Cut the Cord

Scout told me that he can’t shake the feeling that he has homework to do.  One of his friends agreed. Even though school is out, there is a black cloud following them that picks at them as they relax into summer. It’ s the feeling that they have homework waiting for them.

I smiled. Welcome to the adult world where there’s always grass that needs to be cut, laundry that needs to be washed, and people that need to be called.

But they don’t have any homework, just the nagging sensation that they should, so when I heard the phrase, “Cut the cord” today, it made me think of all the situations that we need to sever and let fly away.

• Will there be enough money to pay for insurance, food, clothing, etc tomorrow?
• What about the next day? And then the next?
• What if someone in the family gets sick? Really sick?
• How can I make sure Scout has all he needs to become an outstanding young man?
• Will I be a mean old woman when I grow old, or a dottering old nutcase?

Okay…as you can see…I’m making great progress toward the nutcase end of the spectrum.

I like the image of cutting the cord and letting those worries float away. As the Bible points out…I don’t accomplish a thing by gnawing on those thoughts and roping them around me.

So I think, this week, I’ll find something to let go of each day.  Today it will be anger.

I’ll let go of the anger at the neighbor who keeps coming over and peering through my window to see if I’m home. I know she’s just lonely and wants to visit.

I’ll let go of the anger about people who stand in the middle of grocery aisles or doorways to visit. They’re probably so involved in their conversation, they don’t realize where they are.

I’ll let go of my ire about the neighbor’s dog who uses my yard as his latrine. (It’s not the dog’s fault, is it?)

Ahhhh. I like this cutting the cord stuff. I feel lighter already.

Dogs Waiting With Cats

Even in the midst of crummy news, there are things to smile about.

Miss Kitty has a growth on the side of her mouth. It doesn’t seem to bother her a bit. She still presents mice at the back door step and is rolly-polly fat.

We hauled Miss Kitty to the vet this afternoon. I was in a pouty mood because my dentist had just told me that I needed a crown on a tooth, yet he can’t get it done before my insurance runs out. It seems he’s fully booked.

“Busier than I’ve been in several months,” he declared. It’s because of all the people laid off of work, trying to get dental work done before their insurance runs out.”  (Yeah, tell me about it.)

So our  family made it an outing to take Miss Kitty to the vet. I sat in  the cramped waiting room stewing  about  how to get a new crown, CowboyFan is sitting next to me wondering how much we actually need this cat (who never liked him). Scout is holding the cat which has lodged its head in Scout’s armpit, thus believing it’s hidden.

The door opens and a dog as big as a Shetland pony enters. It’s a Great Dane/ elephant mix.

The little poodle, who had been showing off by prancing circles on her hind legs, huddles between its owner’s legs.  A cat scuddles to the back corner of its carrier. Miss Kitty lets out a low moan (although she couldn’t see or smell the G.Dane—remember her head is rooted in Scout’s armpit which should stun both her optical and olfactory senses for at least a week).

The Dane’s name is Daisy. She’s orangey brown and looks like someone slung a black paintbrush at her, creating a brindle effect. Her owners couldn’t afford her anymore, so they’d dropped her off at animal rescue. The couple who adopted her brought her to the vet  for a check up.

Daisy  is a good-hearted doofus. She  lays when her new owner tells her, “Down.” Then she crawls like a marine across the floor on her doggy elbows to sniff the poodle cowering against the wall.She tries to make friends with a poster of a dog. Within minutes the waiting room is laughing at her Jim Carey antics.

CowboyFan is chuckling and starting a community conversation about pets. I am laughing and thoughts of my dental work fade away. Miss Kitty is so relaxed that someone asks if she’s alive since there’s the body of a cat splayed over Scout’s lap (her head is still in his armpit, so she may have  passed out).

Miss Kitty will have surgery.  We will take care of her and be reminded of what a gift pets are to us. They jog our focus that there are beings outside of ourselves. They teach us about  love, companionship, and an honesty about life. They remind us to hope. They remind us to laugh.

A Ripple in the Universe

Thanks to Rodrigo Favera

I’m not a Ouija type of gal. I knew in all of the pre-pubescent parties that it was really my friend, Cindy,  pushing the planchette to “Yes,” when I asked if Jonathan Bell liked me. As it turns out, he did like me for a week and sat next to me in art until Melinda Crutchins made big eyes and asked him to sit with her. So long Jon.

The scientific explanation of the Ouija  is that subconsciously we wish for something, and a covert program running in the background of our thoughts helps us push the planchette to the answer we want. Drat! I always thought it was Cindy…not me!!

And then at 12:47  last night I was writing an e-mail when a friend who is dying of cancer popped into my mind. At that moment, I typed into the e-mail how selfish I was to wish my friend wouldn’t leave us and how joyous her arrival in heaven would be—where everyday is Easter.

I wasn’t with my dad when he passed from this life. I was at work.  I thought I’d know though. I figured a fragrant, pine breeze would touch my face as he stopped to say good bye, or I’d feel the earth pause in its rotation. When someone leaves  such a huge hole in the fiber of the world, how can there not be a ripple in the universe with their passing?

My daddy, an outdoorsman—not the REI type, but the Lil Abner type—asked the hospice worker to turn him on his side so he could see out the screen door. He passed with the fading afternoon, and I didn’t know until I received a phone call.  I concluded that we humans weren’t tuned into the escalator of souls coming and going.  It would be too much for our fragile senses to be jolted with every loss.

However, when I got the phone call that my friend had died around 1 this morning, I wasn’t surprised.  Actually, I felt great relief and joy that she’d made it home.  “It’s interesting,” the caller said. ” I woke up about  one this morning thinking of her.”

Like I said, I’m not a Ouija-type of gal. I think  it’s our subconscious pushing, worrying, praying even as we sleep.  I believe that our passing from this realm makes no wave.  Any ripple in the universe, is caused by the Creator—coming to carry us home.

God’s Addressbook Includes Hope

My favorite line in Thorton Wilder’s Our Town is delivered by a George Gibbs talking about an address he’d seen on an envelope.

“I never told you about that letter Jane Crofut got from her minister when she was sick.

He wrote Jane a letter and on the envelope the address was like this: It said,

Jane Crofut,

the Crofut Farm,

Grover’s Corners;

Sutton County;

New Hampshire;

United States of America;

continent of North America;

Western Hemisphere;

the Earth;

the Solar System;

The Universe;

the mind of God

– that’s what it said on the envelope. And the postman brought it just the same.” Thornton Wilder – ‘Our Town

Sometimes in the dark of the night, I think I’m the only one not sleeping. And then I remember that I have an address in God’s mind. In this vast universe, He knows right where I am. It makes me smile. It gives me hope.

So when  I receive another piece of bad news, or worries are tightening around my throat,  I sometimes forget to look up.

Good thing the Creator of Everything knows just where to find me.

He’s got my address. and he delivers,  just the same.

(Yes, you star-gazing experts will recognize the picture as Andromeda Galaxy. He’s knows everyone’s address there, too!)

Questions That Keep Circling

Here are two things to ponder if you can’t sleep:

Ponder #1.

Ya’ll know the story of the Good Samaritan. Here’s  a quick recap: A man is beaten by robbers and left lying beside the road. A priest and a Levite (religious servants) see the victim and leave him lying there.  A Samaritan (which is considered the scum of the Israelite community) helps the guy, leaving enough money that he could stay at an inn and recoup for about a month.

Now…in this story, who are you? Which persona do you think fits?

It’s interesting that most folks in the U.S. consider themselves one of the three persons walking down the road, however in Africa, listeners take the roll of the victim.

It floored me. I’d never even considered it. It made me ponder how different cultures gave us different perspectives.

Ponder #2

Maybe I had the Good Samaritan story in mind as I left Walgreens yesterday, and the raggedy guy that I passed said something to me.

I stopped, turned around, and gave him my focus. (I’m working on giving folks my “eyes” when I talk since I tend to look around and think of what I need to be doing while they are talking. I’m working on it. I’m not always successful.)

“Would you light my cigarrette?” he repeated.

“Uh…sure,” I said. “Do you have any matches?” He dug in his pocket. It was when I took the matchbook from him that I noticed that his thumb and 2 spots on the fingers he used to tweeze his cigarette were black. His skin actually looked like charcoal.  I couldn’t figure out if they were burned spots or tar residue. Jumpin’ Jimeney Cricket that was a lot of smokes, if the black spots came from his habit.

His hand shook as he held the cigarette to his mouth.  It took 3 matches. The wind kept blowing them out.  In between the 1st and 2nd lights, I was torn with a struggle about what was the right thing to do. I said, “I really don’t think you should be smoking.”  I felt stupid after I said it. He didn’t give a rat’s tail what I thought. He probably would have listened to me read the Surgeon General’s warning from his package of Camels, if it meant that I would light his cigarette for him.

So…I’ve pondered the situation ever since. Should I have helped him? Is it right to help someone do something that harms their body?

After his cigarette was lit, he shuffled away without a word. He left me with a question circling my heart.

Care to share your pondering?

How Do You Like Your Eggs?

To The Dump…

One of our pastimes in college was to go to the dump. I know it sounds weird, but think about it; we were students in need of sofas, lamps, etc. Our bookshelves were made of boards and cinder blocks.

It wasn’t uncommon for someone to shout down the hallway of our dorm, “I’m going to the dump, anybody wanna go?” If four people went, we’d have to haul home big treasures balanced on the roof of the auto with our hands out the windows holding onto it.

Even if you didn’t need any furniture, it was fun going to the dump. Garbage and trash were deposited elsewhere, so it wasn’t smelly with rotting debris. The beginning and end of semesters were a good time to score big items, but the best finds were discovered on Mondays after  the townsfolk had cleaning sprees.

It was one of these Mondays that my roommate and I found the memories of someone’s life. In a pile of beat-up spatulas, one-tined forks, old-Christmas cards, and bags of faded ribbon and crushed bows were a stack of letters.

They were postmarked in the early ’30s. My roomie and I hurried back to the dorm to read the epistles of 2 young lovers separated by miles and poverty.

Though engaged, they addressed each other very formally; and the romance would make a Disney movie look X-rated: “Dear Mr. Billings, I hope this finds you well and in good spirits….The weather has been fickle. Father says…..” and so on.

Migrant Mother by Dorthea Lange. Mother of 7 Children; Age 32

I remember….

What I carry with me to this day is how they lived. Dinner almost every night for the young lady’s family was a boiled egg for each person. During the summer there were some vegetables to go with the egg. The young man, living and working in a city miles away sometimes could afford a small piece of meat, but usually he bought a bone and boiled it with his nightly portion of rice. They never lamented the boredom of their menu, but instead, spoke of how fortunate they were to have it with a glass of milk.

My roommate and I couldn’t get through all of the letters in one night. Not because there were a lot of them—only 13—but we’d read a sentence and find ourselves staring into space trying to imagine such a penurious life. Here we were in a climate-controlled high-rise and had sneered at the mystery meat served in the cafeteria that night. At first we’d read  and chatter, but we dwindled into silence and our own thoughts after the first couple of letters.

The papers became somewhat sacred. We felt invasive as their relationship bloomed and their lives unfolded. We held in our hands the story of a young girl sleeping with 3  sisters in one bed. And miles away, the young man changing the cardboard in his shoes because the soles had worn through.

We were also awed that they never spoke of their lives as impoverished—just the opposite. They were thrilled to simply have what they had. It was a startling lesson for my roommate and I. We had plenty, and we expected even more.

Today

Whenever I read the paper and get sucked into the whirlwind of fear from more layoffs, more banks failing, and more uncertainty, I  ask myself what I ate last night.  It was much more than an egg or a bit of rice.

I say a prayer of gratitude. Many years ago I go to peek inside of 2 lives who simply accepted the times for what they were and went on living. It gives me hope that maybe forty years from now, some college kids will find our memories of 2009 discarded in a dump.  Proof that we made it through  and thankful that what we had—was enough.

Life in the Basement or Life On the Roof?

Photo by Mumbley Joe

The Good ol’ Basement

I hate to admit that I sometimes find myself in the basement—but I do. Things don’t meet my expectations and I pace  the mental darkness of my emotional cellar. When I’m there, I notice that my favorite activity is to bring others to the basement also. You see, it’s easier to fling words of judgment, criticism, and evaluation than to actually do something.

Then there’s the roof….

Aaaaah….on those days I’m giving a shout out to passers-by, inviting them to stop and talk a while, urging them to come on up, and let their troubles roll off the edges.

I saw some Roof People today. They had their lights shining, signaling others to come on up.

• the gentleman at the gym who looks for the quietest person there and makes sure to say hello.
• the lady who let me go in front of her at the check-out line.
• a hilarious Valentine card from Superman that  says “I’m thinkin’ of ya”

Where there’s Light, There’s Hope

Maybe you have basement days, too. So here’s what I’ve learned:

• Get some rest (weariness is basement bait)
• Eat healthy, be good to yourself  (because you deserve it!)
• Look up. There’s always a  light guiding you to the rooftop—where you’ll be safe.

Let Your Light So Shine Among Men.

Where’s the Light in the Dark Days Ahead?

Aaaaah February. If there’s a month that I feel like hibernating…it’s February. The big holidays are over. Orion’s riding silently through the night sky. Spring is still asleep underground.

So tonight I’ll explore where I see light in the days ahead:

1. At the mall. Believe it or not, stores were crammed this weekend.  People carried sacks, so someone must be buying something…just not as much.  (Do we really need so much stuff?)
2. Within businesses. I just interviewed a business owner for an article and he told me that he had made quite a few internal changes in the way he priced their product and did business. Formerly, he charged top-retail, and turned people away if they didn’t like his prices.  Now he’s negotiating with both his customers and his suppliers. (So, now he’s running his business more efficiently.)
3. Within communities. While large urban newpapers are suffering from the diminishing national advertising, small community papers are doing pretty well. Many of them lost their national advertising several years ago and developed other local sources.  (It’s a good feeling to be true to your community)
4. Within a Sea of Strangers. Our local newspaper relates the story of a woman who tried to attend the inauguration in D.C. Several catastrophes occured including loosing her purse and her plane ticket. She went on to tell of the numerous stangers who gave her money, gave her rides and helped her get home. (And her purse was found and sent to her–with it’s contents!!! Someone saw it sitting at the bus stop where she’d left it and turned it in)

It reminds me that the world is really full of good people, there’s just a few  that make it seem dark and frightening.  Then I wonder about my February moodiness and why don’t I “help out more ?”

Probably because I’m wrapped up with my own life, my own worries, my own dark nights.

Focusing on my own problems keeps me from seeing what others need.

There is no hope inside of worry. Maybe I should make February the Month of “Stepping OUT” of my hibernation. It only takes a little  giving to put more hope in the world…doesn’t it?

Wanna join me?  Let your light shine!

Life Shows Hope in Many Ways

Okay,

Now that I’m looking for hope. I find little hints of it everywhere. I was expecting big ol’ clues like:

1. Winning the Lottery
2. Finding a Twenty…No, A Fifty dollar bill
3. Getting that darn Alaska quarter to finally finish my Coin Collection of the States. (Forget about collecting the Presidents)

But daily living still has hints of hope. I’ve just been missing them. I haven’t seen the Virgin Mary in any of my food yet, but something to eat still brings a message of hope.

amykins1111 knows HOPE when she sees it.

How To Welcome The Dawn

Most people do not consider dawn to be an attractive experience – unless they are still up.  ~Ellen Goodman

Long ago, watchmen stood on their towers constantly searching the grounds below for their enemies’ movements. They spent hours and hours, searching the darkness.
Maybe you too, have had a night in which you searched the darkness for answers.

Hang on!!  Hope comes with the morning. When the first ray of light blades the sky, every sentry who has spent the night waiting, finds hope.

If this night finds you next to a hospital bed…waiting.  OR

Staring out of a window into the blackness…hoping.

Read, sing, dance, make cookies, create a scrapbook, a video, a poem.

Write, clean, paint, organize. It’s the little steps that help you keep walking toward morning.

Hope comes with the dawn.

Most people do not consider dawn to be an attractive experience – unless they are still up.  ~Ellen Goodman