Finding Her Here

No need to post any introduction to this poem by Jayne Relaford Brown. Those who know me well will understand why and how it touches me and the reason I chose to print it here, today, the first day of my own "new year." 

Finding Her Here

I am becoming the woman I’ve wanted,

grey at the temples, soft body, delighted,

cracked up by life

with a laugh that’s known bitter

but, past it, got better,

knows she’s a survivor—

that whatever comes,

she can outlast it.

I am becoming a deep

 weathered basket.

I am becoming the woman I’ve longed for,

the motherly lover

with arms strong and tender,

the growing up daughter

who blushes surprises.

I am becoming full moons

and sunrises.

I find her becoming,

this woman I’ve wanted,

who knows she’ll encompass,

who knows she’s sufficient,

knows where she’s going

and travels with passion.

Who remembers she’s precious,

but knows she’s not scarce—

            who knows she has plenty,

plenty to share.

Brown, Jayne Relaford. “Finding Her Here.”  I Am Becoming the Woman I’ve Wanted. Ed. Sandra Haldeman Martz. Ca: Paper-Mache Press, 1994. 1.

Live Better Eclectically

For quite a while now I've been feeling the need to expand my "friend base" and delve into new social areas. 

I'm very fortunate in that I have many fine, caring, intelligent, active and informed friends. We gather one or two or five or six at a time. These gatherings usually involve a bottle or two of wine and some potluck food. What they "involve" on a deeper level is good conversation and the further cementing of our friendships. 

I'm also more than fortunate, I am blessed, to have two sons and daughters-in-law who fill my heart with joy and spark my mind with a myriad of things to think about, talk about and share (of course, their busy lives mean this doesn't happen near enough for me!). 

So, it's not that I lack mental stimulation. I've simply decided it's time to step into some new arenas.   

One of those "new arenas" is Sunday Assembly Portland. They meet regularly every second Sunday at McMenamin's Lola's Room in downtown Portland. After the meeting many attendees stay for conversation and lunch. There are also smaller, more spontaneous gatherings during the month (hiking, playing games, etc).

   

I'll be experiencing my first Sunday Assembly this coming Sunday. I look forward to meeting new people, hearing their thoughts, their ideas. As time goes on, my hope is I will add to my eclectic mixture of acquaintances and forge new friendships.  

                            What is wanted is not the will to believe, 

but the will to find out, 

which is the exact opposite. 

~ Bertrand Russell

As a secular humanist, Sunday Assembly's doctrine appeals to me. Following is information from the Web site(s):  

Meaty and Minimal Conversation

All words are pegs to hang ideas on.

~Henry Ward Beecher-1813-1887 – American politician

A writer friend and I had dinner together Sunday evening—a mellow, slow, relaxing dinner, albeit in a busy, bustling restaurant. In the process of easy and light conversation, my friend said one of her old and dear acquaintances didn’t care to engage in small talk, refusing to participate in such. As a result, long, uncomfortable silences ensue once the deemed “important stuff” receives its coverage.

That comment sent us on a round of discussion about just what constituted “small talk,” and whether it had a place in otherwise intelligent conversations. Our conclusion: yes, small talk is an imperative part of civilized communication.

A casual nod of acknowledgment to those we meet as we move through the day; a “Hi, how are you doing?” or a few minutes of light conversation with a neighbor; inquiring as to how a friend's day is going, all connect us to our world. "Small talk” does not have to be small-minded talk.

Good friends certainly have every reason to engage in a smattering of small talk -- catching up on the latest news in their lives and even a bit of that old “talk about the weather.” In congenial conversations, this talk can be interspersed with other, deeper communication. Of course, these same good friends acknowledge and appreciate some contemplative silence; there's no need for continual chatter. 

As with the comfortable satiation my friend and I received from our dinner, a minimal helping of small talk often serves to enhance meatier conversation.

Authentic Writing & Living

Author Kim Severson states if a writer wants to “…talk about life lessons, [she has] to write about why [she] needed the lessons, then it’s like unraveling a sweater. If you’re going to be honest and tell your story, there’s just no other way than to do it as authentically as you can.”

As a teen no one knew how self-conscious I felt about almost every aspect of myself. The self-consciousness translated into aloofness. I comported myself, or tried to, as though I had “it” all together and (I now realize) even presented a haughty demeanor—a vicious circle for a young girl who desperately needed to be liked for who she was.

I had a physically present but usually emotionally distant father. When he became emotionally “present” it was most often in a verbally contentious (though not abusive) manner. I seldom discussed personal problems with my mother as I knew how desperately she needed her world to be (or appear to be) ever loving, peaceful and calm.

Maybe that’s part of the reason I’ve had difficulty opening up and sharing my

Shaped by Thought

Thoughts do count. I'm not referring to gift-giving and, "It's the thought that counts," nor do I intend this as a reference to or criticism of those with obsessive-compulsive thoughts. 

Using "my" and "I" here will, I hope, show that I'm drawing upon my own well-documented experiences relating to how my thoughts can and do change my entire outlook, which in turn determines how my day unfolds. This is personal, this is what works for me. Try it. You may find you like it!

The world as we have created it is a process of our thinking. 

It cannot be changed without changing our thinking.

~Albert Einstein

A woman who always presented a happy face to the world, no matter what happened, a man who sported a glum look most of the time, created a daughter who grew to adulthood wondering at her mother's bright and jolly and not understanding the reasons for such dour expressions on the father's face. How should she present herself to the world? Which way to be? 

In all family photos taken of me from around ages seven to 15 there's a look of gloom on my face; hardly ever a trace of a smile. Why?

My parents were good providers of food and clothing, of a comfortable home and plenty of outdoor adventures. If asked, I'm sure I would have said I knew I my mother and father loved me. 

Mom's mantra was "Smile, you'll feel better!" My usual, non-verbal response was simply more glowering. I eventually perfected the art of acting happy and content around others. Inside I was confused, angry, afraid, wary, and unsure of myself. I was faking it for everyone else. Years later I realized that subterfuge had lasting and detrimental effects on me and on my loved ones.  

Move forward three decades. I'm 45 years old, life has taken some odd and

Surviving Stupidity - Part 2

Wisdom is the reward for surviving our own stupidity ~Brian Rathbone, Regent

Well, no, of course not, we didn't think we were being stupid, careless or thoughtless those many years ago when my partner and I, on our 36' 1968 cabin cruiser, crossed the Columbia River Bar (the most dangerous bar crossing in the world, aka "The Graveyard of the Pacific) and motored five miles or more out into the ocean, fishing for salmon.

We were aware and competent--secure in the ability of the purring, twin Chevy 350 engines to deliver us to the perfect fishing spots and, about four or five hours later, to motor us safely back across the bar, to our Ilwaco, Washington port.

Eight years in a row, six weeks every season, five to six days a week, out we went, back we came, our limit of fish on ice in the cooler, the remembered taste of fresh, BBQd salmon piquing our urge to hurry back to our moorage.

The Forms of Zest

Bertrand Arthur William Russell [Third Earl Russell] (1872-1970) British philosopher, mathematician, social critic, writer, had this to say when ruminating on the benefits of finding interest in the smallest things, of unleashing our imagination, of being present in the world: 

"The forms of zest are innumerable. Sherlock Holmes, it may be remembered, picked up a hat which he happened to find lying in the street. After looking at it for a moment, he remarked that its owner had come down in the world as the result of drink and that his wife was no longer so fond of him as she used to be. 

Life could never be boring to a man to whom casual objects offered such a wealth of interest. Think of the different things that may be noticed in the course of a country walk. One man may be interested in the birds, another in the vegetation, another in the geology, another in the agriculture, and so on. 

Any one of these things is interesting if it interests you, and, other things