My favorites of 2013...

As I've mentioned on more than one occasion, one of my favorite pastimes is reading.  In fact, a friend and I have organized a Book Club that will meet for the first time next week.   When I finish a book, I record it on a list with a short synopsis--I remember authors' names, but not always book titles.  Here are some of my favorites from 2013...

THE BOOK THIEF by Markus Zusak -- An amazingly well told story of a young German girl, living in a foster home on the outskirts of Munich during WWII.  Great author!
 

A WEEK IN WINTER by Maeve Binchy -- The author’s last book, published after her death.  A lovely story of people who go to Stone House on the west coast of Ireland for a week.  As usual, Ms Binchy is wonderful at back stories and bringing in characters from previous books so we can catch up on the lives of favorite people.  Read with melancholy knowing there would be no more books by a favorite author.

 

VOICES IN SUMMER by Rosamunde Pilcher  -- Another pleasurable read in Pilcher style.  The story centers around a woman who goes to Cornwall to recuperate.  She is greeted with warmth and the opportunity to make friends and learn about herself and her husband’s family. 

EXODUS by Leon Uris -- The story of the exodus of Jews from Europe after WWII and the refusal of the British to allow them to enter Palestine.  The book goes from wartime to the birth of the State of Israel.  Well told, good research, great characters that blend history and fiction.

THE ALCHEMIST by Paulo Coelho -- A young shepherd wants to follow his dream, so he goes on an adventure that ultimately allows his dream to become reality--a story of personal growth and learning to allow the universe into your life.  Wonderful use of cultural and religious beliefs.

AND THE MOUNTAINS ECHOED by Khalid Husseini -- Another amazing book written by an author that just gets better and better.  The story begins in Afghanistan with a poor family.  A daughter is taken to live with a more affluent family in Kabul.  The twists and turns created by war, poverty, and deceit separate families culturally and geographically.  And amazingly, the story finds its way back to reconnections.  I know I'll read this book again.

BOTSWANA TIME by Will Randall -- A delightful book about the author's time teaching in a town in Botswana.  Written in the humorous style of Bill Bryson.  Good read!

UNTIL THE LAST ARROW by Percy Booth -- A wonderful history of the settlement of the Rogue Valley from the early 1800s when the white man began arriving.

COCKTAIL HOUR UNDER THE TREE OF FORGETFULNESS by Alexandra Fuller -- Well written with humor and a candidness that is admirable.  The author, of English/Scottish parents, grew up in various countries in Africa.  The experiences this family lives through--poverty, wars for independence, and the everyday reality of wild animals and poisonous snakes--gives the story truisms that only test the reader's value system.  Great book!

THE LIGHT IN THE RUINS by Chris Bohjalian -- I have read several books by this author and enjoyed them--but others I couldn't get into.  This one I could hardly put down!  The story takes place in Italy in 1955--with a back story from the war years.  A novel that helps one understand the long lasting effects of war.

SECRET DAUGHTER by Shilpi Somaya Gowda -- A beautifully written story about a mother in India who gives up her daughter to save the child's life.  She is adopted by an Indian man and a white woman in CA.  The story follows the lives of both families for the next 25 years.  (A chance purchase from Costco--and I can't wait for the author's next book!)

DREAMS IN THE TIME OF WAR--A childhood Memoir by Ngugi wa Thiong'o -- Thiong'o tells the story of growing up in Limuru, Kenya, and his perspective relative to Kenya's fight for independence from the British.  Well told!

SONGS OF WILLOW FROST by Jamie Ford -- Another great author!  The story of Chinese-American ancestry--tells of Liu Song's struggle of survival in a time when overt prejudice against the Chinese community and her gender shape her young life, and her inability to keep her beloved child.

Let me know some of your good reads for the year!

 What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, 

you wish the author...was a terrific friend of yours 

and you could call him up...whenever you felt like it. 

That doesn't happen much, though.

        -- J.D. Salinger

Just floatin' along...

One of my favorite Christmas gifts this year was a trip to Float On (see http://floathq.com/ ) in Portland.  Jen and I have been there before, but this time, perhaps because I felt more familiar, I had no nervous anticipation.

Have you ever floated?  Do you know what floating is?  It is literally about the body floating in highly concentrated Epsom salts water in a tank in total darkness.   Due to the level of Epsom salts, the body naturally floats. (AND BY THE WAY...The water is fully filtered 3 times between each float, passing through a 10 micron filter and a brominator.)  Since I'm not really a water-person, when I first heard of the experience, I was hesitant, yet instantly curious. 

A great deal of research has gone into this form of body therapy.  Besides the obvious relaxation of spending 90 minutes floating without distractions in a dark chamber--this experience lowers the body's levels of cortisol, the main chemical component of stress; helps to relieve pain; and gives the muscles, joints and bones a break while not having to fight gravity. 

Thank you, Jen!  A lovely together experience...no, not together!  In separate tanks, in separate rooms...

It's over but the memories...

Christmas morning.  I'm laying in my granddaughter's bed listening to Lucy, my beautiful grand dog whining at the door.  If I dare open it, I'll have a 90 pound bundle of love cuddled next to me within seconds.  That's 90 pounds added to the 70 pounds of canine fur already curled beside me on his new Christmas blanket. 

Yes, Christmas at Jen's house is about including ALL members of the family--canine, feline, and hum-ine. 

The traditional Chinese Christmas eve meal--no idea how this began, but it's a must...  Gifts opened.  Oohs and awhs, surprises, laughter, thank yous--followed by a disappearing act to the media center to gain competence on the newest inventions of technology. 

Then mamma in her kerchief and tiredness acknowledged, I settle myself down for a good rest and thoughts of gratitude for being a part of it all.

Just a touch of holiday melancholy...

My mother's last pair of glasses lay on a shelf in my bedroom.   And now, during the holiday season, I look at them often.   

The other evening, a friend and I watched a very old movie starring the very young actors, Rock Hudson, Elizabeth Taylor and Angela Lansbury.  Curled up on the couch I wondered if Mother ever saw this movie.  I need to call and ask her, I think.  Just as quickly, of course, I realize no such call can be made.

In the Dollar Store recently, I saw red socks in various Christmasy patterns.  Mother had socks for all holidays--and red was her favorite color.

The winter-time jokes we made about sending her wheelchair skimming across the ice...laughing that she could skate on one leg--via the chair--while I'd just fall on my arse with two legs....  

Melancholy.  Softer and gentler now.  Ending with a smile.

When a daughter loses a mother, the intervals between grief responses lengthen over time, 

but her longing never disappears. It always hovers at the edge of her awareness, 

prepared to surface at any time, in any place, in the least expected ways.
― Hope Edelman, Motherless Daughters:  The Legacy of Loss 

 

Pull of the Inner Me...

I'm recently finished The Pull of the Moon by Elizabeth Berg.  Nan, the protagonist, is a woman who loves her husband and daughter, but in 20 years of marriage has lost herself.  She sets out on a road trip to find who she is at the age of 50--to remember who she was and what parts of the past need to be revisited, and what she wants to take into her future. 

Who of us--especially women--haven't thought of such an adventure?  This may take some real honesty to admit.   As a young woman, my identity and purpose were so tied into being a good wife and mother that I unconsciously closed off any such reflection.  After the Girls left, that thinking surfaced.  But the trip never happened--not in any physical, hitting-the-pavement way.  That energy went into journals--writing, day-after-day--expressing my thoughts in a more exposed way.  I was not so bold as to say I've got to get away or If I could just get in the car....  No, my references were far more subtle--I wasn't ready to be completely honest even with myself.

Today I live alone and one would think--why does she need to get away?  And it's true, I can do most anything my budget and time allows.  But there's still a part of me that wants to hit the road...to experience an objectivity by being unknown, perhaps even unseen.  I'd like to get in my car and drive on only two-lane roads, stop in small towns, eat in Mom and Pop diners, listen to local conversations.  I want to stop along the road and listen to sounds--birds, creeks, the rustling of the wind.

I have no need to escape anyone or anything.  I'm really quite content with my life.  Perhaps I'm wondering if there are parts of me yet undiscovered.  And will I find them--on my own--without a voice next to me saying, O look at that! or are you hungry yet? or where do you want to stay tonight?  I want to use all my senses to experience me in an unknown setting.  

Note to self:  Add to Bucket List for Spring, 2014 

You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition.  What you'll discover will be wonderful.  What you'll discover is yourself.  ~Alan Alda

Other options...

I love having conversations with my grandson, Sean.  No matter what the topic, when we're deeply engrossed in a subject--oblivious of anyone or anything around us--he'll pull back and say, "But, Grandma, if you look at it from another point of view...."  I LOVE that quality in him.   Sean has opinions, sometimes strong opinions, but consistently stops to view other ideas, notions, and  research around the topic.  He stretches my mind.  He makes me think.  But more importantly, he inspires me to find greater empathy for other people and ideas.

I am continually tested by the question: Am I so engrained in my own ideas and opinions that I refuse to consider other options?

I sit on a board that discusses child abuse cases.  From the notes I receive on any one case, it can appear obvious that a parent is making no effort to engage in services.  My defenses for the children are up!  I want this parent to be held accountable!  Then I hear from the client, and I see the pain, and realize how few tools there are in their fix-it toolbox.  A single parent.  Homeless.  Trying to get off drugs but with only drug-using friends.  Certainly this parent must be held accountable, but hearing another perspective on the  story, I see this individual before me in a completely different light. 

Occasionally I meet someone socially whom I want to dislike--hair color, shape of nose;  we need little rationale.   I  look for any reason to build my case against the person.   Then I hear their story.  I slip on their soil-ridden, holey-soled shoes.   A picture of their life slips into my heart.  And I hear Sean's words:  But Grandma, if you look at it from another point of view....

I continue to learn from the older and wiser AND from the younger and sometimes much wiser...

“You never really know a man until you understand things from his point of view, 

until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”

                      ---Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

Awww...beautiful winter white.

Snow, I want to wash my hands, my hair and face in snow...who doesn't sing along with Rosemary Clooney, Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye and Vera Ellen each year as we watch White Christmas?  Awww--snow!  Our Courier and Ives picture....beautiful, heavy white flakes descending gracefully as we snuggle in our blankets of cuddly fleece watching movies or playing games and drinking hot chocolate...   I can't get enough of that lovely scene.  It's magical...

That was yesterday.  Today I look out and see tire tracks and dog-pee stains where I once saw an unmarked expanse of winter white.  Now the temperatures refuse to climb and I begin to worry about frozen pipes and icy roads and my weakened body lying in a heap of dirty, contaminated snow trying in vain to trudge to the nearest store because I've not a morsel of food left.

OK -- my Courier and Ives vision has been replaced with a warm, sandy beach in the Bahamas.  Call me fickle, but I'm ready for a Chinook!

A Terrible, Awful, No-good, Very Bad Five Minutes...

This is supposed to be the jolly season...you know, the ho ho ho with bell ringers and carolers, and decorations covering every square inch of the house?  Right?  Of course, right?  Then why, while putting up my holiday lights earlier today, did I turn into a screeching, tortuously bending, twisting, hyperventilating, she-must-be-having-a-stroke, creepy contortionist?  Well, believe me, there is total, complete and amazingly hardcore rationale!

My day started in an it-couldn't-be-more-loverly day.  Put the last load of Thanksgiving dinner dishes into the dishwasher--which has mysteriously stopped leaking!--got dressed, made my bed, fed Gilly, and ate breakfast.  Then headed out to put lights on the front of my house to prove to the neighborhood that I am a real part of the season--no one can ever suggest I wish to kill Christmas!

My work was almost complete when I noticed something wrong...  Wrong plug at wrong end...  Ran for another plug...  Still didn't work.  Damn!  So do I take them all down and start at the other end?  (Hold on--I haven't gotten to my earlier-mentioned trauma...)  Just then my friend Gerardo came by to mow my lawn.  He freaked when he saw me on the ladder--why does gray/white hair make some assume you are on a list destined to fall off a ladder?  He looked at my problem and went to work rearranging cords and plugs and whatever else it took, and turned on my lights.  Loverly!!

I waved as he drove off--happy that I'd promised him he could do the entire task next year.  I proceeded to put my ladder away and picked up the mess on the driveway.  Then I went to place the garbage cans back in order.  THAT'S WHEN I SAW IT!!  A R-A-T!   A RAT!!!   O yes, it was dead--in fact, rather thin so perhaps his demise took place some time ago...  BUT DEAD RATS DON'T LEAVE!  They don't get scared and run when someone (OK, me...) starts yelling and squealing and screeching and tortuously bending, and twisting, and hyperventilating--looking like she (OK, me...) must be having a stroke.

It's still out there--I'm assuming it wasn't playing dead and then sneaked off after my theatrics.  My police officer neighbor is getting a call as soon as he returns home.  I want someone I can trust to be sure I will NEVER see that skinny-bare-tailed rodent again....  

Other than that, it's been a good day...

Food: A Social Occasion...

Real dining, for me, must be a social experience.  Although I enjoy good--quality food--my true enjoyment comes from smiling, friendly faces around the table.  Gilly, is the same.  He'll leave his food for hours when I put his dish in the corner of my study next to his water.  But when I set the dish down near where I am, he'll eat immediately.  Remember we're talking here about a social occasion.

nyquote.com/quotes/topics/topic_thanksgiving.html#hp0uULjJS13R6f3R.99

My cooking is so bad my kids thought Thanksgiving was to commemorate Pearl Harbor.
Phyllis Diller

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/topics/topic_thanksgiving.html#hp0uULjJS13R6f3RRemember, we're talking here about a social occasion.

When eating alone, I can be found at my computer, watching a movie, standing at the kitchen sink as children board the school bus in front of my house.  In warm weather, I sit on my swing or a rocking chair on my patio.  But NEVER at the dining room table.  That is the place for laughter, stories, enjoying connections.

Two days ago, my table was full of family and friends.  Ideal dining!

We can only be said to be alive in those moments 

when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.

---Thornton Wilder

A Flower Girl or a Lady...what will she be?

Living in Southern Oregon is such a privilege!  I have the opportunity to inhabit this beautiful valley--with four distinct seasons--and hike the ridges to breathtaking vistas.  But the activity that gives me the most fun is attending plays and musicals at the various theatres we have in this area.  The Hercules of these venues is, of course, OSF--Oregon Shakespeare Theatre.

Last summer I saw My Fair Lady twice!  While the entire musical was wonderful, my heart keeps zeroing in on one scene.  Eliza tries so hard to follow the instructions of Professor Higgins.  He doesn't recognize her perseverance.  He is insulting and rude.  His only focus is hearing his version of perfection of the English language.

In a conversation with Colonel Pickering Eliza says that Professor Higgins will always see her as a guttersnipe, but she has learned about manners from the Colonel, and now realizes it is how a person is treated that makes her a lady.  "The difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she's treated.  I shall always be a flower girl to Professor Higgins, because he always treats me as a flower girl, and always will, but I know I can be a lady to you, because you always treat me as a lady, and always will." 

And because I can't leave well enough alone and just sit and enjoy, I log that statement in my brain, take it home, write it down (before it goes the way of other things I forget) and ponder it.  It's certainly not a new thought--it's a value that we emphasize in social work education--the strengths-based model.   But it's still a good reminder coming in a most enjoyable way.

Goodness is about character--integrity,

honesty, kindness, generosity, moral

courage, and the like.   More than

anything else, it is about how we

treat other people.

                            ---Dennis Prager

A graciousness that humbles...

A beautiful February afternoon--the time for a walk.  The countryside around the university in western Kenya  must be the most beautiful place on earth—plants of every color and texture—purple and pink bougainvillea spilling over walls and fences.  The brilliant red and periwinkle of the flame and jacaranda trees give a fragrance to the land that leaves one forgetful of its poverty. 

I walked about a kilometer and a half down a narrow dirt road when I came upon a school.  After a brief exchange with students who came out to greet me, they invited me into their standard 8 classroom.  Their teacher was attending a funeral. 

As I entered the classroom--perhaps 12 x 15 feet--20 students stood in respect around their crudely made wooden benches and tables.  Their clothes hung shabbily--obviously having been worn by many others before them; and not one pair of shoes on their calloused feet.  The blackboard--a wall of rough cement painted black.  Between this classroom and the next hung a dilapidated bamboo screen.

The students asked me to tell them about America.  Since their English was pretty good, and my Kiswahili at that point almost nonexistent, the exchange began:  Is everyone rich in America?  Do you have a big house?  What kinds of food do you eat?  Tell us about the schools in America. 

I then suggested it was my turn to find out about them and their school.  It was obvious they all came from poor families, yet their parents had to pay for tuition, books, uniforms, and even the rental of the rickety benches and tables at which they sat.   Education is a must if you wish to have any opportunity! 

Finally I asked about their library.  Some were not sure of the word, so I described what I meant.  They told me they had no library.  Walking back to campus, I knew I must do something!

I began writing letters to friends in the States—teachers sympathetic to the needs of educating children.   It would take months to get books shipped, so I wanted to start the project right away.  As books arrived, I hauled them to the school weekly--bookmobile style--and with the help of my university students, the children checked them out. The school was delighted!   Children learn English in school, so we decided that students from standard 4 could read some of the simplest picture books, and by standard 8 they enjoyed the more mature stories.  

Driving there weekly was quite an ordeal.  The kilometer and a half seemed endless during the rainy season which left the road nearly impassible.  More than once I got stuck only to find eager children ready to push me out of the water.  Of course in the process they became covered with mud!  

While students enjoyed the opportunity to read books--especially American stories--what surprised me most was the excitement of the teachers.  Of the nearly 1000 books collected, about 80 were teachers’ editions.  This was a first for the instructors at this school.  They were thrilled!  

A week before my departure from Kenya, the students and teachers held a grand opening for the library—a room about 9 x 9 with shelves on three sides.  Crepe paper ribbon hung across the door with my name in crude letters above it.  The headmaster led the ceremony.  A number of parents were also in attendance.  Students sang songs and humbled me with their praise.  And there were gifts—a beaded belt made by a father.  A live chicken--the legs tied together, hanging upside down from the seat of a bicycle.  

As I cut the ribbon they assured me no other school in this region had such a library.  They served food—ugali (a stiff cornmeal), beans, hard boiled eggs, and sukumuwiki (much like swiss chard)—and I knew the sacrifice that families had made to supply this meal.  I also realized there was just enough food for myself, the headmaster, and the village elder.   What I had done--writing a few letters--was nothing.   What they had done--providing the room, a meal and the lovely gifts--what it cost them, far surpassed any act of charity on my part--a gracious, generous people.

                            For it is in giving that we receive.    -- St. Francis of Assisi

Updating Mother Mary...

I am now part of the new world order.  I have a Smart phone.  To be perfectly honest, it is w-a-a-y smarter than I am--at least at this point.  But give me time...

The other day I suggested to my favorite youngest daughter that I might consider getting one someday--for several years she's suggested I live in the stone age phone-wise.   Within hours she had me at the nearest AT&T store talking to a clerk--in fact sitting at a bistro table cozy-ing up to TWO gentlemen--Jen didn't want me leaving without one--a new phone that is...
  
Twenty minutes later I walked out with a lovely white Smart phone--Jen told the clerk to take my old phone out to the parking lot and have it crushed by the next passing car.  Within hours, the color changed to a lovely green as the result of a cover--easier to find in my purse.  Next a protective shield.  Of course, during this time, I had no idea how to use said device.

Following all this came hours of instruction--Jen knows I don't read instruction manuals.  I trained her early on--reading manuals and gift wrapping became her crucial tasks in childhood.

 Next the apps that allow me to purchase most anything, scan coupons, find authors, bet on the horses, find an escort for the evening, and mow my lawn all with the touch of a finger--my world grows with a single brush of a key.  My favorite oldest daughter thinks I could be dangerous with such a modern device.

All that aside:  I feel young!  I feel a part of the world!  I own a Smart phone!  NOW, what's next?  I'll find out in 6 months when the Smarter Phone--Will-Take-the-Dog-Out--version finds its way off the production line....

Random Acts of Kindness

Any religious tradition--Christian, Jewish, Islamic, Buddhist, and all their varieties--honor giving during this holiday season.  There are tremendous needs in this world we live in--and, let's be honest, it makes us feel good to do nice things for others!

                                    Presents are made for the pleasure of who gives them,
                                                 not the merits of who receives them.
                                                                                              ―Carlos Ruiz Zafon  

I am as challenged as anyone to find ways to give--it's most fun when the recipient doesn't know where these surprises come from--so I researched some ideas.  I hope they help and some might even become a habit.

1.  Make up bags for the homeless--My daughter Jennifer blogged about this:  A gallon size sealed plastic bag filled with gum, toothbrush, washcloth, breath mints, 2 or 3 dollars, energy bars, juice, comb, soap, trail mix, granola bars, crackers, band aids, mouthwash, hand wipes, warm socks--any or all of the above.  Also Leftover yarn--combine and make scarves to put in the bags! 

                           It's not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.
                                                                                    ― Mother Teresa

2.  Buy children's clothes--sale items!  Donate them to DHS for foster kids.

                         We make a living by what we get. We make a life by what we give.
                                                                                ― Winston Churchill

3.  Holiday party--with an "admission charge" of 2 cans of food. 

4.  Cookies--delicious and freezable for an elderly (or not!) neighbor.

5.  Buy a bag of good groceries – high-quality coffee, whole-grain pasta, a box of decadent cookies or other treats you'd normally buy for yourself – and donate it to your local food bank or shelter.

                                                        Give, but give until it hurts.
                                                                             ― Mother Teresa 


6.  Take your well-behaved dog (ask permission first!)--for a nursing home visit.
 
7.  Hold the door--for the person behind you. 

8.  Make soup--for a friend or neighbor.

9.  Drop a basket of goodies--anonymously at the home of someone. 
 
10.  Make out a check to charity--matching the amount you spend on family gifts.

                        Giving of any kind... taking an action... begins the process of change, 
                       and moves us to remember that we are part of a much greater universe. 
                                                                                                 ― Mbali Creazzo 

11.  Take your neighbor's trash to the curb--and return it after pick-up.

12.  Let the person behind you--go in front of you in the check out line.

                            A kind gesture can reach a wound that only compassion can heal.
                                                                                               ― Steve Maraboli

13. Donate blood

14.  Pay for the person behind you--at the drive thru.

                                                           For it is in giving that we receive.
                                                                               ―St. Francis of Assisi
 
 15.  Have a clear-out--and donate really nice items to charity.

16.  Offer to babysit--so parents can shop for the kids, without their kids.

17.  Contact a friend or family member--via snail mail, email, Facebook, Skipe, or text to tell him or her how much you value them.

                             You can give without loving, but you cannot love without giving.
                                                                                     ― Any Carmichael 

18.  Offer to dog walk--particularly for someone who finds it difficult to get out in winter weather.

19.  Dedicate one day to smiling at everyone you meet--they'll either smile back or run thinking you're crazy...

                         As we work to create light for others, we naturally light our own way.
                                                                                        ― Mary Anne Radmacher 
  
20.   Offer to wrap gifts--this is a challenge for me because I HATE wrapping and depend upon Jennifer for that--even her own gifts!

                                     You give but little when you give of your possessions. 
                                        It is when you give of yourself that you truly give. 
                                                                                   ― Kahlil Gibran  

21.   Give larger tips--remember that restaurant workers often live on minimum wage--which we all know isn't possible--and they have gifts to buy during the holiday season!

22.   Invite friends over for a marathon Christmas movie night--serve refreshments; charge $10 per couple/family and give it to charity!

23.  Don't forget to get a child's name from the mall Christmas trees--it's a fun excuse to buy more kids' toys!

24.  Pick up the check--for someone eating alone in a restaurant.

"Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?" He will reply, "I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me."     
                                                                                                      ---Matthew 25:44-45

AND P.S.:  

25.  Choose 5 of the above--follow through and then reward yourself with a massage or a pedicure!  Remember, it's really OK to do something good for yourself!!

Finding Compassion Unexpectedly

           None of us had perfect childhoods--we all have a story to tell.   It is good, however, when we can learn from that pain.

           My father joined the Navy when I was 6 months old.  He wanted to fight the Germans, fight the Japanese—Dad always needed a reason to fight.   His absence during his years of service was perhaps why he and I never really bonded.

            Before he was discharged, someone bought me a little sailor suit that matched my dad's.  The pictures of me sitting on his lap were very special throughout childhood.  Yet, when you look closely and observe the body language between the man and the curly headed little tike on his lap you see little real connection.

            In my wild fantasies I was Daddy’s little girl--his princess.  But even as a young child, I knew my father was no prince charming.  Why did I upset him so often?--I asked that question over and over.

            Entering puberty our relationship only worsened.  Yet, at the little girl level--that place of deepest hurt--I still begged him to love me.  Why couldn’t he?  Was I too fat?  Was I too ugly?  Was I too stupid?  All these questions collided in the most private parts of my psyche as I struggled during those teenage years.

I continued to try to please him--after my parents were divorced, I'd often cook, do his washing; even made a sail for the boat he built. 

            Later, I married, had children, and still yearned for his love--sent him letters, and Father’s Day, birthday and Christmas presents.  On rare occasions, when I heard from him, he most often signed his letters Paul—not Dad, or what would have thrilled me, Daddy.
  
            Life went on, but always the void was apparent.  I finally decided to make some choices for change--counseling.  Two years.  Two years of hard work--tears--journaling--more tears.   I made progress.  After some time, good memories surfaced--little occurrences from childhood when I saw a smile on Dad’s face.  At those times, I knew the black, thick cloud of pain that had lived with me all my life had started to subside.

            Twenty-six years from the last time I’d seen him, a cousin sent me a picture.  I didn’t know this man.  He looked ancient!  Dad had definitely not aged well!

  
             I had to see him.  I flew to Texas.  When I arrived, Dad and his wife came out to greet me.  I looked at him--how in the hell did this little man ever frighten me?  At that moment I realized his power was gone.

             I spent a day at their home.  It was a good visit--mostly talking about his years in service and old buddies long dead.  Dementia was doing its work.

              The following afternoon as I drove away, tears ran down my cheeks.  But these were not the tears of my childhood.  They were not for me.  They were for my dad--for the choices he’d made--for all he'd lost.  He had two great kids (yes, I am one of them!) that he didn’t know.  He hadn't followed our lives, never connected to who we were. 

             I was clearly the winner in this game of life.  An enormous shower of compassion for my father swept over me.  Clearly, compassion is much easier to carry than pain and grief. 

                        Only the development of compassion and understanding for others 

                      can bring us the tranquility and happiness we all seek. 
                                                                        ---Dalai Lama
 

           

           

Aging and Attitude...

Yes, I AM getting older...and I'm well aware of bodily changes taking place--most days I handle them with a sense of gratitude--the alternative isn't great....; other days they're a damn nuisance!

Facial Hair -- This has always been somewhat of a problem, but within the last couple of years, I've realized it's best to weigh myself AFTER my daily plucking session.  So far I don't have the ear thing going, but without constant attention, my chin sprouts a goatee within hours.

Toenails --  Where do those blue and gray and yellow tones come from?  

Memory -- Some celebration with this one--temporary memory lapses are a wonderful addition to my exercise routine--retracing steps adds miles a day!

Hearing -- I don't think that's a concern for women nearly as much as for men.  And I believe I know why--men historically have not listened to women.  As aging sets in, women speak in a lower tone--why bother wasting energy on one who doesn't listen anyway.  So men obviously assume they can't hear....check it out--more hearing aids on men than women!

Balance -- During yoga sessions, I notice those of us with graying locks often extending a finger tip towards the wall to accommodate that slight state of lopsidedness.

Weight --  While many women complain that I've lost the figure of my youth, I suggest that extra weight fills in wrinkle lines and is much cheaper than botox!

BUT what really saves the day is:

Attitude -- V-E-R-R-Y positive!  I no longer have to please...  I don't have to placate...  I've earned my stripes!  I really don't give a damn....  I love Jenny Joseph's attitude on aging...even if you've heard it, it's worth another read....

When I Am Old

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple With a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me, And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired, And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells, And run my stick along the public railings, And make up for the sobriety of my youth. I shall go out in my slippers in the rain And pick the flowers in other people's gardens, And learn to spit. You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat, And eat three pounds of sausages at a go, Or only bread and pickle for a week, And hoard pens and pencils and beer mats and things in boxes. But now we must have clothes that keep us dry, And pay our rent and not swear in the street, And set a good example for the children. We will have friends to dinner and read the papers. But maybe I ought to practice a little now? So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised, When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple! Jenny Joseph

Silly with significance...

It cost very little—Mother bought it at the local auction house.  In my eyes the layers of old varnish and dings from years of use took on the splendor of magical fantasy.  I’d sit at my new kidney-shaped vanity gazing into the mirror--seeing the faces of Debbie Reynolds, Katherine Hepburn, and Cyd Charisse just as they appeared on screen sitting before their vanities.   

My kidney-shaped vanity heard my dreams—as soon as I graduated from high school I would go to Hollywood, get a wonderful, high-paying job at a studio, and within a couple of years, go live in Paris.  (I was soon reminded of my distinct limitations—I am geographically AND directionally challenged--Paris is NOT just a hop, skip and jump across the ocean from Hollywood!)

My kidney-shaped vanity became my intimate--living in a home of continual parental altercations, it heard my cries of hope that someday my longings for happiness and peace might come true--Today wasn't good; tomorrow things would get better.

None of my friends owned a kidney-shaped vanity.  Secretly I knew they envied me.  And my young, underdeveloped heart, rather liked that.

The summer I turned 15, our family moved to Oregon.  Since all our belongings had to fit in a small trailer, my precious possession didn’t make the move.  I was heartbroken.  It was worse than leaving behind my school mates.

But time brings maturity.  I lived through that and greater losses as years went by.  When I decorated my retirement bedroom I thought of my kidney-shaped vanity.   No, I didn't need one.  I had moved on.  I now live my dreams; I have friends to confide in.  But that silly little piece of furniture will always hold that place of special memories.

Unity in Diversity

Before going to Africa, all I knew about Rwanda related to Dian Fossey and her work with gorillas.   It was not until April,1994 that I'd learned about Hutus or Tutsis.

After President Habyarimana’s plane went down on April 6, I saw small groups of students gather as I walked about campus.  In Africa, if one has not lived through a time of strife among tribes, there is history that speaks of heated disagreements.  So at the very least these small group discussions were a way of handling very personal fears.   

Daily our Rwandan students heard of more and more deaths and disappearances of family members and friends.   One day, Johnny came to my office.  He had just gotten word that his mother, brother, sister and an uncle had been killed.  Only his father and grandmother were spared because they were in Zaire attending a funeral.   Three months later he heard that his sister had escaped death because friends had hidden her in the filth of an outhouse for days until the family could get her into hiding.

Nathan was another student who lost his family.  He considered himself fortunate that he had a brother-in-law in Nairobi.  After the killing stopped, he told me he planned to return to Rwanda.  When I expressed concern because he is a Tutsi, he explained that he had to see for himself--I just can’t believe it all until I see it with my own eyes. When Nathan returned to campus, he told me about walking the roads and paths through the forests and finding rotting skeletons with body parts hacked to pieces by machetes.  Yes, he now knew it had all really happened.

While none of the Rwandan students were involved in the violence, there was a natural suspicion between the Tutsis and Hutus on campus.   I asked them if we could meet together to talk, but the Hutus were reticent.   That was understandable.

            A year later, 1995, as part of my responsibility on campus, I suggested that we carry out a theme—Unity in Diversity—during 4th quarter--the University had students from many countries.   The student committee with whom I worked became enthusiastic immediately.   At once they organized a Unity in Diversity Week when students from each country and/or tribe put together short programs to inform the audience about their cultural origins and practices.  The first night the amphitheatre was packed--the students were so enthusiastic, so positively responsive to the history, the dances, and the customs each group presented. 
   

The next day, a student ran up to me--You won’t believe it!   Last night after the program, two Rwandans asked me if they could still be a part of the program!  Previously they had declined to participate. 

As the Rwandan students came forward, the amphitheater grew very quiet—the audience was aware of the losses they had all suffered.   As they walked onto the stage I saw they were both Hutu and Tutsi students.  The music began.  The Tutsi men and the Hutu women danced the Rwandan wedding dance.   

Tears streamed down my face.   Having heard the stories of grief from both tribes expressed in the privacy of my office—knowing the number of family members who had been brutally murdered, and also seeing with my own eyes how much they believed that healing must come—I knew it would be these students who could make it happen.

Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it. 

                                                                                                  -- Helen Keller