and friends and colleagues - and will hopefully make more friends and have more colleagues in the future - the last of my family, those people who contributed mightily to making me, me, are now all gone. This doesn't happen to everyone. Someone in a family has to be the last one standing. And I am it for mine: the keeper of the memories of our lives.
So while his death was a release from earthly strife for him, it created a bit of a burden for me. A new role and one that I don't particularly want. But, if it is like other things I haven't wanted and then got, being the memory keeper will make me a better person for having done it. I guess it is just another variety of blooming where you are planted. In this case, being planted at the end of the line.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Seeds and community
Yesterday there was a seed swap nearby. It was hosted by a group of people (of which I'm one) who are interested in all things food, here where we are planted. It's interesting to meet people whose passion is growing vegetables and fruits and flowers and cooking and eating well. They seem to be a generous bunch; willing to give away their seeds and their knowledge to others who are interested. And they seem to be the busiest people; the same people who get called on when something needs to get done whether it is serving on the PTA or organizing a fundraiser to help out a neighbor in need. Some of these people have deep roots in this area, their families having been here since the 1800s. Others, like me are transplants who have been here for a while. Still others are transplants in process, perhaps in transition or planning to be in transition. But everyone seems to love idea of growing foods and flowers near home. Some haven't quite gotten to the point of loving the actuality of it, but they are enthusiastic and ready to roll up their sleeves.
A message for IC: take a hike!
The small bit of good news is that I'm not alone. The better bit of news is that it's occurred to me that with every post I make, IC (which has had a lifetime to do a heck of good job of blooming where she is planted) becomes a bit weaker. I think IC as a she because, well, it just sounds like it. (Even now as I write this, she's critiquing...."that is so stupid, saying an IC has a gender"....) Anyway, I know I'm not alone in trying to shove a permanent sock in my critic's mouth because there are all kinds of articles, websites, worshops and assorted other resources devoted to the subject. And they aren't all from the right brain crowd. Even the Wall Street Journal has covered the topic! So if the left brainers are concerned, it must be mainstream, right? (Hmmm....looking for mainstream legitimacy is a bit of a win for IC, isn't it? Sheesh!)
More work to do....
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Bring Back Special (or keep it where it exists...)
It's occurred to me more than once that I miss the sense of something being "special" that I grew up with. That thing or experience that was only available infrequently and whose appearance would create excitement. And the anticipation of it's arrival was almost as pleasant as the thing or experience itself. In my family one such special thing was Coke and 7-Up.
Suppliers or vendors to my the company where my father worked as a bookkeeper would send holiday gifts to him. I suppose it was to thank him for sending their checks promptly. I never really thought about why he would bring home the gifts. There were hams and towels (yes, bath towel sets) and more. But the one I appreciated the most was the company that sent a case of 12 oz bottles (green glass of course) of Coca-Cola and another case of 7-Up. These were as sure a sign of the Christmas season as the lights on the street or the tree in the living room.
Once a year I indulged in drinking soft drinks that were never in the house other times. Or if they were I didn't know about it. Having a glass of Coke was as much a treat as opening gifts on Christmas eve. I would open bottles for my parents to pour glasses for the aunts and uncles who visited then but not during the year. Or to add to the occasional mixed drink that called for them. And my mother would make a wonderful 7-Up cake. The cases of Coke and 7-Up meant that visits were coming; that a turkey dinner wasn't far off and that the year was coming to a close. All these special memories just from two cases of soft drinks. The gifts went on until he retired...more than 15 years that I remember and possibly longer.
Today I can have a Coke whenever I want. Wherever I want. It's nothing special. And more's the pity. Few things seem to really be special in a world of worldwide brands and franchises. Of sameness and uniformity. Maybe that's why the idea of maintaining the unique character of this place where I've elected to plant myself is so much a part of my thinking. Keeping the specialness of this "here" and not looking to yet another "there". I do worry though. It seems that to many people it is comforting to see the same things no matter where they go. And putting them in special places when they are not there....so that the place becomes nothing special.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Aha
I was asked a question last week that moved me to tears. It goes to the heart of blooming where one is planted.
In many ways my mother had a difficult life. Some of it was - as I've learned as an adult - a result of her own actions, some of it was due to the inevitable vagaries we all face in life simply because we are alive. The former can be the seeds of regrets, the latter the burdens we have to bear. Without going into the specifics of each of these categories, let me just say that the conversation I had last week involved speculating on some of her actions and choices so they fall into the former category.
The person I was talking to, who never knew my mother and has only others' perspectives to go on, asked me a question I had apparently never considered. It was: "do you think your mother was happy?" For whatever reason those seven words knocked the wind out of me. Snatches of conversations past with my mother floated into my consciousness as did images of situations with her over a lifetime. What paraded through my mind resulted in a less certain answer to that specific question than I would have hoped. All these things that had been in memory (accurate or not) showed a picture that had never taken this particular shape before. Yet I had a new insight into a woman who died a lifetime ago but who is still often with me and who I still miss talking to. I suddenly saw her as my inspiration for blooming where you are planted. For letting go of the past you cannot change and making the best of what you have in the moment, wherever you are. For crafting a good (even if not fully happy) life with what is available rather than seeking to recreate the lives and happinesses of others.
Perhaps I'm romanticizing what was undoubtedly at times very difficult. As was pointed out by another friend recently, we can never really know our parents - or anyone - people are just too complex and multi-faceted. We can barely know ourselves. However this insight into how and why my mother lived as she did feels right and I accept it gratefully.
In many ways my mother had a difficult life. Some of it was - as I've learned as an adult - a result of her own actions, some of it was due to the inevitable vagaries we all face in life simply because we are alive. The former can be the seeds of regrets, the latter the burdens we have to bear. Without going into the specifics of each of these categories, let me just say that the conversation I had last week involved speculating on some of her actions and choices so they fall into the former category.
The person I was talking to, who never knew my mother and has only others' perspectives to go on, asked me a question I had apparently never considered. It was: "do you think your mother was happy?" For whatever reason those seven words knocked the wind out of me. Snatches of conversations past with my mother floated into my consciousness as did images of situations with her over a lifetime. What paraded through my mind resulted in a less certain answer to that specific question than I would have hoped. All these things that had been in memory (accurate or not) showed a picture that had never taken this particular shape before. Yet I had a new insight into a woman who died a lifetime ago but who is still often with me and who I still miss talking to. I suddenly saw her as my inspiration for blooming where you are planted. For letting go of the past you cannot change and making the best of what you have in the moment, wherever you are. For crafting a good (even if not fully happy) life with what is available rather than seeking to recreate the lives and happinesses of others.
Perhaps I'm romanticizing what was undoubtedly at times very difficult. As was pointed out by another friend recently, we can never really know our parents - or anyone - people are just too complex and multi-faceted. We can barely know ourselves. However this insight into how and why my mother lived as she did feels right and I accept it gratefully.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Technology is the cause of (and possibly a cure for) my bajiggity life...
The above was a Tweet I sent to the blog...learning all about the technology I have available now has felt a bit overwhelming, even though it doesn't require all the special programming languages that it used to. Thank goodness...
What I was thinking was that for so long I resisted certain kinds of technology - notably a cell phone - as an intrusion, a nuisance and an unnecessary expense. I had one when my father was ill because I was four hours away. After he died, I said there was no reason for me to have one. And truth be told, I didn't like feeling like I had to be that available.
Fast forward to Fall of 2008 when I was supposed to be teaching in Bankok for a month. I decided I wanted a connection to home so bought an iPhone to take along. In the year plus since then I've found that I can control the phone, it doesn't have to control me. That it is a fabulous tool - not toy - and is truly helpful. That said, I do still find life becoming more impersonal (an aspect of bajiggityness for me) and try to build in simple joys all around me. But, the phone isn't the problem, it's how people become addicted to the phone or any other technology to take the place of true connection - the face-to-face kind. Don't get me wrong, being in touch via technology is better than not being in touch. But it isn't the same, and no matter how much improvement there is, I don't think it ever will be in my lifetime.
Oh, and in case I left you hanging, I never got to Bangkok. That was the time - you may remember - when the folks in support of the Thai king took over the Bangkok airport and shut it down. I was stuck in Tokyo waiting to find out when/if the airport would open and woke up to the terrorist attack in Mumbai. Needless to say air travel in that part of the world was...er...experiencing delays and cancellations of a major nature. It didn't take me long to decide to turn around and come home. Perhaps that was the beginning of my decision to bloom where I'm planted....
The above was a Tweet I sent to the blog...learning all about the technology I have available now has felt a bit overwhelming, even though it doesn't require all the special programming languages that it used to. Thank goodness...
What I was thinking was that for so long I resisted certain kinds of technology - notably a cell phone - as an intrusion, a nuisance and an unnecessary expense. I had one when my father was ill because I was four hours away. After he died, I said there was no reason for me to have one. And truth be told, I didn't like feeling like I had to be that available.
Fast forward to Fall of 2008 when I was supposed to be teaching in Bankok for a month. I decided I wanted a connection to home so bought an iPhone to take along. In the year plus since then I've found that I can control the phone, it doesn't have to control me. That it is a fabulous tool - not toy - and is truly helpful. That said, I do still find life becoming more impersonal (an aspect of bajiggityness for me) and try to build in simple joys all around me. But, the phone isn't the problem, it's how people become addicted to the phone or any other technology to take the place of true connection - the face-to-face kind. Don't get me wrong, being in touch via technology is better than not being in touch. But it isn't the same, and no matter how much improvement there is, I don't think it ever will be in my lifetime.
Oh, and in case I left you hanging, I never got to Bangkok. That was the time - you may remember - when the folks in support of the Thai king took over the Bangkok airport and shut it down. I was stuck in Tokyo waiting to find out when/if the airport would open and woke up to the terrorist attack in Mumbai. Needless to say air travel in that part of the world was...er...experiencing delays and cancellations of a major nature. It didn't take me long to decide to turn around and come home. Perhaps that was the beginning of my decision to bloom where I'm planted....
Monday, January 4, 2010
What's in the pantry?
I've been thinking about cooking even more with what I have rather than what I want so tonight I made dinner with what I found. I do this a lot, but I want to do it even more. Needs are very different than wants and I plan to focus on meeting my needs for a while.
I pulled some salmon out of the freezer and some barley and mushrooms I'd dried out of the pantry. Then I grabbed some green beans from the fridge. It was a meal. I cooked the barley with a bit of onion that was left in the fridge and the dried mushroom. I cooked it in chicken broth from the pantry rather than water. I roasted the green beans with pepper and some onion sugar (great stuff if you can find it!) and baked the salmon with a sauce of lemon juice, honey and some ground ginger and cinnamon. It was tasty. It was good for me in many ways.
Unfortunately when eating a green bean I also knocked off one of the brackets from my braces and so now I'm waiting to hear from the orthodontist's office whether I can wait til my regular appointment or if I have to make a special trip in to get it fixed. Rats... nothing is easy....
I pulled some salmon out of the freezer and some barley and mushrooms I'd dried out of the pantry. Then I grabbed some green beans from the fridge. It was a meal. I cooked the barley with a bit of onion that was left in the fridge and the dried mushroom. I cooked it in chicken broth from the pantry rather than water. I roasted the green beans with pepper and some onion sugar (great stuff if you can find it!) and baked the salmon with a sauce of lemon juice, honey and some ground ginger and cinnamon. It was tasty. It was good for me in many ways.
Unfortunately when eating a green bean I also knocked off one of the brackets from my braces and so now I'm waiting to hear from the orthodontist's office whether I can wait til my regular appointment or if I have to make a special trip in to get it fixed. Rats... nothing is easy....
Friday, January 1, 2010
Happy? New? Year?
I truly was not ready to accept that another year had passed last night, let alone another decade. It's all going too fast, despite my best efforts to live a slow life. And truly I'm not sure there is too much that will be new in 2010 that is really important. There will still be problems craving solution. And surprises good and bad. There will be ups and downs. There will be births and deaths. There will be happiness and sadness. All of this we know. So what?!
Is it possible that someone, somewhere will act in a way that will make a huge positive difference in how we all - and I do mean all - live in the world? Or does it fall to each of us to act in ways that make small positive differences that ripple out and connect over time and space to make a huge, positive changes in how we live in the world.? I believe it's the latter. Each of us contributes to the whole. Each of us makes differences in ways that we don't recognize or will never know.
Bottom line....in 2010 I will remember that what I do does matter. It does have an impact even if I never see it. So paying attention and asking ---- "just because I can, should I?" ----is important.
Is it possible that someone, somewhere will act in a way that will make a huge positive difference in how we all - and I do mean all - live in the world? Or does it fall to each of us to act in ways that make small positive differences that ripple out and connect over time and space to make a huge, positive changes in how we live in the world.? I believe it's the latter. Each of us contributes to the whole. Each of us makes differences in ways that we don't recognize or will never know.
Bottom line....in 2010 I will remember that what I do does matter. It does have an impact even if I never see it. So paying attention and asking ---- "just because I can, should I?" ----is important.
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