Wisdom of the Ages or Aged???

Here it is--the end of 2015.  And here I am at 73 1/2 years.  Wow!  That seems old!  But I don't FEEL old.  I feel ALIVE (that's good!); I feel HEALTHY (that's really good!).  And I believe there is still a bit of adventure ahead for me (is that being too optimistic?).  I've had a good life. Certainly not perfect--would change a few participants--yet I must admit they provided some of my greatest lessons.  In all humility, I think perhaps these multiple decades of learning have offered me some wisdom.

1.  I've learned that living in fear prevents the seed of love from blooming.

2.  I've learned that living a life of integrity is severely limited when bound by a thickly constructed wall of rules produced and directed by the male sector of society.

3.  I've learned that I must be honest with myself before I can ever live with integrity before others.

4.  I've learned that intelligence comes from thinking critically--i.e. asking how my opinion/attitude affects ALL members of society.

5.   I've learned that in order to raise an intelligent society we must teach our children to think, to dream, and to believe in possibilities.

6.  I've learned about privilege. One, I'm White!  Two, I'm educated!  Three, I have the right to tell you to go to hell if I choose and won't land in jail, as in other less-privileged-for-women countries.  

7.  I've learned about gratitude.  “Happiness is not the absence of problems. It's the ability to deal with them.” (Steve Maraboli)  I rarely appreciate the problems that come my way.  But in retrospect, I am always grateful for what I've learned from them.

8.  Perhaps my most important lesson: I learned yesterday.  I am learning today.  I will learn tomorrow.  Because there is still much to know.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.

                   ― Alfred Lord Tennyson 

Hidden voices in published words...

A close friend of mine recently gave me the books WASHING THE DUST FROM OUR HEARTS and THE SKY IS A NEST OF SWALLOWS.  These contain poetry, prose and essays by the writers of the Afghan Women's Writing Project.  These are women who have been so suppressed from thinking, from doing, from being--even their writing must be done in secret with names changed and locations hidden.

After looking over the books, I decided to read aloud one morning. I couldn't believe the sensation that took over because of the clarity of the writing.  I was at once that woman--the writer of the story.  I could picture myself obscured from all eyes, holding a tablet soiled due to the necessity to keep it hidden, and writing words that came from the deepest part of my soul.

One such piece reads:

Read My Poems on the Reddish Stream of My Blood
  by Emaan

I want to write, I want to write about
My dreams which never come true,
My power that has always been ignored,
My voice which is never heard by this deaf universe,
My rights which have never been counted,
My life decisions which are always made by others.
Oh my destiny, give me the answer, what am I for in this universe?
What does it mean to be an Afghan woman?
Hmm, I know you can't provide me with an elegant answer so
Just give me the pen, the hidden pen
So that I can write, that is all I am asking for!

I promise I will take revenge, but not like men
By gun and sword and aggression,
Instead I will write.
I will write even if I am warned not to touch a pen or paper,
I know one thing, that they can't see that hidden pen with their
Blind eyes, no matter how strong their vision.
My eyes will read my environment, my brain will save the details,
And I will write with the hidden pen on the chambers of my heart,
So that when I am caught and executed,
Perhaps in Ghazi stadium like other innocent Afghan women,
People can read my poems on the reddish stream made by my blood.

I will start writing with the hidden pen, and
I know this will lead to a day when girls of this land will be able
To write with chalk on the blackboards of the school
Or by markers on the whiteboards of universities,
And one day they will make their voice heard--
Then the hidden pen will be remembered forever!

From the Introduction of these published books come the founder's words:  AWWP was founded in May 2009 to encourage and nurture Afghan women as they explore the power of their voices and reflect upon themselves, their histories and their possibilities.

We wanted their stories, but we knew we needed to be cautious. These women, in offering up their private thoughts and experiences for outsiders--Americans, no less--were embarked on an act of breathtaking courage within the traditions of their society.  Some came from families that believed a woman who used a cellphone was a whore.  Our growing volunteer team created a blog to feature their work, and we agreed:  no full names, no sharing of emails, no specific locators.
                                                                                            -- Masha Hamilton
                                                                                                 AWWP Founder

Visit awwproject.org for more information about the Afghan Women's Writing Project.

I invite you to visit the above website and purchase their books. In the process you will find out more about the courageous women whose one mode of expression, though done in secret, has given them a voice to the world.

History is changed by the small actions of ordinary people.

                         -- Zahra A.

Another anniversary of sorts...

For some reason this is the year I've chosen to acknowledge timelines.  I celebrate another one today.  Eight years ago I arrived in Medford to begin my retirements years. My front porch was decorated with balloons and a welcoming committee of three important long-time friends. 

A few months before I had purchased a house ALONE--scariness accompanied closely by great excitement.  Medford is not a new town for me--having graduated from Medford High School some !@!^!% years ago.   I always wanted to return to this beautiful valley.

Eight years later, my house is my home--a place I'm told looks just like me.  (I take that as a compliment...though I'm not sure.)  My very small backyard has the look of a woodland--if I can't live in the forest, I'll bring it to me!   Flowers, shrubs, and trees find a welcome spot--though in all honesty I can't give you the names of most of them. 

Books find a special place in every room.  Jane Austen, Carlos Ruiz Zafon, Shilpi Somaya Gowda, Kate Morton and Maeve Binchy spotlight my bookcases.  I visit with these authors to know more of their lives and cultures.  I love their company!

Yoga and daily walking with my best bud, Gilly, are routines that dominate the better parts of my life.  Volunteering on the Citizens' Review Board allows me to contribute to my greatest passion--keeping kids safe!

Taking classes and dancing away to Austen era music--my mental partner Will Darcy, of course--fill many hours.  And most certainly, new and old friends have an important place in my heart!

No one's life is perfect--and sometimes for no reason but to have a pity party, I am grumpy and out of sorts.  

However, these eight years in Medford have been pretty amazing!  And fun!  And a great adventure!

Life comes from physical survival;

but the good life 

comes from what we care about.

           -- Rollo May    

 

Looking back with a smile.

As I think of a loved one today, I want to remember these words...

I am always saddened by the death of a good person. It is from this sadness that a feeling of gratitude emerges. I feel honored to have known them and blessed that their passing serves as a reminder to me that my time on this beautiful earth is limited and that I should seize the opportunity I have to forgive, share, explore, and love. I can think of no greater way to honor the deceased than to live this way.                                                                                           ― Steve Maraboli 

Betcha' Didn't Know...

I won first place in a ping-pong tournament with my boyfriend in the 9th grade.

I loved peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches as a child.

I danced among the gas pumps of a service station as the songs from American in Paris ran through my head--on the way home from the theatre.

I had the starring role in a school operetta in third grade.

I was also a majorette beginning in the third grade.

I have entered and used male bathrooms all over the world--never liked reading signs.

I broke my arm roller skating as an adult.

I removed a diamond wedding set from a "five and dime" store when I was 13--and returned it--when I finished pretending to be engaged--later that day.

I covered dog biscuits with peanut butter in the 8th grade and gave them to a teacher as a snack.

My first--and last--brass instrument was an alto horn--extreme animal abuse!

I played drums in the school band in junior high.

I am terrified of mice, and will hold spiders in my hands.

I peed along the Columbia River as a train went by 15 feet in front of me--not all that many years ago.

I played badminton as a teenager quite proficiently.

I married my high school sweetheart.

In high school, my favorite perfume was White Shoulders.

As an adult, my favorite smell is horse manure--only my therapist knows the connection.

I love BBC series--they just know how to do it right!

I shattered the overhead stage lights throwing my baton in the air.  The glass came down showering me with bits in front of a large audience.

At 13, while sitting next to my boyfriend, I fell backwards off a 3-tier set of bleachers as we watched a softball came--complete, total, and utter embarrassment!

My favorite activity is English/Scottish Dancing--Jane Austen style.

Mr. Darcy is my one true love. 

I'm a very proud feminist because I believe in equality and justice for all.

We are all wonderful, beautiful wrecks.  That's what connects us--
that we're all broken, all beautifully imperfect.  
                                                                                   -- Emilio Estevez 

                                                                                             

 Confession IS good for the soul....

  

Thoughts on Mother's Day...

If I said how many years I've been a mother, I'd have to tell the ages of my daughters--and that I wouldn't do without permission.  But I've been called by that name enough years that I've experienced many phases of motherhood.

Phase 1.  Total Ignorance.  My first New Year's Eve of motherhood, I frantically called the pediatrician in panic because my infant's poop was green!  His first question, "Has she started her green vegetables?" 

Phase 2.  Being-One-Of-the-Kids.  I loved the over-the-top activities that included me--birthday parties with lots of howling and laughter.  Singing loudly along to vinyl records playing show tunes.  That worked great for No. 1 Daughter.  However, the it's-really-all-about-mom was replaced by Second Born who stated emphatically, "Mommy, I want to plan my own parties."

Phase 3.  Always-Active-PTAer.  Involved in it all, and loved every minute!

Phase 4.  Religious Teacher.  That one I'd like to erase except it gives my daughters great times of laughter as they share with their friends whose mothers also went through that phase.

Phase 5.  Absent Mother.  Necessary, and I wish could have been different.

Phase 6.  Mother of Mothering Daughters.  This phase I enjoy sitting back and observing.  My daughters have each parented differently.  Yet both have produced the most wonderful kids--OK, with lots of help from my son-in-laws.  And my role of grandparent is nothing but pure joy! 

I'm not with either of my daughters today.  But that's really OK because it gives me time to look back and remember.  Yes, it would be easy to think only of when I angered too quickly or wasn't available.  However, the end result of my years of parenting--along with their very capable father--are two amazing women who do things much more creatively, much more willingly, and much more value-based than I ever have.  It seems they took our bits and bobs and mishaps, and created their own unique selves...and isn't that what mothering is really all about?

Funny how life goes on but leaves those marks on our lives.

This time of reflection certainly brings the happiest memories with only a dash of sadness.

                                            -- Unknown

Kinda thought those days were behind me...

Last night--just as I was about to head for bed, Gilly started retching.  He went to the backyard to find grass.  He knows there is no grass in the backyard, but he goes on a relentless pursuit every time this happens.  Gilly's searching continued for about 1/2 an hour.   I finally decided my sleep would take place on the couch--closer access to the patio.  I gathered blankets and pillow--feeling more and more in need of them by the minute--then went out to check on Gilly.  He was still looking for grass.

At about 11 p.m., I put on his leash and took him to the newly mown and luscious grass in the front yard.  There I sat in my pj's and robe--half asleep and minus porch light--while Gilly hastily ate grass to enable his tummy to settle.

When we returned to the living room, he made a hasty retreat to the backyard to relieve himself of the grass and other digestive irritation--followed by an even sleepier me hosing off the patio...  Finally, after midnight, Gilly settled at my feet to sleep--while I, at his insistence, rubbed his chest...his soothing place.  Yes, VERY tight quarters with a 70 lb dog and adult on a standard size couch.  

Three hours later, we had a repeat performance of all the above mentioned activities....

This morning I am exhausted!  Gilly is still retching a bit but wanted his food which I gave in a reduced amount.  He's napping and my plans are to follow suit...  

I just thought of the beautiful quote by Anatole France:  “Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened."  HOWEVER, as I slowly fade into dreamland I'm thinking of the wisdom of those friends who are animal-less...

 

 

Remembering our Mothers...

Mother died three years ago today.  My high school--and still close friends--Elaine and Donna and I packed a picnic and headed into the mountains for a time to celebrate our mothers.  We shared stories--of times they embarrassed us, and more often, we embarrassed them.  And we each thought of tales that the others didn't recall. 

We talked of ways we are very much like our mothers.  We spoke of characteristics we hoped we didn't inherit.  Since our mothers knew all three of us AND one another, there was little ever hidden.  And perhaps that's part of what made today so much fun!

Donna and Elaine's mothers had proper funeral/memorial services, but there was none for my mother--that's the way she wanted it.  Now, three years later, I'm happy to have friends willing to take this time for a ceremony of remembrance.

"Mother, you've been in my thoughts most of this day.  

I still miss you like crazy."   

Ten Years of Change...

Yesterday I celebrated a ten-year anniversary.  I've never regretted the decision that resulted in this milepost.  So to recognize the occasion, I had lunch at a lovely Italian hideaway with a special friend, a bit of retail therapy, and a relaxing evening with Gilly, and my journal--my  self-reflecting tool.

Support of family and friends made the transition to independent living less painful.  I continued teaching for a couple of years, then retired and relocated some 500+ miles southwest.  A good choice!  I reconnected with old friends.  I continue making new friends.  I take classes for intellectual stimulation--I've heard the brain implodes without proper use.  Weekly English/Scottish dancing of the Jane Austen variety transports me to a long ago era--minus Mr. Darcy unfortunately.  Exercise invigorates my body with energy and health.  Volunteer work enables me to give back.

In the last 10 years, I've also spent many hours alone.  Time unattended by another, in the privacy of my own home, I meet myself--my real, no-mask-worn--where-the-rubber-meets-the-road self.  And guess what?  I kinda love my pardner in crime...ME.  No shame or guilt haunt my thoughts.  Nor does any need for perfection.  Consistently, however, is the ongoing desire to live intentionally with integrity and compassion.

And that is why I can celebrate this 10 year anniversary with such joy!

 I wanted to change the world.

But I have found that the only thing 

one can be sure of changing is oneself.

            --- Aldous Huxley

Between teaching and learning, there is little space...

Because of my responsibilities on the university campus, I had invitations to meet many Kenyans in their home regions.  I loved learning about the culture of family life.  The generosity amidst their poverty-stricken lives left me with admiration.  However, during these excursions about the country, I also met numerous challenges.

One such occasion occurred when I was asked to speak at a church in a rural area.  I had declined a request to preach at the 11 o'clock hour knowing how difficult it was to accept a woman in the pulpit.  I did agree, however, to speak to the group after lunch--since most church members brought food and made a day of church-related activities.

Listening to the morning sermon, I looked about the sanctuary.  Its rough, partially finished structure reminded me of WWII vintage movies.  The pews were large logs and the pulpit a crudely nailed together stand.  The floor had rough bits of concrete and rock scattered about.  No doors stood to hinder entrance.   I am not criticizing.  I, in fact, smiled when I saw what actually worked in this poverty stricken area--no need for padded seats and elaborately carved podium.  The first time I spoke in a rural area, chickens walked between my legs as they pecked at corn on the ground.  Another time the pews consisted of bales of straw.

I focused my talk that afternoon on Ephesians 5 and Paul's words that we are to love one another.  When it came to the part about *submission* I needed to handle this with care.  I turned to the women--who were, by the way, all seated on the left side of the room.

"You ladies have it relatively easy," I said.  "All you have to do is submit."  Knowing full well that Kenyan women do 80% of all work--including building the homes--and the children do the other 20%, I quickly followed my statement with, "You have your list.  You cook meals, wash clothes, plant your gardens, build your houses, and often sell your produce.  You know full well what you must do to be submissive."  The ladies in their white head coverings--a sign of Christianity--smiled in confirmation of my words.

Then I walked to the right side of the room.  "But you men, you are the ones who really have it difficult.  What do Paul's words tell you to do?"  All eyes were intently on me.  I had a feeling it had more to do with the fear of leading them astray than connecting with anything I said.

The elders were seated on a log situated diagonally on the front right side of me--within just a few feet of where I stood.  I glanced their way and repeated my question.   "OK, Gentlemen, what do Paul's words tell you to do?"

A couple of the elders whispered,  "Love our wives."

I smiled and followed with, "Yes, he said to love your wives, and to follow Christ's example."  I went on, "Christ loved the church and gave His life for it.  And Christ said that husbands are to do likewise."  I hesitated before my next question, "Now, how many of you husbands are willing to die for your wives?"  Total silence.  In that shabby structure, sitting on uncomfortable logs, not a sound could be heard.  At the same time, I seriously thought of looking for an escape route.  I had had the audacity to use a verse of Scripture that I could almost guarantee they'd never heard before.  Yet the Kenyan pastor, my translator, had repeated my exact words.  I knew enough Kiswahili to be certain of that.

I walked over to the head elders.  Could I get them to set an example for the congregation?  "So who among you would die for your wife?" I asked with a smile--though perhaps I should have used the word *wives*.  Very slowly, one-by-one, their hands began to raise. "Thank you," I said.

I continued with a message of love, then ended my talk.  Did my words have a positive impact?  I have no idea!  Why would they listen to a woman?--especially a white woman!  And what gave me the right to talk about family life and love in a culture a world away from my own? 

I can feel a rapid beating of my heart when I think of the many opportunities to learn the most important lessons of my life while in Kenya.  I think of a student who attempted suicide, and the school administration wanted her expelled.  And the afternoon I spent talking with pastors' wives--with our constant companion; a man listening to be sure minds weren't contaminated by my ideas.  Or the student whose fear of dying prevented her from removing a bracelet she had been told had special powers.  These experiences, and hundreds more, gave me my richest learning.  I was hired to teach.  I fear I taught little...I was most often the student.

The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, 

to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.”

                                  ―  Eleanor Roosevelt

 

The Delight of Listening...

I enjoy hearing books on tape as I travel.  Whether driving to Portland, heading out for OLLI classes, or just running across town to complete an errand list, the voice coming from the CD player takes me on a journey into the lives of characters who add interest, occasionally adventure, and certainly new perspective to my life.  And I especially love books narrated by the author--with just the attention to words or phrases or characters he/she intended! 

Several years ago, I listened to I Still Dream About You by Fannie Flagg.  I thoroughly enjoyed it!  Then about a year ago, I thought it might be fun to read it myself.  Before the end of the first chapter I realized something was missing.  What made the story come alive was hearing Fannie Flagg's voice creating Maggie and Hazel and Brenda and Babs. 

I've listened to other books read by the authors, and it adds a connection as well as an extra level of perception.  Perhaps because I enjoy writing, as I listen to the designer of these stories and characters, I think about the whole creative process.  Where do the ideas come from?  Who in their lives models the many characters?  Did the creative process flow, or come in dribbles?

Nowadays we are so fortunate to have books in many forms.  While I still prefer paper, I'm using my Kindle more often as time goes on, and, of course, books-on-tape fill in those gaps of time when holding a book is both dangerous and unlawful...   

The companionship and delight of a voice telling stories is incomparable.  

                               ---Stephen Fry 

Another Bucket List Item Completed

Yesterday I spent several hours in a police patrol car.  Let me first explain that it was by my own choice.  And I spent those hours sitting in the front seat.   The experience was interesting with only a few disappointments.   Officer Neighbor--who will otherwise remain anonymous...though in all honesty, he is an officer and he is my neighbor--was my host for this adventure.

Let me explain the disappointments first.  I was not allowed to assist in any arrests--though I was more than willing.  I did not carry a loaded gun--I imagine that reality came due to Officer Neighbor's concern for his own safety.  I was not asked to use karate moves to apprehend any drug dealers...while it's true that karate is not my forte, the warrior yoga pose can be quite intimidating.  So alas,  I'll not be written up in any national, or local, publication for my heroism.  No You-Saved-A-Policeman's-Life Award is headed my way.

And now the good part.  We--Officer Neighbor and I...spent the afternoon and early evening in a couple of warrant pursuits, a traffic check, radar detecting, and investigating a disturbance call with lights flashing and legally going through red lights...obviously the most fun for me!  At one stop, while Officer Neighbor knocked at a door, I diligently checked the outbuildings (remaining in the car, of course!)--because we all know how bad guys run out the back door and hide in sheds.  I had a machine gun, or was it an AK-47, or maybe it was a handgun beside me, so knew I could take down the perp (see I'm even learning the language).  And there are those who say TV programs aren't educational...  Perhaps here I should suggest an award for patience for Officer Neighbor...

For a policeman this day wouldn't be considered terribly eventful.  But this new experience gave me another perspective to consider.  As we drove from place to place and I witnessed Officer Neighbor carrying out his duties, I realized the simple act of exiting his vehicle brought his safety into question.  As we drove with lights flashing and sirens blaring, I saw the risk to police and others as well.  In other words, even in a small community, stress for police officers is a constant reality.  Yes, they choose the career, but most of us don't enter our workplace with daily safety being our major concern.

I've been acquainted with Officer Neighbor going on eight years.  I have high regard for him and the integrity with which he carries out his duties.  I'm also not so naive to believe that ALL law enforcement works from those standards--I taught diversity classes too many years to believe that.

My experience yesterday was good.  I get a special feeling in my heart when I see lights flashing and sirens blaring and watch cars pull over to respect the needs of emergency vehicles--Officer Neighbor said that respect is not a given.  He has to be diligent when he takes the liberties his badge affords.

So, an enjoyable undertaking.  An opportunity to learn. Officer Neighbor is one of the good guys!

   A Bucket List item checked off.  What's next?

 

Looking skyward...

I have the most amazingly talented friends:  

Crafters 

Painters

Writers

Quilters 

 Photographers 

 Jewelry Designers 

 Decorators... 

artists at all levels.  

They listen to the whispers of their soul 

and with passion honor their heart's desire.

I saw this quote and thought of them all.  

When once you have tasted flight,

you will walk the earth with our eyes turned skywards;

for there you have been,

and there you will always long to return.

                --- Leonardo DaVinci

Skin Horses and Magic Fairies Teach Us...

For the past 25 years, my major focus has been about becoming the person I'd lost as I trudged through most of my life in survival mode.   Over and over, I asked the questions:  Why did it take so long to learn this?  Why wasn't I smarter at 25? and Why am I going around this bend AGAIN??   

Then one day--or more realistically, a slowly-by-slowly process--I saw a new someone in the mirror--a someone whose heart had found peace and a reasonable amount of wisdom.

Recently a friend posted the following on Facebook--and I realized that I'd been too hasty during my youth.  Perhaps if I'd shopped more in the Children's Department at my local book shop I would have understood that finding oneself takes time....

“You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby.

But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”                                                                      

                                                                                  ―  Margery Williams

                                                                                        The Velveteen Rabbit

Are Four-Letter Words REALLY Bad?

Language is an interesting topic.  What is proper in one setting is looked down upon in another.   I think of myself as fairly well educated, and certainly articulate on subjects I'm familiar with.   So I'm not lacking in vocabulary when I admit it's quite easy to use certain words in certain situations that give me greater satisfaction than the more polite, O for goodness sake.

Living alone, I have no one holding me accountable to any one particular standard in word usage.   I can say most anything in Gilly's presence as long as I have a smile on my face...

So when I trip on the vacuum cord or my computer and/or IPhone speaks in a language only understood by those 16 and under, I immediately take this as an opportunity to exercise my vocal cords with one-syllable terms not at all related to the situation but which bring great relief to my stress level.

My first memories of saying the inappropriate--according to my childless (though expert in all parenting) uncle--resulted in my mouth being washed out with soap.  Sad to say, this punishment didn't have the intended effect.  One individual in my adult life--who shall remain anonymous--attempted the use of shame after I said damn--that didn't work either.  While recognizing and admitting to this long-held habit, I must include that a filter falls into place when I'm around children--well usu...ally.  (Correspondence with my grandchildren might be necessary for complete accuracy on this point.)

I don't mean to offend--though I admit to feeling a funny bone tickle in the occasional irreverent.  My use of the four-letter word is almost never at a person--well, not in their presence.    So I'm not pledging to give up on these words/phrases...though I might consider the hand gestures that--only on rare occasions--go with them...

It took me about a second before I realized I'd done it again.  

My mouth seriously needed a chaperone.   

                          --- Elise Allen

Admission...without pride or Sell-by Date

After spending more hours scrubbing than one appliance deserves, I kne-w-w-w-w disclosure was imminent ...well, only if I completely disregard personal pride and dignity.

I hate refrigerator cleaning!  (I have heard that confession is good for the soul...)  Perhaps a few sessions in therapy would take me to the origin of this painful admission...could also help me with the attitude adjustment I sorely need.  But today, with company coming this weekend (hoping they don't read this and decide the I-5 corridor to Mary's B&B is not the best chosen route), I decided the task could no longer be put aside.  I plowed ahead.  First emptying the shelves and doors; then dismantling the in-nerds. That took perhaps 25 minutes.  The white interior, after a good scrub, then clean drawer liners now looked wonderful!  Job well done!

Then I turned around and saw my counters--FULL of 1/2 empty/1/2 eaten food containers--with an occasional mold peeking around the lids.  When had I bought all this?  I couldn't remember using this salad dressing, lemon juice, ketchup (I don't even like ketchup!), jams, chocolate topping, mayonnaise, wine vinegar, etc.   Even Gilly stood at a distance.  Obviously, the next job is REALLY why I don't like this experience.  I am also reminded, as I look over the mess, that I rarely check the Sell-by/Use by dates.

I won't go into just how far the dates went back in history--I do have some dignity.  But I will say that most of the labels are no longer found on grocery shelves....

Now the most-hated job is completed!!  The refrigerator looks lovely--albeit a bit empty.   Smells clean!  Everything in its place.  Wanna come over for dinner...before disaster hits once again?
 

I keep the ketchup in the fridge, 

though from now on I’m going to keep it in the bottle. 

Less messy, I figure.

                                   ―  Jarod Kintz

Intention...

When I first began yoga about four years ago, our instructor spoke about intention:  Why do we take yoga?  What do we want to accomplish?  and more personally, On what aspect of my life do I want to focus?  Intention is not about perfection.  It's about where I put my energy.  Some might look at intention as a sort of prayer.

For a year or so, my intention involved Jen and her battle with cancer.  Then, slowly, I realized that in order to be there for her, I wanted physical, emotional and spiritual health.  My intention took that direction.

As I contemplated this new year and yoga, I decided on a more core issue--self-love and acceptance.   In years past, I've spent time in therapy and read lots of books trying to understand this concept since much of my background taught that self-love means selfishness.

Yesterday a good friend gave me a quotation by Dawn Neader.  After reading it, I saw that by first-person-ing it, I had a beautiful definition of self-love and acceptance--which, of course, omits the self-criticism and negativity that can so easily accompany my thoughts. 

My heart remains full.

My soul is free to play and dance in the wind.

Peace is living in my heart.

Energy is my best friend.

Good health is my companion.

Adventure fills my days.

My eyes sparkle with joy.

My tears well up with gratitude.

I am held in the arms of loved ones.

I feel the joy of giving love.

Creativity is a given.

Every day of my life.

Major embarrassment

If I were completely honest, it would take several pair of hands and feet to count the embarrassing moments in my life--several more if you add in the other occasions on my daughters' lists.  We all have them--and for the most part, after years gone by, our chagrin turns to laughter.

In junior high--now called middle school--I was a majorette in a small town in Ohio.  O how I loved being a majorette--and I was good...well, for a majorette in a small town in Ohio.  Our band director was a man we all adored.  He could be tough, but his sense of humor poked and prodded us to greatness--OK, perhaps goodness.  

At one school program, the band played in front of the stage while the majorettes were featured on stage.   We performed our routine in unison, and then each, one-at-a-time, stepped front and center to execute our own specialty--in my case, twirling the baton on one finger and throwing it high in the air and catching it on return.   I rarely ever missed catching it. 

That night--auditorium filled with parents and townspeople--I walked to the center of the stage for my featured single.  The baton moved through my legs and around my neck with great speed and accuracy.  Then came the earmark of my performance.  I twirled expertly in the necessary rhythm.  The baton went into the air and at just the right second returned to my index finger.  Beautifully executed!  Perfectly completed!  Applause reigned--as did the broken glass from the six stage lights my baton had taken out above me.  With all my precision of movement--I had not anticipated the somewhat lower ceiling on the stage.

I finished with the other majorettes, then went running down to the locker room crying my eyes out.  I sat on the bench with friends trying to console me.  I'd have nothing to do with it.  I'd done the most embarrassing thing in the world in front of thousands--OK, well maybe a couple of hundred!  Then I felt an arm around me and a soft voice in my ear.  It was the principle's daughter--a gorgeous and smart senior whom I thought was absolutely perfect!  She said little but her arm allowed my heart to return to its normal cadence.

Yep--I lived through that and many more!

The embarrassment of a situation can,

once you are over it,

be the funniest time in your life.

                                         --- Miranda Hart

Little Reminders Come in Handy...

I have in my study what I call a meditation table--which is probably a misnomer since I rarely sit before it and contemplate.  In fact, I just recently downsized to a smaller area.  It holds the icons that represent the values I choose to live by.  During the day as I move in and out of that room, I often glance over at the symbols.  The visual calls me to accountability:

A candle holder represents Community--a reminder of its importance.
A tiny Buddha calls me to Wisdom and not arrogance.
A Goddess of Compassion--to draw me to empathy for others.
My wish to live life with Passion is spelled out on a rock.
Namaste--a symbol to honor the spirit in all.
Om written on another rock--a beautiful affirmation.
A shell my mother gave me when I was a child.  She told me to hold it to my ear and I could hear the ocean.  I do hear a sound--I don't know if it's the ocean--but it does remind me to be willing to Listen.
A pewter mold that illustrates my Continuous Journey in life.
A yin yang icon advises me to stay in Balance.

We tend to think of meditation in only one way.

But life itself is a meditation.

                 --- Raul Julia

New Year = New Energy!

I love the first few weeks after the new year begins!  It's my time of organizing, reorganizing, getting-rid-of and giving my world a fresh look.  I have a pile of donations--already taken away one load!  My clothes closet has fewer items--but without those pieces that receive little or no attention.  My craft supplies are relocated to more convenient places--and boxes labelled due to memory issues that won't be discussed at this time... 

Finding new authors is an exciting adventure.  I've already made several trips to the library--celebrating that I can now choose most any day of the week to go there!! Even my Book Club is making some major changes which are refreshing!

I've also made an invitation list--friends to have over for soup--the perfect food for this time of year. 

No, I'm not a Pollyanna--I just want to keep my mind away from the gray slug of most winter mornings in southern Oregon. 

Your attitude is like a box of crayons that color your world. 

Constantly color your picture gray, and your picture will always be bleak. 

Try adding some bright colors to the picture by including humor, 

and your picture begins to lighten up.  

                                            --- Allen Klein

January 1--New Beginnings...

Happy New Year!!

The first day of this new year, I awoke to see two of the most beautifully expressive brown eyes looking lovingly into mine.  His nose was within an inch of my face--yeah, I know...morning breath, etc.  Then, as I smiled and spoke softly--wishing him a Good Morning--Gilly's tail began to wag an excited beat.  Not a bad way to begin the first day of 2015--those words will be understood ONLY by my animal-loving friends...

Today I'm beginning a 14-day challenge suggested by a friend.  Using the Inquiry Method, I'll write about my life--my present life--seeking to make discoveries about what I enjoy and want to keep; what I don't and want to get rid of; and what I choose to change.  The goal, of course, is greater empowerment!  It is accomplished on such a positive note--because I take responsibility for my life and choices.  I like that!   No blaming--just new choices!  

It is very cold this morning--but I'm looking forward to walking my brown-eyed friend in this gorgeous sunshine.  

Have a lovely day, and challenge yourself to something new!

And now we welcome the new year,

full of things that have never been. 

                                                     ― Rainer Maria Rilke