Resilience

Phoenix from the Ashes.Wikipedia commons.public domain

I love that word resilience.  It sort of bounces off my tongue.  It feels good to say it, hopeful somehow. 

Who are some of the most resilient people you know?  I am thinking of people who have gone through holocausts, rapes, murders, the loss of their families.  And still they go on.  They set it aside and do what has to be done to survive.  Think about all the natural disasters around the world, and the way people pick up and go on, find ways to create a new way of life for themselves.  It takes time to rebuild.  And sometimes in the re-creating, a simpler way of life is chosen.  Priorities are shifted.  New alliances form.  New families come together. 

As I age, I am coming to understand more and more each day, just how unimportant possessions really are.  Recently I bought a new camera because my not so old camera had been lost or stolen a couple of months ago.  I have felt bereft without a camera.  I love to take photos, and often do it quite well.  I got impatient and went to buy a camera the other day.   I had a little bit of extra money this month.  But of course by the time I bought the camera, I was over budget.  It didn't feel good.  And I chalked it up to simple reality.  Life is so often like that.

Last evening after "ghost practice", I came home to find a package from MD.  He had sent me a really lovely camera.  I opened the package and felt a deep sense of gratitude to him, and once again, noticed just how out of touch I sometimes am.  Out of touch or out of step.  Wow.  What generosity on his part.  What impatience on mine.  I suppose the next karmic test will stretch out my need even further, so I can suffer a bit more and learn to be patient in the face of my desires.

Anyway, the possessions just aren't the most important thing.  Love is.  Being present to this amazing thing called life IS.  True resilience I think could have waited for a new camera a bit longer. 

Maybe the store will take it back. 

Stormy Weather

Flood photo from Fema library of photos -- public domain

The newspaper has been running articles about the flood of 2006 here in our neck of the woods.   It's been five years.  We had water in the basement.  Probably 3 to 3 1/2 feet of it.  The furnace had to be replaced.  THAT was an expensive outcome.  I lost most of my photographs.  People were killed in that flood, driving off highways that were washed out.  I remember driving home one night after dark.  It was really scary.  The rain coming down in sheets, and it was very difficult to see the road.  People lost their homes, some even watched them float away in the water. 

After a flood like that, I am always amazed at the response of the community.  There is, of course an outpouring of generosity from some, and pulling together to get through things.  But very often, people look to blame someone after the fact.  We are the "intelligent" people who feel the need to build homes at the edge of waterways.  We know where the flood plains are, and yet...still.

2006 was a dreadful year for many.  It was a dreadful year for me.  I had fallen into a deep depression, some days just not able to push to get out of bed.  The rising waters seemed to be in league with the rising hopeless and grief that was inside of me.  Something changed for me that year.  I think most specifically, I felt as though I lost this wonderful gift of faith that I had known all of my life.  There had always been miracles and syncronicities around every corner.  Having grown up in so much fear and violence, I've always struggled with depression.  But the connection to God, to Jesus, to Spirit always kept me full of faith and helped me to bounce back.  Somehow those amazing little gifts of the holy in the everyday ordinary, had ceased to shimmer.  What was the message?  I was supposed to grow up I suppose.  But the years since then have been so full of wrong turns, confusion and emptiness that I just don't understand what really happened.  Two of the people who had been such strong friends, who believed in me, who loved me deeply, are no longer part of my life in the same way.  And I find myself adrift.  It was my own doing.  

Life is ever full of change.  And the only thing any of us can do in the face of it, is to do our best to adapt, and to continue to love as best we can.  Chaos comes in the form of floods, tornados, illness, depression, violence, war, earthquakes...life is always shifting, creating new realities.  Will we be up for the challenge?

Grace...

public domain image

Grace was one of the words we wrote about this evening.  A fifteen minute write.  Here's how mine turned out...with a minimal bit of editing.

Always a kid with 10 thumbs, two left feet, my brother's sarcastic "Grace" ringing in my ears.  "Tom boy...Caris is a tom boy!", but it seems to me, and seemed back then as well, that even tom boys have a certain amount of the ethereal thing that always escaped me.  You know--hitting a softball so hard, so far, so perfectly, it flies far beyond the boundary of the fence, arcing out toward the universe and eternity.

These days grace has taken on new meanings in my head.  "For gracious sakes, my grandmother used to say, her conversation so generously peppered with the word, the concept, the reality.

Grace comes at the most unexpected times, surprising and colorful, a glimpse of a humming bird through the dining room window earlier in the day.  She was irridescent grace herself.   Floating on wings beating more beats per second than I can quite imagine, she looks at me and moves back to the waiting flowers.

I suppose most deeply, I have known grace in the losses--I remember my friend Mark, who dropped one day, far away in some unknown restaurant, his heart given out on him at the age of 37.  Later that night Marsha called and told me the news, there in my seminary dorm, and a torrent of tears followed me to sleep that night as rain fell, bouncing on the pavement outside my window.  He came to me in my dreams.  I heard him before I saw him, as was almost always the case.  Where Marcus went, there was laughter.  In my dream our eyes met, and we laughed like children sharing our own private joke.  We held hands as we walked down to the Jordan River, that famous place, and Mark dove into water which shimmered in the sun.  I woke, his laughter echoing from my dreams.  And so I wiped away my tears that morning and got up to make bread, because that was something Marcus loved to do.  He was famous for his bread and his lasagne, his good humor, and the wonderful depth of conversation to be had over a cup of coffee...always a holy conversation.  Mark, whose life was colored with rainbows of grace shared it most generously with those of us who loved him and so very often, the stranger where he would always find the face of Christ.

Same Sex Marriage passes in New York...

http://www.freeimages-photos.com

Same Sex Marriage has passed in New York State.  A landmark decision.  I'm a couple of days late on talking about it, but it is good news.  The people in the local paper who opposed it all had a sort of mean look about them...squinty eyes and tight lips.  The one guy was worried about the financial impact it would have on Social Security...surviving spouses being able to draw on their late partner's Social Security.  His comment seemed rather small and ungenerous.

I am thinking of some good friends of mine who have been together for over 20 years now.  And another gay couple who have been together for 15 years.  And I wonder about people who can't put their minds around the concept of that kind of commitment and love between two people of the same sex.  People who would deny a surviving spouse social security because he or she is the same sex as the deceased.  What difference does it make?  What makes it such a threat?  If everyone pays into the system, why shouldn't everyone benefit?

It's uncomfortable, that's why.  It's uncomfortable to think of Aunt Jane, the spinster, who lived with her friend, might not have been a spinster at all.  Or the two fellows down the street that share a house...what are they really doing together behind closed doors?

If you're uncomfortable, the answer is simple.  Keep your mind away from the bedroom.  I don't know gay people who go around worried about what's happening behind the closed doors of their heterosexual neighbors.  There is just too much voyeurism in our society. 

People are people.  Love is love.  It is a simple thing, and it just so happens that 10% of the population is drawn to people of their same gender.  Live and let live. 

Or better yet...join the celebration!

mean bugs...

Tissue, cold seven up, cough drops, acetamenephin are sitting on my bedside table.  PM was laughing at me because I called her from my cell phone to request a quart jar of ice water and a cold can of seven up.  (It hurts to yell down.)  Yesterday, when I still had some energy, before I got REALLY sick, I made a pot of chicken noodle soup.  They say there is real value in it...the garlic perhaps.  It turned out wonderfully.  Too bad I can't appreciate it more! 

last night I was awake all night long.  Dozed off once or twice for 20 minutes, but mostly coughed and watched "Frasier" reruns.  It makes me laugh!  Laughing is good when one feels like she's been pummeled by a professional boxer.  "Poor me!"  Don't worry, I'm laughing at myself.  We all get bugs. 

The kiddos are playing baseball out my back window, and I've been hearing the Star Spangled Banner over the loud speaker every once in a while today, and lots of screaming, clapping, calling out in voices both adult and young. 

Time for a movie.

Shine On

thanks to public-domain-images.com

One of my favorite songs to play is "This Little Light of Mine..."  Not the mamby pamby version, but the one with the gospel feel to it.  (I got really annoyed when a few years ago someone used it as advertising for a weight loss thing.) 

We all have that divine spark in us, and some of us shine more brightly than others.  But each of us, and I mean that quite literally, each of us has a gift to bring to the world, and we should be doing all that we can do in order to bring it.  There was a quote I read the other day that said something to the effect that it's not about what the world needs, but getting out and doing the thing that brings us to life.  I would argue that it is doing the thing that brings us life that the world desparately needs.  And often, it is in meeting a need that we find the place where we shine the most brightly.  I don't buy into selfishness, and it being all about us all the time.  It's about giving our best to the world.  About letting our light shine as best we can.

Well...I've got some shining to do around the house today.  My room needs some cleaning before the telephone guy arrives. 

enjoy the day...

Forgotten?

public domain image

The other day I was thinking about all the people in prisons and insane asylums, in hospitals, on city streets and homeless shelters who die forgotten by family and friends, forgotten by society, and it would seem, forgotten by God.  People who have lost everything they once had.  Or perhaps they have lived their entire lives in anonymity.  Imagine that if you will?  Once, many years ago, I was in a group and we were talking about some of our greatest fears, (it was a group of women), and we all worried that we would end up as bag ladies, wandering some city street.  We all fear becoming invisible, unseen and unloved.

There is poverty everywhere.  The forgotten are even here in the United States, a "developed" country, where those in emotional distress are tossed away and forgotten like so much baggage. A country who imprisons those who struggle with backgrounds of abuse and poverty, who throws people away to be raped and abused and terrorized and sometimes killed, in a system  where "cruel and unusual punishment" seems to be the norm. 

These are hard things to think about, but people in pain are pushed further and further away from the inner circles of society where others believe themselves to be "safe."  We use ideologies and theologies like "karma" and "the law of attraction", to separate ourselves from those who suffer so deeply.  To walk among the suffering means that we risk losing ourselves there.  And it is true.  But fear is the real law of attraction.  When we separate ourselves from the things we fear, those very things seem to become larger in our lives.  When we cling to success and material things, we lose so much of what is real in this world, and so much of what is a real connection to God and to Love. 

There is much beauty and wonder and joy in this world.  But I wonder if we can ever truly know it and see it until we have learned to love the unloveable, to find beauty in that which is ugly, to find peace in the midst of chaos, to see the unseen, and to give voice to the powerless.

just a quickie...

The morning is a humid one.  I was awake quite early and off for a walk with Madeline.  Good thing we went early, because it is thundering out there and rain is coming down pretty steadily now.  I felt some of the first raindrops at the very end of our walk. 

Waking early, I suppose it is either the moon's cycle that effects my sleeping patterns, or else the raucous creativity of our writing group which happened to meet last night.  Maybe a mixture of both.  Writing together in a group generates such energy, not to mention MUCH laughter!  Last night's favorite word was "marriage."  My goodness there were funny things written...and not necessarily what you would have expected!

Well this morning I'm a bit stuck.  Falling back asleep here at the computer I am.  So I'll leave this short.  Here's to a wonderful day!  

The Reservoir

A cool breeze drifted through the trees lining the pathway, their branches and leaves moving and whispering as dappled sunlight skipped along like fairies on the forest floor.  It was a perfect morning for a walk, and dog Madeline agreed.  I smiled, watching her run, her hindquarters just to the right of her front legs.  It's the hound in her.  There was a deep blue sky above us, the solid earth beneath our feet, and there to the left was the smooth as glass lake.  Reflections of the trees played on the water, as a gaggle of geese glided over the surface.  There were more than a dozen goslings, and 7 adults swimming there together.  A bullfrog was making his deep throated calls.  He sounded like a very big one.

As we walked I kept swiping away the invisible spider webs which were tickling my arms.  I wouldn't mind the webs so much if I knew the spiders were off someplace else.  But one never does. The other day there was a little black one on my arm standing on his back legs and rubbing his front ones together, as though preparing for a feast!  It looked diabolical.  I stopped to gaze at what looked like an extra thick thread of web, hanging from a tree.  Was there a spider at the end?  No, but it kind of hooked around.  After staring for a minute I finally figured out it was a piece of fishing line, left by some fisher person.

On the way back we took a detour near the water and I poked around, looking for Fred.  Fred was the name I gave the baby snapping turtle I rescued last fall from this wild household that bought my futon.  He was in a fishbowl and he looked awfully sad.  It was late fall, and I was unsure about what to do, and when to release the poor thing.  A Quaker friend was appalled that I had a snapping turtle in a terrarium at home.  She adamant that poor Fred be released.  I was in total agreement, but was not sure about the timing.  "It might be better to release him in the spring.  After all it's November."

Thank you PDphoto.org

"Oh it's plenty warm."  she said.  But I thought to myself, "are you an expert on turtles?  Do you know for sure he will be safe?"  I let him go, but regretted it later, certain he had been plucked up by some other animal.  He was probably too cold to dig into the mud.  It was still pretty warm...but I just didn't know.  Poor Fred.  I probably should have kept him until it really was warm again. 

Let me know if you hear from Fred.

Strawberries

Public Domain Photo:  thank you PDphoto.org

Lately, if you look for them, you can find locally grown strawberries.  They aren't those gigantic things in the plastic boxes with very little taste...nope, they are often quite small.  Sometimes sweet, sometimes a bit tart.  Strawberries have so many wonderful uses.  Strawberry Rhubarb pie, strawberry ice cream, strawberry tea....

Many years ago, when I was still a short, small person, we would travel the 45 minutes it took to get to the little town in Nebraska where my mother's parent's lived, and where my mother had grown up.  It was a very small place, but beautiful.  It was large enough to have a school, a town hall, a post office, a home for elders and of course, the gathering place for teenagers, a bowling alley.  There were copious trees, well kept lawns, large, victorian homes.  Grandma and grandpa had moved into town after having run a small, family farm for many years.  They had retired and passed the farm along to their oldest boy.  A middle aged fellow by the time our story begins.  Uncle W. was a large man, with a wonderful sense of fun, who used to tease me until I couldn't stop laughing.  He had a way with kids, and had 3 of his own.  He had married a kind woman, who was a hard worker and quite shy.  Second was Uncle K and Aunt V.  Oh my heavens, what a pair those two were!  Aunt V. was always thin as a rail and on the irritable side.  though she was quite nice underneath her brusque side. (Later when Uncle K. had retired and was doing some gourmet cooking, my Aunt V. gained some weight.  Not a lot.  But she was no longer so irritable.  I guess being on a diet all your life creates some irritability.)   When the uncles were together, there was always lots of laughter, and no one was exempt from their teasing. 

My grandmother was a woman who never said a bad word about anyone...at least that I knew about, until she was in her nineties and was one day irritated with a fellow nursing home resident.  That day we were all so shocked that her comment was met with utter silence, round eyes, and for a moment one might have thought that the world had stopped, right then and there.  She had always been kind to her two dozen grandchildren, and later her many great grandchildren.  Every year there were birthday, Christmas and Easter cards.  She and grandpa, lived in a white house which a porch swing and lovely gardens on the south side of town.  Less than a block away, farm fields stretched in the distance as far as the eye could see.  My great aunt M. lived next door to them, in a house with her bachelor brother.  The house smelled strongly of moth balls and something else that was not quite identifiable.  Auntie M.'s was always the first stop, as she kept a container of candy for the nieces and nephews who would often visit.  Afterwards we would often raid her garden for fresh raspberries.  Then it was back to the front yard where we would roll wildly down the little hill, until we were dizzy beyond belief, and often one of us would get nauseous and the adults would get annoyed. 

Grandma's house always smelled wonderful, and there would be a mouthwatering Sunday dinner in process when we arrived.  I would then politely ask my grandmother if it would be alright to go and pick some strawberries.  She would say that there weren't many there (I imagine she had picked and processed them earlier on the weekend), but I would happily go foraging through the leaves, and I would always find one or two of those perfect strawberries there.  They were the sweetest I've ever tasted.

I always think of Grandma when I eat an especially sweet strawberry.  She had a gift for growing them. 

Sunday Mornings...

It is a sunny, beautiful day, and here I am, sitting in my room again, writing.  Sunday mornings I wake up, shower and dress and think about what church I might like to attend, and then usually wind up either going for a walk or writing here in my blog, working on some poetry, my forgiveness ritual, or music.

Once upon a time, church was the focal point of my life, a place that was welcoming and when I attended, which was usually several times a week, I would experience something of God there.  My emotions were all wrapped up in those experiences.  Scripture held many messages that felt relevant and important to my life.

What has happened?  Church has become a place that feels dangerous and even cruel, where Jesus' message is twisted and manipulated in order to fit peoples' agendas; in order to say, this one belongs, and this one doesn't.  And as I look back on my own history, those things were true about me when I was part of it.

Over the years I became more and more of an outcast as I tried to be true to who I am.  And even though every decision has been made with integrity, compassion and kindness toward myself and others, as well as dignity, not every decision has lined up with what the "good Christian folk" believe is right and true.

But what does one do with the gift of music?   And how does one regain a sense of safety?

Another lonely Sunday.

Small Wonders

A friend of mine sends out a weekly email diary called "Small Wonders", in which she describes encounters with nature.  I look forward to receiving those pieces about the natural world because it also gives me a glimpse into her life and things that are happening.  She's off being a park ranger this summer.  I feel myself just a little bit envious.

This morning I took the first walk I've had since I twisted my leg last weekend.  My knee is stronger, if not pain free.  Bending it is the hardest part...especially going up and down the stairs.  But the path we walked upon was nice and even, with only one incline that wasn't too steep.  The most difficult part of the walk was running into other dogs.  We didn't go out as early as I like to go, and so there were other dogs and walkers there.  Madeline had to stay on the leash part of the time.  She can be a bit of an alpha female every once in a while when she runs into another alpha female, and then the fur flies.  She doesn't like dominant female dogs and she doesn't like woodchucks.  The woodchucks she chases across the field.  Once in a while they don't make it and so then there is a showdown...much barking and gnashing of teeth, and hissing by the woodchuck.  They can be fierce little creatures.  And we can get stuck there while she circles the woodchuck, lunging at it...but too scared to actually kill it.  Poor Madeline.  She and Pitty Pat the cat had a stare down this morning.  Madeline tried to hide behind my legs, but there wasn't a lot of room in the space.  Pitty Pat's fur stood up, and she looked haughtily up at the beast who is Madeline.  Madeline cowered.  And Pitty Pat turned and walked slowly away, her nose in the air.

Well, more job hunting here today on my computer.  Excercises for my knee.  Lots of water.  And I suspect the fan will need to be turned on eventually.

On with the day!

Top of the Mornin' to ya!

photo by Connie Schroeder, copyright 2010

It is exactly 12:32 am here in upstate New York, and I am wide awake.  Well, maybe not "wide" awake.  Maybe awake is the more operative word here.  At any rate, I am awake and unable to sleep, and there is a list of possible reasons this is the case.  The most obvious reason is that I had a 20 oz cup of coffee this morning, Hazelnut Cream, when I rarely drink coffee these days.  I rarely consume products with caffeine, although I will admit to loving Earl Grey.  Only Twinings will do!!!  That is usually when I wake up, and I barely dip the bag for more than 30 seconds.  A 20 oz cup of coffee is a definite overload on this nearly- caffeine-free-zone that is my body.

A second reason could be that I am just wound up after our Tuesday evening writers workshop.  Gosh we had a good time together, writing and reading and listening.  So many stories.  So many thoughts.  So much history we each bring to a word or a concept.  One of our words was "rapture"...well, you had to know that would come up in a group of feminists where four out of five of us have been doing church work of some sort or another for a number of years.  None of us wrote about "the rapture" however.  We took the other approach to the word, and there were some lovely things written about that state!

photo by Connie Schroeder, copyright 2010

Well who wouldn't be buzzing with 20 ounces of caffeine moving through her system and creativity flapping wildly in the wind?

Then I came home and found an email about a job possibility on the Oregon coast.  WORK???  Could it be a real possibility after all this time?  Could a door be opening?  It's really too early to get all worked up about this, but I just can't help myself.  Oregon is my favorite place on earth, and the coast is such a good place for my body.  No allergies all summer last year, and how I love to walk long walks on the beach. 

I suspect however, despite the writer's group and a job possibility, along with the 20 ounces of caffeine, that the real reason my eyes are open and my heart can't rest, is that a friend whom I love is quite ill and in pain.  His wife, my dear, dear friend, tells me that she thinks he will be leaving us soon.  And she doesn't know about herself if he is gone.  They have been sweethearts for so many years, I imagine she finds it hard to think about herself continuing on without her life partner.  I so want her to stay.  The world will be a different place for me when I lose these wise old friends of mine. 

Changes, heart wrenching or joyful, ask so much of us.

Wrong...

What makes it so difficult to look at someone else's life with perspective?  It seems as though when someone reacts to some stimulus in their life, differently than perhaps "I" do, (and I mean the universal "I" here), I immediately make a judgment about that person as weak or "Loser" or "less than..." because they struggle in a different way.  Perhaps I am stronger in some ways, and it is in that very strength that compassion should blossom.  So perhaps in my judgment I become weak.

Does it all just sound like double talk?  Maybe it is.

Love each other.  That can be a near impossibility.  Sometimes the best I can manage is simply to keep my mouth shut, and not let loose a bunch of negativity or gossip or meaness.

I woke up feeling mean this morning, thinking of situations and people and mean spirited things to say.  I woke up angry is the deal.  So I try sitting with my anger and take care of it.  Not an easy task.  I try to listen to it, and it has on these boxing gloves that change size from time to time, and so when I ask what I can do, it says "take that..." and I wind up with the proverbial black eye.  That's the thing about anger.  It so often turns back on you, even when you're trying to do the right thing.  Maybe especially when you are.  I haven't quite learned how to float like a butterfly when it starts punching at me...making judgments of me, telling me I have it all wrong.  IT however, certainly knows how to sting like a bee!  Like a hornet's nest some days.  Telling me I'm wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong...all wrong and wrong again.

Peace dear ones.  And the best to you in dodging your own anger while trying to take care of it.

Slow Start

public domain images

Missing MD this morning, that helpful fellow, who made life easier this past week.  Sharing household chores makes them more doable somehow, enjoyable.

Driving over to the city of waterfalls, water was falling from the sky.  Intense, sheets of it, and even putting the windsheild wipers on high didn't clear the glass enough at times to be able to see clearly.  The rain eased up just a little at one point, we were sitting at a traffic light waiting, when we noticed a man and a little girl crossing the street.  What in the world was that they were holding on their heads?  MD and I burst into gales of laughter at the same moment.  Garbage can lids!  MD thought it was a practical solution to their dilemna.  I, on the other hand worried about the sanitary conditions under those lids.  But who knows.  Maybe the lids were brand new or cleaned out.

public domain images

Driving home from the city of waterfalls I found myself turning one of my "Cherish the Ladies" cds up high enough to drown out the loneliness and low enough not to leave permanent hearing loss.  Love those wild Irish songs where they all just about go mad, playing in 20 different directions with 3 or 4 instruments until you want to beg them to stop, you're so out of breath just listening to it.  I was listening to one of those when I pulled into the Lily Pad, a great place to stop for fruits and vegetables.  Getting out of my car I heard that familiar voice, adding the prices up, avocado, $1.50, $2.50, one quart of tomatoes $4.00.  $4.00 one quart of strawberries  8.00.  The voice was familiar.  I thought it was John, the owner of the Lily Pad, but no, it was in fact his son, who sounds so much like his father it's uncanny.  I used to make a trip over just to watch him add all that stuff up in his head so quickly.  A human calculator. This week the piles and piles of peaches, bananas, kirby cucumbers and tomatoes drew me.  Not a huge crowd for a Sunday afternoon, so I took my time wandering over the sawdust floors, admiring the geraniums.  When I finally got to John's son, who has grown into quite a nice looking young man, I watched to see if I could keep up with the calculations.  I managed this time.  $10.50 for a week's worth always thrills that thrifty part of me.  The quality is terrific.

I think I dreamt about John and his produce calculations...hearing them on and off through the night, perhaps wandering the stalls of the Lily Pad in my dreams.  When I woke up I laid there in bed reading, not really wanting to know how my leg was doing this morning.  Of course I couldn't stay there too long, as certain things needed tending to.  When I did stand up I found the pain was less.  The leg is healing.  Maybe I'll even do some exercises for it today, and tomorrow take Madeline for a long walk.

public domain images

Gratitude

The past several days I've been spending time with a friend for whom gratitude is as natural as breathing.  I am sure if I asked, MD would be honest with me about some of my shortcomings, but instead, I hear about how wonderful a person I am, how beautiful a place upstate New York is, what great food we're eating, what marvelous memories we're creating.  It's enough to put a saint to shame!

My memories of the past several days have included falling and twisting my knee, and having it so painful I hopped to the bathroom.  That's quite a feat for me.  So I laid on my bed while MD happily went out for a walk, possibly looking for a pharmacy and some stuff to bring down the swelling and ease the pain for me.  There wasn't a pharmacy open.  And MD got caught in the rain.  The poor guy came in, hair soaked and mangy looking, and at first glance it looked as though he'd gotten a new, snazzy shirt.  But on second glance, it was clear that it was simply about as rained upon as it could get.  I laughed.  He went off to his room to dry off and change, and the host came in to see how she could offer to help.  She thought of a glass of wine.  Ahhhh...perfect.  Pillows for propping my knee and  wine.  Which put me out like a light. 

Today I sent my friend back home, and I came back home this evening to be meowed at by cats, demanding their evening repast.  I just said:  "Complain, complain, complain...didn't you learn anything from MD?"  But then I didn't change my ways either.  I'm still moaning about my poor leg, and now my shoulder is added to the mix, because I've been using it to help me stand upright.  Poor Caris. 

Maybe someday I'll weigh in on the saintly side, instead of the curmudgeon side of things.  In the meantime, maybe I'll have a glass of wine and get a good night's sleep.  It won't get to be a habit, I promise! 

Pentecost

In the Christian Church year, today is Pentecost.  When I was involved in church, it was always one of my favorite celebrations.  It's fun

Lacking Inspiration

Fear Not....Right

Here I am at the service station this morning, after having gotten pulled over last night. One of my headlights isn't working. I don't know about you, but getting stopped by the police is right up there with root canals in my list of fears. And it doesn't really make sense. I always follow the rules. I knew I hadn't been speeding or making an illegal turn, and even if I had, then I would have paid the ticket and gone on my way. Instead my hands shake, my heart pounds and I have this strange need to suddenly clean up the back seat...as though he's making a housekeeping check. Of course doing that looks suspicious...like I'm trying to cover something up. Could I have something illegal there? Like an open bottle of liquor, or a stash of drugs, or, or, or.... Nothing of the sort. I rarely drink, and won't even have half a glass of wine if I'm driving. Drugs scare the heck out of me, and the doctor has to get me in a headlock to take any medications. I hate taking drugs of any sort. I pay my taxes. I have never in my life done harm to another man, woman or child in any way, shape or form, except perhaps my younger sister in one of our “disagreements” at ages 7 and 4. So what is the big deal?

It's the old PTSD stuff and authority figures. Major problems.

It's why I have trouble staying at a job. And I say staying, because my work is never in question. I'm conscientious. I am enthusiastic and take pride in doing a job well. I most often get along pretty well with people. But people are people, and usually, after a certain period of time passes, something will happen. Someone will abuse their power in some way, and that feels impossible to stick around for, or even try to work through. I tell myself I'm not helpless anymore. But the fear gets the best of me.

Pema Chodron tells a wonderful story about a warrior who has to defeat fear, and learns that what she has to do is not to do what he says to do. Even though he is huge and scary looking and he will get right in her face, the way to win the battle is simply not to act on the fear, even if he has her convinced. That can be a pretty tough order. That can even be an impossible thing for some folks.

Pema Chodron showed up in one of my dreams. It was strange. She would just appear, sitting on a bench with other people. I'd look again and she would be gone. I suppose the wisdom of her teachings is having an impact on my life. And that is a good thing. So a Buddhist nun is showing up in my dreams. I wish she'd stick around long enough that I could speak to her. Of course knowing me, I would probably be too shy to say the right thing, or ask the right question. But I'm usually a bit bolder in my dreams. Anything is possible in that strange land.

“Be Not Afraid.” That's always the time to sit up and pay attention when some angel shows up announcing something important in scripture. Of course it seems a little ridiculous to say that to some poor, bewildered human being who doesn't know what the heck is going on with all the light effects, and hosts of angels singing “Glory....” And besides that, even the most visionary of prophets never gets more than a glimpse of the bigger picture. And the people that angels appear to, and Jesus gets involved with, are just plain, ordinary people like you and me. “Be Not Afraid” just doesn't feel like quite the right greeting. A plain old “Hello, I'm an angel, and no, you are not schizophrenic or psychotic. You're just an ordinary person who is part of a bigger story, and I need to tell you something important. So listen up. Yes, I know you are so scared you're afraid you're going to pee your pants, but I promise, you're going to get through this. I'm here to help.”

That would be a bit more down to earth. But then, angels aren't particularly down to earth most of the time.

Fear Not my friend. Traffic tickets, police lights and sirens; tornados and floods and loss and trouble are part of a bigger picture. There is help about. Angels in disguise. And who knows but a Buddhist nun might show up in your dreams to calm you down, slow you down, make you think. And you too could find yourself typing a blog in a service station.

And what would be the point of that you say? Well...I don't know. I can't see the bigger picture.

Hot Weather

I am already sweating this morning...of course I've been out for a brisk walk with the dog at 6:30, so that may account for some of it.  But most of it is this hot, humid stuff.  My joints ache, and I am so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open most of the day.  This is the hardest time of the year for me in upstate New York.  Complain, complain, complain.  Where does it get us?  No place fast. 

So instead, I will think about the first fireflies I saw last night.  Just two.  and they weren't under the apple tree, where I usually see dozens. They were over by the lilac tree.  Soon enough the others will come and have a community dance out there in the back yard. 

This morning I was reading Pema Chodron again, and I appreciated the teaching.  We walk along in the ocean and a big wave comes and knocks us down.  We get up and we keep walking.  Even after water up our nose and sand in our face.  And after a while the waves will seem smaller.  That's what karma is like.  Is it karma?  Or is it just the way life is?  I find it hard to get my mind around the idea that we have payback for everything we do.  That children suffer because of something they've done in another lifetime. 

I guess for me, grace and forgiveness is my favorite thing about the Jesus road.  We walk along in the ocean and a big wave comes along and knocks us down.  This is life.  And life is full of suffering and difficulty.  We get back up and keep walking, even after we get water up our nose and sand in our face.  Continuing to walk is perhaps the sacrifice we talk about.  It is continuing to live and to give to others as best we can.  And if we keep walking each time we get knocked down, the waves sometimes get smaller.  Or maybe we learn to ride the waves.

We don't get to live in some happy, blissful Hollywood movie.  We struggle.  And that's ok.  But there is some joy mixed in with all the hard stuff.  There are surprises every day, if we keep our eyes open to them!  If we stay present to the moment, even the moments we get knocked down, we find the gifts in it all.  There are gifts, even in the suffering, and somehow it transforms into something else.  That is, if we allow ourselves the suffering.

Somehow in our society we get this idea that we're supposed to be happy all the time, upbeat and cheerful.  And it's really great to be around those kind of folks.  They get the popularity prizes lots of the time.  To be honest however, I enjoy the folks who are real.  Honest about their feelings.  People who try to find the treasures in the hard things, without being "perky" every moment of every day.  They are the treasures in this world.  But so often we're seeking out the popular folks...the happy people, that we miss the deeper gifts someone who knows and has experienced suffering can bring..

So the hot weather is not my favorite time of year, and I spend more time getting knocked down than I do on my feet.  But there are fireflies, and so many flowers that love the hot sun.  And lots of people like this time of year best of all.