Today it was 65 degrees by my car thermometer. By this time, my birthday, November weather has usually degenerated to freezing rain or sleet, so I am celebrating my good fortune. I get to put up my holiday lights without gloves! Sure, the candy canes and cords will likely be frozen solidly into the ground when it's time to take them up, but I'll cross that bridge when it gets here.
In the meantime, we have four awesome grandchildren, three of whom are old enough to really enjoy this Christmas and the other is a baby boy I get to spoil. I plan on taking total advantage of that by putting up as many twinkling lights and decorations as my husband can tolerate! It's time to bake the cookies!
Monday, November 22, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Home
Home is where you find your heart the happiest. Sometimes it's a place, but mostly, it's a feeling.
I have many homes. I am so happy when I am taking care of my family in our house. But, I am equally happy when I have a chance to visit our little spot on the lake in Minnesota. When we trek to Michigan to see my family or Florida or Texas to see loved ones, it's all the same. Even a hotel room can feel like home when it's the place you use as the starting point for visiting with friends and family.
I've never really felt like an owner of property; rather I feel as though I'm the custodian. No matter how much we may wish it, we cannot literally 'own' the earth. We can receive title that indicates we are allowed to use a space, but once we no longer breathe, the title and point, are moot. Like many ancient tribes realized, we are the guardians...responsible to nature to provide the care for our space as long as we occupy it. Perhaps that is one reason I feel closer to the land when I'm in Minnesota or Michigan. It seems that there, the spirits still exist. In the fullest, most succulent manifestation of life, it feels like home when I stand there.
The same feeling holds true wherever I garden...if I plant seeds and harvest fruit after a season of caring for this life, I feel like home. While I cut and store the fruit for the coming winter, I feel like home. When I share that fruit with those I care about, it feels like home; and home...feels like love.
I have many homes. I am so happy when I am taking care of my family in our house. But, I am equally happy when I have a chance to visit our little spot on the lake in Minnesota. When we trek to Michigan to see my family or Florida or Texas to see loved ones, it's all the same. Even a hotel room can feel like home when it's the place you use as the starting point for visiting with friends and family.
I've never really felt like an owner of property; rather I feel as though I'm the custodian. No matter how much we may wish it, we cannot literally 'own' the earth. We can receive title that indicates we are allowed to use a space, but once we no longer breathe, the title and point, are moot. Like many ancient tribes realized, we are the guardians...responsible to nature to provide the care for our space as long as we occupy it. Perhaps that is one reason I feel closer to the land when I'm in Minnesota or Michigan. It seems that there, the spirits still exist. In the fullest, most succulent manifestation of life, it feels like home when I stand there.
The same feeling holds true wherever I garden...if I plant seeds and harvest fruit after a season of caring for this life, I feel like home. While I cut and store the fruit for the coming winter, I feel like home. When I share that fruit with those I care about, it feels like home; and home...feels like love.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Hope, Love and Trust
Three feelings essential to positive, constructive human relationships include hope, love and trust. Having one doesn't mean the other two will be present. It also doesn't necessarily exclude the others.
Hope comes first...born of dreams and our innocent belief that they can come true.
Most of us hope we will find a special partner in life; someone to share our deepest feelings and experiences; the things that make us who we are.
If and when we do, Love is the largest of the feelings we generally experience.
Nonetheless, our problems, experiences and feelings are not always easy to handle for another person. We may have already come to grips with what has happened to or because of those events and emotions, but the person we want to share our life with may not find it a simple task. Perhaps they don't even want to. There's only one way to find out.
Ask them.
Love doesn't always mean sharing every tiny detail of all we think, live and go through. Love, if it is true and honest, however, should allow for whatever level of sharing that we need. If our partner cannot or will not allow that sharing, there must be allowance for other relationships that can. Whether a counselor, sibling or best friend; there must be people we can go to when we are so troubled that solutions to difficulties elude us.
That is where Trust comes in. Intimacy is essential to that. There must be open and ample opportunity to share with your beloved, face to face, when you are troubled, without fear of anger, judgment or reprisal.
Those things that cause us suffering are most often things we are afraid we cannot control; sometimes we think they are things we can't do anything about.
Hope, Love and Trust, we must find first,
within ourselves.
Hope comes first...born of dreams and our innocent belief that they can come true.
Most of us hope we will find a special partner in life; someone to share our deepest feelings and experiences; the things that make us who we are.
If and when we do, Love is the largest of the feelings we generally experience.
Nonetheless, our problems, experiences and feelings are not always easy to handle for another person. We may have already come to grips with what has happened to or because of those events and emotions, but the person we want to share our life with may not find it a simple task. Perhaps they don't even want to. There's only one way to find out.
Ask them.
Love doesn't always mean sharing every tiny detail of all we think, live and go through. Love, if it is true and honest, however, should allow for whatever level of sharing that we need. If our partner cannot or will not allow that sharing, there must be allowance for other relationships that can. Whether a counselor, sibling or best friend; there must be people we can go to when we are so troubled that solutions to difficulties elude us.
That is where Trust comes in. Intimacy is essential to that. There must be open and ample opportunity to share with your beloved, face to face, when you are troubled, without fear of anger, judgment or reprisal.
Those things that cause us suffering are most often things we are afraid we cannot control; sometimes we think they are things we can't do anything about.
Hope, Love and Trust, we must find first,
within ourselves.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Untold stories
No matter our age, we have stories. The truth and legend that created us. There is more to all of us than meets the eye.
If we are so old we can no longer make sense or so young we cannot yet form the language of others, the stories belong to us. We own almost nothing in this life except for our stories.
My stories jump for joy. Some of them writhe in pain. Only I know one from the other. Unless, that is, if I share them.
Sharing our stories is a blessing and a curse. Sometimes they are a way to share and thus divide the pain of horrors or fears. Others, when shared, are blessings to those who hear them. At times, our stories burden others.
Often in the sharing, others come to share their stories with us. The sweetness of that trust is a treasure beyond compare.
But there are those stories that only we will ever know. Those tales are most often buried deeply. Sometimes, we don't even know they exist until some demon wakes the sleeping giant. Like a fable, there is a lesson to be learned, but only if we find the courage to open the curtain and release the demon.
We all want to know the truth and none of us wants to die with regrets. The only way to create that life is to live it. The story is yours and only yours; until you share it.
If we are so old we can no longer make sense or so young we cannot yet form the language of others, the stories belong to us. We own almost nothing in this life except for our stories.
My stories jump for joy. Some of them writhe in pain. Only I know one from the other. Unless, that is, if I share them.
Sharing our stories is a blessing and a curse. Sometimes they are a way to share and thus divide the pain of horrors or fears. Others, when shared, are blessings to those who hear them. At times, our stories burden others.
Often in the sharing, others come to share their stories with us. The sweetness of that trust is a treasure beyond compare.
But there are those stories that only we will ever know. Those tales are most often buried deeply. Sometimes, we don't even know they exist until some demon wakes the sleeping giant. Like a fable, there is a lesson to be learned, but only if we find the courage to open the curtain and release the demon.
We all want to know the truth and none of us wants to die with regrets. The only way to create that life is to live it. The story is yours and only yours; until you share it.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Beauty
Our grandchild is singing in the room as she makes pictures for everyone she loves. She asks "what color is yours?" of grandpa and he says purple and orange. She brings him his gift...the perfect color match.
She gets more crayons, continues to draw - singing..."B.I.N.G.O. and Bingo was his name-o!" She draws the first letter of my name. "R"
"OH! (a broken crayon!) I need TAPE!" she says, asking if I can fix it. I explain it will still color even if it's broken. Uncertain, she experiments with it and decides I have given her correct information.
Singing and humming...."hmmm..hmmm..hmm...hmm, don't worry! It's just a crayon," she says to herself aloud. "I will make Luke a birthday card...I will make your tape or my tape. Can I write the name?"
She races down the hall to her desk and returns with a handful of new crayons, announcing, "These are not broken!" with a devilish grin.
I think...this life is the best life.
She gets more crayons, continues to draw - singing..."B.I.N.G.O. and Bingo was his name-o!" She draws the first letter of my name. "R"
"OH! (a broken crayon!) I need TAPE!" she says, asking if I can fix it. I explain it will still color even if it's broken. Uncertain, she experiments with it and decides I have given her correct information.
Singing and humming...."hmmm..hmmm..hmm...hmm, don't worry! It's just a crayon," she says to herself aloud. "I will make Luke a birthday card...I will make your tape or my tape. Can I write the name?"
She races down the hall to her desk and returns with a handful of new crayons, announcing, "These are not broken!" with a devilish grin.
I think...this life is the best life.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Mental Health
I find it amazing that when people announce a serious illness, they get support, sympathy, calls, visits, and even cards and flowers. A physical illness that is.
So what about when people suffer from depression or PTSD (Yes, shell shock affects survivors of abusive homes, violent crimes and more) or panic disorder. What about other bipolar disorders or anxiety disorder? Tell somebody you've been depressed and the likely reponses are enough to unbalance any see saw. Take vitamins, take a vacation, go to church (chant), get a job, get a 'real' job, "Look how bad "THEY" have it...you should appreciate what YOU have!" Mental illness is seen as weakness of character in almost all levels of society.
I won't go back into the history of my life as most who know me know it all already. And to be brief in the reference department; if you want to know more about how they came up with the description of mentally ill people as "loonie" aka lunatic...head to Wikipedia and look it up. There are some great descriptions there!
Recently, I had reason to look into my library of information on all of my past afflictions. I say 'past' in the way a cancer survivor in remission says past. I am what I am and first and foremost, am not ashamed of being me. Yes, even BUDDHISTS get depressed, have panic disorder, or schizophrenia just like they get the flu, get in wrecks and even...succumb, to MS, the "Big C" and more. We are human beings.
This is not to say I have not challenged this issue head on. If there's one thing I am, it's a survivor. I am also WHOLE. It took me a lifetime (or more) to get that way, but I'll be damned if I'll let anything discourage me from continuing to work at wellness.
I'm pretty sure my life experiences are the reason I am sometimes bitchy, over-reactive, emotional and on occasion, misguided. Part of my illness is that I often assume the worst about those I love and trust the most because the root of the darkness I have felt, remains a part of me. It isn't that I don't believe in them or their love. I misunderstand and make mountains out of mole hills a lot. There is the "All or Nothing" mentality that comes from being abandoned by my parents only to become the parent, myself. I don't regret taking that role on...I LOVE my family. I do, however, wish that I had been able to be a child at some point in my life.
I think maybe there are people who are so frightened of their own mental weakness or dare I say it, mental illness they can't face it as an affliction. They seem to be the quickest to offer an easy cure. They are often compelled to point to some external cause as a quick fix or attack some internal failure on the part of the sufferer.
So, as I have gone through a 'relapse' of sorts...I wish only a few things. That if there are people who would judge me (and by extension, others like me) they realize there is a reason I am as I am. That I am, as always, taking the action of a Bodhisatva...chanting, seeking guidance and getting the care I need. I have support from those around who really know who I am and love me in spite of or because of all my foibles. After all, I would not BE me without every single thing that has happened to me.
Like anyone, I get tired of defending my shortcomings, but I will never give up trying to communicate. What is my life if I can't make a difference in the life of someone else? Still, I admit it is sometimes to be lazy and weak and think the worst of others than to be strong, take responsibility and shake their tree a little bit. No one is perfect, especially me, but I think I have something to offer the world and will continue to try to do that.
Give more than you take, love more than you get, share more than you dare.
So what about when people suffer from depression or PTSD (Yes, shell shock affects survivors of abusive homes, violent crimes and more) or panic disorder. What about other bipolar disorders or anxiety disorder? Tell somebody you've been depressed and the likely reponses are enough to unbalance any see saw. Take vitamins, take a vacation, go to church (chant), get a job, get a 'real' job, "Look how bad "THEY" have it...you should appreciate what YOU have!" Mental illness is seen as weakness of character in almost all levels of society.
I won't go back into the history of my life as most who know me know it all already. And to be brief in the reference department; if you want to know more about how they came up with the description of mentally ill people as "loonie" aka lunatic...head to Wikipedia and look it up. There are some great descriptions there!
Recently, I had reason to look into my library of information on all of my past afflictions. I say 'past' in the way a cancer survivor in remission says past. I am what I am and first and foremost, am not ashamed of being me. Yes, even BUDDHISTS get depressed, have panic disorder, or schizophrenia just like they get the flu, get in wrecks and even...succumb, to MS, the "Big C" and more. We are human beings.
This is not to say I have not challenged this issue head on. If there's one thing I am, it's a survivor. I am also WHOLE. It took me a lifetime (or more) to get that way, but I'll be damned if I'll let anything discourage me from continuing to work at wellness.
I'm pretty sure my life experiences are the reason I am sometimes bitchy, over-reactive, emotional and on occasion, misguided. Part of my illness is that I often assume the worst about those I love and trust the most because the root of the darkness I have felt, remains a part of me. It isn't that I don't believe in them or their love. I misunderstand and make mountains out of mole hills a lot. There is the "All or Nothing" mentality that comes from being abandoned by my parents only to become the parent, myself. I don't regret taking that role on...I LOVE my family. I do, however, wish that I had been able to be a child at some point in my life.
I think maybe there are people who are so frightened of their own mental weakness or dare I say it, mental illness they can't face it as an affliction. They seem to be the quickest to offer an easy cure. They are often compelled to point to some external cause as a quick fix or attack some internal failure on the part of the sufferer.
So, as I have gone through a 'relapse' of sorts...I wish only a few things. That if there are people who would judge me (and by extension, others like me) they realize there is a reason I am as I am. That I am, as always, taking the action of a Bodhisatva...chanting, seeking guidance and getting the care I need. I have support from those around who really know who I am and love me in spite of or because of all my foibles. After all, I would not BE me without every single thing that has happened to me.
Like anyone, I get tired of defending my shortcomings, but I will never give up trying to communicate. What is my life if I can't make a difference in the life of someone else? Still, I admit it is sometimes to be lazy and weak and think the worst of others than to be strong, take responsibility and shake their tree a little bit. No one is perfect, especially me, but I think I have something to offer the world and will continue to try to do that.
Give more than you take, love more than you get, share more than you dare.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
I belong to the Freecycle groups and a recent post to the Freecycle Cafe sister page reminded me of an experience I had many years ago, that made me rethink how to celebrate the 4th. I am sure none of my "Cafe" friends is among those who misuse fire to celebrate our nations independence from England (even my veteran husband reminds me that this is not Veteran's Day or Memorial Day...it is USA day)! I replied to the group with my own story.
"Other than poppers, sparklers and smoke 'bombs', fireworks are illegal to sell, purchase or transport in most states. When I was a little girl my uncles and father would place something they called 'M80s' into beer cans (then made of steel) and blow them apart all over our yard. With six little kids, my mother was panicked during the fiasco, then spent the next day on her hands and knees combing the yard for the shrapnel. This was after she tended several burns we kids had gotten the night before from sparklers, some of which provided us with permanent reminders of our country's independence.
The annual birthday 'celebration' of our country continued for the next third century or so, while I witnessed a neighbors home nearly burned down due to bottle rockets and vehicles in a parking lot in our apartment complex peppered with burn marks inflicted by the activities of the next generation of fools.
But the last straw for me was when I came home from a night of wonderment at a local park, watching the most amazing fireworks show I'd yet seen, to find my dog had crashed through a window after someone, unknown, had shot bottle rockets into our fenced backyard where we thought we'd left him safe. Our beautiful retriever's golden blonde coat was streaming with blood from the cuts he'd suffered from the broken glass, trying to get inside the house. He survived, after an emergency trip to the vet, but forever after, suffered 'shell shock'. He was a cowering mess who would scurry for the closet at the sound of popcorn popping and heft his huge body under the bed at a muffler backfire.
I take responsibility for having left him there. In my naivete, I had faith in the good sense and kindness of others. They can't have known they'd hurt an innocent pet. Right...
Lesson learned, I now secure my animals whenever the 'party' starts. I like a good 4th of July fireworks as much as the next person, but I reserve my own celebration to that put on by professionals. We still do a sparkler or two, but with extreme caution to prevent damage to baby flesh. Mostly we slather on the mosquito repellent and watch the candles on the nation's birthday, glow from a lawn chair in the grass nearby."
"Other than poppers, sparklers and smoke 'bombs', fireworks are illegal to sell, purchase or transport in most states. When I was a little girl my uncles and father would place something they called 'M80s' into beer cans (then made of steel) and blow them apart all over our yard. With six little kids, my mother was panicked during the fiasco, then spent the next day on her hands and knees combing the yard for the shrapnel. This was after she tended several burns we kids had gotten the night before from sparklers, some of which provided us with permanent reminders of our country's independence.
The annual birthday 'celebration' of our country continued for the next third century or so, while I witnessed a neighbors home nearly burned down due to bottle rockets and vehicles in a parking lot in our apartment complex peppered with burn marks inflicted by the activities of the next generation of fools.
But the last straw for me was when I came home from a night of wonderment at a local park, watching the most amazing fireworks show I'd yet seen, to find my dog had crashed through a window after someone, unknown, had shot bottle rockets into our fenced backyard where we thought we'd left him safe. Our beautiful retriever's golden blonde coat was streaming with blood from the cuts he'd suffered from the broken glass, trying to get inside the house. He survived, after an emergency trip to the vet, but forever after, suffered 'shell shock'. He was a cowering mess who would scurry for the closet at the sound of popcorn popping and heft his huge body under the bed at a muffler backfire.
I take responsibility for having left him there. In my naivete, I had faith in the good sense and kindness of others. They can't have known they'd hurt an innocent pet. Right...
Lesson learned, I now secure my animals whenever the 'party' starts. I like a good 4th of July fireworks as much as the next person, but I reserve my own celebration to that put on by professionals. We still do a sparkler or two, but with extreme caution to prevent damage to baby flesh. Mostly we slather on the mosquito repellent and watch the candles on the nation's birthday, glow from a lawn chair in the grass nearby."
Friday, June 4, 2010
Security
Love is a funny thing. Sometimes it hits you like a ton of bricks and then others, it just sneaks up and grabs you when you least expect it.
My relationship with my daughter began like the first one. It was instantaneous and perfect. Still, my volitile, young temperment probably put a real crimp in what could have been a perfect mother/daughter, best friend relationship. I've been trying to work on that ever since. Still, she will always be my greatest gift.
With my husband, it's another story. Our love is a combination of both. It hit me and apparently snuck up on him.
But, what happened with both of those relationships is, to my way of looking at things, miraculous.
I was one of the most insecure people in the world. That is to say, one of the most egotistical. I was sure everyone was looking at me, thinking negative things or waiting for me to screw up. From my parents to boyfriends and former husbands; even best friends.
What has happened is that I finally feel security. Not just that I have a home, no matter how many times my husband points out that this is indeed "his" house, but in a much deeper way.
The love I feel from them has begun to change me. I am reaching out of my fear for the first time in over three decades; and it is setting me free.
You see, security isn't a ball and chain. Committment is freedom and the security it brings with it makes everything and anything, possible.
I still worry...that's what I do. But, inside that worry I am finding the reasons motivate me instead of trapping me. I actually shared a recent health issue with friends at work because of that security. In their love, they were accepting and generous and understanding.
I still suffer from that illness and at times I still panic, but...the truth is I finally feel as if I have roots again. That panic sets upon me and being human I still feel fear; but it's not the same. For the first time, I have been able to step out of the fear. I go to my place of prayer and meditation and chant with gratitude for that fear. I express appreciation that I am alive!
That hasn't happened for a long, long time.
I want to say thank you; to my husband/friend/partner, to my daughter and the rest of our children and our grandkids...to my siblingfriends (of whom there are five and more) and my parents.
I am determined to survive and no matter how many years go by, will never forget the love.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Bigotry and me...
I had a dream last night; my mission in life is to end bigotry of every kind. To that end, I am engendering everyone in my family to contact me with Molden, Clinton, genealogy information to confirm our American Indian, Irish, Scottish, British, Scandinavian, French, German, Manx, Welsh, African and other links.
I am also going to begin work next month with our area Interfaith organization to introduce Nichiren Buddhism and the SGI-USA. Any of my friends in faith are welcome to join in this endeavor. I will also be hosting chanting at my house one night a week, TBA, based on others who may like to join in.
BTW, I realize it will take more than one person to end bigotry, but when one stands up, others will follow. It is time to stand up. I am at least 1/8 American Indian and am going to find my tribal affiliation as well as research other racial links. One of my granddaughters, is named for the Filipino Goddess of Love for a reason. She is 1/4 Filipino, as well as 3/4 'OTHER' and we want her to be 100% happy with every bit of her birthright, including being a citizen of this country, as I do all of our grandchildren. Our other grandchildren should be able to celebrate being Finnish, Italian, Swedish, German and MORE, as well! I want to help all of them learn that they are unique and wonderful in this universe, as are ALL people of every age, gender, race, faith, and ability! And we are all EQUAL!
I am also going to begin work next month with our area Interfaith organization to introduce Nichiren Buddhism and the SGI-USA. Any of my friends in faith are welcome to join in this endeavor. I will also be hosting chanting at my house one night a week, TBA, based on others who may like to join in.
BTW, I realize it will take more than one person to end bigotry, but when one stands up, others will follow. It is time to stand up. I am at least 1/8 American Indian and am going to find my tribal affiliation as well as research other racial links. One of my granddaughters, is named for the Filipino Goddess of Love for a reason. She is 1/4 Filipino, as well as 3/4 'OTHER' and we want her to be 100% happy with every bit of her birthright, including being a citizen of this country, as I do all of our grandchildren. Our other grandchildren should be able to celebrate being Finnish, Italian, Swedish, German and MORE, as well! I want to help all of them learn that they are unique and wonderful in this universe, as are ALL people of every age, gender, race, faith, and ability! And we are all EQUAL!
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