You may be a faithful reader of this blog. It’s also possible you stumbled across it in pursuit of something enlightening, informing, interesting or intriguing. You will not find any more in these posts than the thoughts and observations of someone who thinks best when putting words on paper and for whom the written word has always held great fascination.
The seed of an idea for a blog post may arise from an actual event in my life; from something I’ve heard or read in the news; from the fleeting and often disparate thoughts which clutter my mind and clamor for attention.
As I write—in effect germinating that seed—the varied tendrils and sprouts that arise take on forms, qualities and colors which many times veer from reality. Parts of the post may be fiction, yet the conclusion is never fabricated. Along the way there’s been an epiphany, an answer, an explanation.
Writing helps me sort out factual, actual dilemmas and gather seemingly disparate thoughts—sometimes with the help of a fabrication (or two).
How do I know what I think until I see what I say?
I’m distancing myself more and more from world and national events. I’m mentally walking away from the hate-filled, contentious declarations and daily exhortations to fear. I’m spending less and less time listening to or watching national news shows.
I no longer spend time fustigating and fulminating about what I view as inane and senseless editorial opinions in newspapers or on television (which means my usual stream of fairly benign, albeit counter-attack letters and blog posts is down to little more than a trickle) and I don’t give more than a cursory glance to those media espousing beliefs or thoughts with which I do concur. In retrospect, this “evolution of thought” has been percolating for some time. However, it increased as I read David McCullough’s book, 1776, which focuses on the events surrounding the start of the American Revolution. And now, as I read McCullough’s amazing biographical work, John Adams, it is achingly clear to me that, for all the scientific and technical evolution Homines sapientes have achieved, it seems we truly don’t learn from past mistakes--the ratio of greedy, nefarious, self-serving, lying, rapacious and grasping humans appears to hold steady. Over 160 years ago, French critic, journalist and novelist Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr observed, "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose," or, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Total cynicism hasn’t yet crept into my heart and mind. I am simply focusing even more on those who are dear to me, relishing and reciprocating their love and care. I am more thankful than ever for my home and health. In short, I choose to hold close that which enriches my life; I choose to expend less mental energy in the areas over which I have little or no control. Interestingly, “Homo sapiens” is from the Latin for “the wise human” or “the clever human.” I’d agree we humans are very clever—but then, so are many other animals. I question whether we are as wise, loving and caring as we have the capacity to be.
Snow
this morning on the way in to work and I once again recall the harsh winter
weather of 16 years ago.
My
81-year old mom had been a widow for two and a half years. Except for some
housekeeping and errand help, she lived alone in the home she and Dad had
occupied since 1983.
I
lived 37 miles from Portland and the East County area where I worked and where
Mom lived. I spoke with her daily and at least twice a week stopped by after
work to visit.
That
particular winter set records for freezing rain and record-setting snowfall.
Power lines fell and large trees toppled—especially in the wind-tunnel-like
area where my mother lived.
When
TV news informed us that all power was out in her section of Portland, I packed
some clothing and made plans to stay with Mom as long as necessary. “…as long
as necessary” turned out to be six days.
I
nailed blankets and tarps across the hallways, lit candles, turned on the gas
fireplace and pulled Mom's recliner up close to the warmth. When she settled in I wrapped her in blankets from the bed. She took it all in stride (she was a North Dakota
gal, after all!).
Much
about those days is sweetly memorable to me; the two of us talked and laughed,
reminisced and remembered—at times tearfully, most often with shared delight.
Outside:
A white, completely silent landscape. Inside: Mom wrapped head to toe in
blankets, firelight flickering across her beautiful, serene face, outlining the
sharp bone structure; the skin of her small and delicate hands stretched taut
across blue veins, reminding me of a baby bird just out of the
shell.
One ought, everyday at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture and if it were possible,
to speak a few reasonable words.
~ Goethe
She said she thought it was her own secret weapon, revealed to her more than two decades ago. A smile danced across her face as she asked how in the world I, a stranger, knew her secret! She didn’t think anyone else knew about it.
I’m a checker in a local convenience store. As usual on a Tuesday afternoon, business slowed down to a trickle. There were no customers in the store, so when the woman walked in I looked up long enough to catch her eye—we nodded and smiled, then she went on her way, eventually walking down two of our three aisles.
She walked up to the register with four items in her arms—a gallon of milk, some kitchen cleanser, a package of cookies and a can of peaches.
The woman’s smile was broad and bright as we exchanged pleasantries. I asked her how her day was going and she replied “It's a good day!” I told her that’s just how I felt that day, and in fact, I said I begin each day by saying, “‘…this is a really good day.’ Not, it might be, not it will be, but it IS, in the here and now.”
The startled look on the woman’s face stopped me right then and there. She put the last item on the counter and as she looked up at me again I saw tears in her eyes.
I indicated the cashier’s stool near the end of my station and invited her to sit down.
She assured me the tears in her eyes were not from sadness—though I had the distinct impression life had dealt her some painful blows. She very lightly touched upon the fact that in her younger days she unwittingly developed the habit of putting energy and thought into what she saw as her life's problems—problems inside herself, and problems with others became magnified, grew out of control.
Two decades ago one single instance completely changed her attitude; changed how she views life's vagaries.
On that particular day she awoke feeling surprisingly peaceful. Without even realizing it, the words, “this is a good day” ran through her mind. And, lo and behold! It was a good day, from beginning to end. Issues from the days or weeks before, which seemed to present insurmountable problems, simply smoothed themselves out.
Those are the words which have helped her live the last 20 years of her life with abiding joy. Every morning, through all these years, she repeats five or six times what she calls her mantra, her meditation and her affirmation: “This IS a good day!”
Throughout the day she often dwells on how grateful she is for her mostly good health, the roof over her head and the people in her life who care about her. She assured me she is no Pollyanna; she knows the world is full of strife and pain. Her way is to find the good and focus on that; she tries to set a good example and not only believes in the ripple effect, she has seen it at work.
She chuckled a bit, saying she “experiments” once in a while and thinks to herself: “this sure is a lousy day,” although after an hour or two when everything imaginable seems to go awry, she reneges and replaces the negative thought with a positive one.
I finished ringing up her purchases and put them in the cloth bag she brought with her.
We continued to talk for a few more minutes. I told her I had been using my secret phrase since the time eight years ago when I made the decision to turn my life around.
She didn’t pry but continued to look at me with calm and patient understanding. She made it very easy for me to tell her, albeit briefly, about my recovery from drug and alcohol addiction, about my search for inner peace and my re-connection with my wife and children. It's not always easy for a guy to open up this way. I ended by telling her, “Today and all of my days since then, continue to be very good days! I guess it's true: thinking makes it so.”
Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.
~ Plato
The swinging door of the store opened just then and a man of about 45 walked through. There were grease stains on his khaki work uniform, his steel-toe boots were scuffed and dusty—the man appeared tired and worn down by life.
As he passed the cash register, obviously on his way to the beer cooler, he glanced at the woman on the stool. She nodded and smiled very slightly at the man and as she did, it seemed some burden lifted from his shoulders; his eyes brightened and a slight smile played on his whisker-stubbled, dirt-smudged face.
The woman turned back to me and with the same sweet smile lighting her eyes, she bade me good day.
Did I forget to say she was about 80 years of age and walked with an obviously painful gait? Oh, and did I tell you she timidly, almost apologetically, offered food stamps to pay for her purchases?
The woman in the tattered jacket and soiled old sneakers had the most serene, kind, open and honest face I’ve ever seen. She literally glowed with love, understanding and compassion.
Pass it on and remember:
The richest person is not the one who has the most
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A recent obituary in our local paper told of the life and death of one Happy Hieronimus who was born in 1930 and died of "terminal old age." Right away, the name "Happy Hieronimus" intrigued me, and as I read her obituary it became clear her name fit her personality. Quite a lady!
It was the phrase "terminal old age" that set my mind turning and churning. Of course, we're all "terminal." But, we don't think of our life that way, do we? David Eagleman, a neuroscientist and writer at Baylor College of Medicine, where he directs the Laboratory for Perception and Action and the Initiative on Neuroscience and Law, was quoted as follows:
“One of the seats of emotion and memory in the brain is the amygdala. When something threatens your life, this area seems to kick into overdrive, recording every last detail of the experience. The more detailed the memory, the longer the moment seems to last. This explains why we think that time speeds up when we grow older, why childhood summers seem to go on forever, while old age slips by while we’re dozing. The more familiar the world becomes, the less information your brain writes down, and the more quickly time seems to pass.” On a conscious level I don't think of "something [threatening my] life," but I certainly know I am not going to live forever. This assessment of Eagleman's answered several questions my friends and I (all around the same age) have often asked ourselves and each other. Well, maybe not "several questions" answered--maybe it simply explains the one we wonder about constantly: wherehasthe time gone??
Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance.
Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence.
Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.
Below are a few gems from my ongoing collection of oddly parsed or punctuated phrases. How in the world do misleading headlines such as this, below, become approved for print???
Sen. Sherrod Brown is battling opioid abuse and fights for coal miner healthcare The headline wrongly implies Sherrod Brown has an opioid abuse problem of his own.
Why do (some) people write/say, "Happy BELATED birthday"? The birthday didn't happen late, their greeting did!
More and more often I'm reading and hearing "that" when referring to humans. I know language shifts and changes with the times, but really, humans are "who," as in, "The man WHO rode the bicycle..."
Merle Haggard dies on 79th Birthday of Pneumonia
Well, who knew "pneumonia" had a birthday? Well, why not? My bologna has a name!
[Designer] commented on the hideous bridesmaid's dress.
Really not nice to make a derogatory comment about the looks of the bridesmaid.
[She] took on the case of a young man who, due to neurological damage, spoke sentences backwards in order to test new technology.
Yes, I know what was meant. But the sentence implies the young man spoke the way he did so that the technology could be tested!
This is a shot of a humpback whale captured on the Columbia River.
Seriously, the whale was captured on the Columbia River? Wow! Poor whale.
Some birds, like this wild American Whiskey Symbol, lay their eggs ... .
I immediately checked my bird book for a bird named, "American Whiskey Symbol," or "Whiskey Symbol." Nope, no such. Hmmm. Oh, the speaker is referring to the wild turkey pictured on a brand of American whiskey. Ah-ha.
He vandalized the car while he was driving with a knife.
Okay, he was driving with a knife. But, how did he vandalize the car?
The Smith's [insert any name] invite you to their ...
The Smith's what? Their dog, their cat, their grandma? Apostrophe overload again!
Authorities are investigating a man's death after a Nebraska farmer found his body in a barrel ...
That is a true "out of body" experience.
Oregon State Patrol officials said ... they responded to a report of illegal livestock being killed and butchered.
Those darned "illegal livestock." Will they never learn?
...Latvian-manufactured drug popular for fighting heart disease in former Soviet countries.
Don't you wonder why it only fights "heart disease in former Soviet countries"?
Ranchers drove cows and pigs to the slaughterhouse on horseback.
Now that's a funny mental picture: cows and pigs on horseback! Awww, Smithsonian.
He is married to his wife, ...
Well, I should hope so!
[more to come ... and yes, correct &/or question me any time! I love this stuff!]
