Wednesday, February 12, 2014

On Being Selective


My eyes wandered to the creative and colorful selections on the nearby tabletops: a combination of books, candles, and gilded trinkets - not your usual porcelain angels and bunnies or china cups, mind you.  There was a ball of string, a cone of jute cording, some shining golden apples, tall, ornate candle sticks, a mirror with a fancy frame reflecting extra-large glossy black capital letters as well as the books both old, new and one that is all about chocolate.  I did not have long enough in my sister’s home to learn the story of each carefully chosen acquisition.  Still, my curiosity was piqued as I wondered about the eye that had searched out fascinating items worthy of songs about magical dragons.



A lively version of Three Blind Mice raced and tumbled from quick fingers on the piano keys while nine bright hearts hanging over the French patio door caught my attention - a theme with a common thread:  sheer strands of red ribbon attach them to the curtain rod but otherwise they were all a little different.  One was covered in red fabric roses, some were glittery.  Some were traditional shapes, some were art-deco.  Some pink, some red, some large, some small.  
                       
 ***

It only took watching two or three performances to get a sense of the suggestions for improving musicality.  The kids had practiced well, so the lesson was about enjoyment and interpretation.  To my surprise, the adjudicator never mentioned the remarkably beautiful touch on the keyboard (belying the controversy that had previously arisen over casual clothing choices) as she coached my nephew through her suggestions.  I realized the comments she made were necessarily brief and limited in scope to a few minutes instruction.   His cousin, classically dressed, played the viola with a relaxed, natural bowing arm and good tone but his steady performance needed the stronger dynamics suggested by the instructor as they worked together through some of the musical passages.

Back at home, lunch was served to those who had an early breakfast while a selection of snow attire was pulled from deep obscurity.  My nine year old niece had been strongly advocating for sledding since daybreak - perhaps hoping that I would take up the cause on her behalf.  In light of such enthusiasm and persistence, I was not about to suggest otherwise.  Anyway, what's a foot of snow but opportunity when you have five kids to entertain, all of whom, unsurprisingly, were in favor of the plan.  The youngsters had played hard all morning building a snow hill in the yard, but soon everyone was ready for something bigger, better, and definitely faster. 

Snow shovels cast aside, we took a quick inventory of the available equipment: one broken sled, one good sled, one possibly useful – worth a trip or two on the hill, anyway, but we were definitely one or two sleds short of capacity even including the snowboard, which in this case had limited applications.   This presented a problem: concern about supply and demand on a snow day in Walla Walla at Fred-Meyer.  The expected shortage of devices was accurately predicted; the choice both easy and difficult.  Thirty dollars was shelled out for the one available option, a simple metallic fabric disk which was put to good use by an unusually active three-year old and anyone who could talk her out of it for a trip or two down the hill. 
  
                                                 ***

On Monday morning, my sister and I sat next to the window at a table for two where we shared an omelet and a view while waiting for Alaska Airlines flight #2327 to Seattle at the nearby Remington restaurant, Ramada Inn, Spokane – refastening the bonds again that were created long ago as we fought over who was boss and forgave each other for lapses in unity or judgment or walked the fence-line on the back forty.    We have shared birthdays, diet plans, business ideas, body-types and sewing patterns; endured freckles, disappointment, suspected inequality, different personalities, diverse talents and distance.  She is one of my four grown and cherished siblings - sister, cheerleader, confidant,  “twin”, burden-sharer, and inspiration. 

This morning, awakening to a new day and reveling in the new day's clarity of thought, I realize that the quote by William James displayed in her kitchen is becoming mine:  


The greatest weapon 
against stress 
is the ability we have to 
choose
one thought
over 
another.

With the assistance of their music teacher, our children select music to perform.   We choose the displays in our home, the car we drive, the sled we are going to buy from limited possibilities and available funds.   We ponder a menu for our choice of breakfast and from a selection of beverages: european chocolate,  medicinal tea, and mushroom infused coffee or none of the above, with lemon or with no lemon.  We may save our children's art or display our treasured knick-knacks, give them away to Goodwill or beg someone to take them at next spring’s yard-sale and decide whether to buy or make different ones.

 We choose our traditions, our snow-pants, our sledding hill and our musical instrument but do we understand that we have the same power of selection over our thoughts?   We choose to be compassionate or offended, understanding or bitter, generous or greedy, jealous or gracious, amused or annoyed.  We choose to stand our ground or cave in to peer pressure, seek truth or endure lies, and as William Shakespeare would say: "to be or not be" happy.   

We decorate our lives - pleasant spaces, friends, appreciation, dinnertime, stories, heroes and heroines, memories.  We accept suggestions because they offer warmth; like borrowed boots they fit and make more sense than a pair of dress loafers on a snow hill - or we turn down advice because it does not work for us or because we fear it won't.

We make corrections and we move on.  One broken plastic handle does not obsolete a good sled make.  Choosing not to wear snow-pants may cut short the fun when the wet soaks through two or three layers to our skin, and we flee to the warmth of a nearby vehicle but despite catching a chill we had a great time - and had the freedom to learn a simple lesson the hard way - that all-black jihadist/suicide bomber style in layers, although exoterically menacing, isn't the least bit water-proof.  Not asking to borrow gloves so that holding a child’s snowy mitten causes a moment's hesitation? We don’t think that today’s choice is the way we must do it next time.

Like five kids with three sledding devices, the waning light urges harmony - quick choices are made to share a sled, to take turns, to not waste a moment; and to socialize with the little boy with a green sled he has no one to share with - whose watching dad is standing too far away and missing out on the fun.  We may not possess a sled apiece but had enough kindness to go around.  On the dial for attitude we chose friendly smiles for a lonely child with dark, shining eyes and black, edgy hair; for all the world a miniature Harry Potter minus the glasses.  Maybe it was attitude that made the old silk hat magical which the children placed on Frosty.

Routine versus spontaneity and excitement; day in, day out - from our food choices to our entertainment - we choose, decide and select.  We choose everything from our work, hobbies, and interests to the latest greatest computer or all-time favorite pen, from our coffee cup to our exercise routine. Some thoughts are like the sled that because of some rough usage we hopped and inched down the hill, arriving underwhelmed.  Some are like the broken handle we carried off the hill so it did not have a chance to impale an innocent by-sledder: weakness identified, accepted and safely removed.  

Some thoughts give us joy, energy, strength, and hope. Attitudes we have accepted or embraced that don't serve us well may be firmly abandoned in favor of those that energize, uplift, and validate our purpose.   Some thoughts feed our ambitions and encourage us.  Others are like a weight that we drag around for someone whose attitude dial is regularly set on accusations and blame; whose methods are sabotage and making victims of their comrades.   Unfortunately, rather than validating our purpose, sometimes we act as if we prefer to validate our worst fears.  Misery loves company, so choose with care. As important as it is to know that we may choose, more so is how we choose.  





Shortbread Cookies ~ Alexander's Chocolate Classics
                                        https://plus.google.com/111836867885991647546/posts




Chocolate Shop

You Catch 

More Flies 

with 

Honey 
~
than  with 

Vinegar.




Anyone Home?

“I am the most miserable person who ever lived," he said... "You are young, and in love," said Primus. "Every young man in your position is the most miserable young man who ever lived.” 



Peaked






“There is no greater sorrow than to recall in misery the time when we were happy.” 


― Dante Alighieri



Monday, January 27, 2014

 FROZEN
Dart

Foggy Morning
The Huntress

Currier and Ives


Posing Pretty

Shallow Shadows  

Reflecting


How would you describe the distinctive sound of a Skype call coming in – and my head over tail dive to the stair-well when I hear the bubbles and taps – a headlong dash to my corner of the office where the cordless phone is buried under piles of neglect?  It’s not every day a person gets a call from Ethiopia.  I didn’t know when it was coming and didn’t intend to miss it.

 I’ve been schooling myself about worry.  Duane was hesitantly comforting when assuring me of Mindy’s general safety, which may or may not contribute to my concerns. Headlong dashes through various obstacles may result in injuries or bruises at a certain frantic pace, but calls from Ethiopia rank right up there importance with the Super Bowl and the State of the Union address combined.

Worry is like a Jack-in-the-box (the child’s toy rather than the merchant of hamburgers) and you would think after the many adventures of my very own little Minnie the Pooh, I’d have conquered the beast.   I went to Greece with every intention of laying it to rest, and have made some progress, I’m happy to say.  Still, you know how it goes.  Push the little clown in the box and close the lid.  Crank the handle and crank some more.  Just when you start to relax – Surprise!  He pops up again, just like you knew he would.   

No matter how many times I stuff the worry clown into a box, if I keep cranking the handle, it’s going to pop up again.  Concern because she hasn’t called or written for ___ Days. How’s Mindy, asks so and so?  Haven’t talked to her since _______ precisely.    Enough already: just stop cranking the handle.  Nice clown.  Quiet clown.  Stay in the box and everything will be just fine.

The truth is that worry won’t change a thing.  The girl is savvy.  She’s been around the block a time or two.  She has handed a dressing down to more than one student full of wild oats, although a few battles did not produce a clear winner.  I know her biggest challenges are the mouthy teeny-boppers with a sorority attitude.  And that’s just in the classroom. 

Now she’s facing the battle she can’t win – brown skinned, brown eyed Ethiopian beauties around the age of nine.  Give her a handsome lout to punch and she’ll let him know who’s boss, but there’s not a little kid who won’t be able to count coup over her.   Third grade?  Why did they give her third grade?   Still, velvet-eyed third-graders may have her twisted around their sticky little fingers – but she’s on to their thieving ways.  That jack-in the box is easy to set aside. 

The bigger worries are what I’m working on.  Imagination, fear, hunger, loneliness – what she doesn’t or may not be telling me.  Those Jacks have to be stuffed in more resolutely.   Mama’s optimistic  but Mama has her passport if needed.  I’m glad she’s got a sucker punch and isn’t afraid to use it.

Meanwhile, the report on the scene of  the resolutions is mixed.  Some success.  Shall we say one step forward - strong uptrend on friends and family connections which is lovely, (although have one belated birthday card idle), and one step in place for all the wishful thinking I've entertained. There are several other important misses.  

Chaos hasn't been getting enough push-back around here, but I never said this would be easy. Signing off facebook seems like the solution for taking control of my time. See you in two weeks, or two hours, or maybe two minutes.  Yeah.  I think I've identified the problem:  a facebook addiction. Time for a 12 step program.  Ciao for now.  If you don't see me, I've won.





Coming soon: 12 Steps.  This beast must be conquered.  Stay tuned.

Saturday, January 18, 2014

Finding Joy

New Tea

Annie Sloan on the Walls





 All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible.











After pancakes it is a slow Saturday start on the to-do list.
Wearily locking the door last night, I trudged through the snow to the pickup for the drive home thankful that I didn’t have to crawl through the back window.  I had locked my keys inside the truck at lunchtime.  Jerry asked if I was lady-like getting in.   Ha Ha.

I breathed in the fresh crisp air deeply and looked up, refreshed and satisfied.  Stars twinkled brightly in the Big Dipper far overhead in the clear Wyoming night, worthy of a double-take.  Reluctantly opening the door, I stepped into warmth and dropped everything, relieved to find my missing wallet in my hand, covered by the clothes I had changed out of after dinner.

I was woozy over the fumes of my waxing.  No, not that kind, either.  What was the purpose of going to all this effort, anyway?  Just to avoid removing dated pink-flowered wall paper from paneled walls.  We have gone that route before and ended up tearing it all up and replacing the paneling with sheetrock.  Not going there, this time; had to try something else. 

“Did you get any paint on the wall?”  My husband gave me a curious look but I know that even though he brushed away something from my cheek at lunch it was probably Wendy’s buttermilk dip, not paint.  This time it probably wasn’t paint that he was looking at, either.  I would guess the Ghost of Christmas Past reappeared in the fine dust I sanded off the walls and she was me.  I felt dry dust coating my skin, my hair, in my nose.  I have learned to paint without painting much of myself in the process – usually – considering the amount of painting I do, that is.

Two colors of Annie Sloan (Ochre and Old White) applied lightly over what wallpaper stuck firmly to the wall, then clear wax, then…  Well, a picture is worth a thousand words.   The wall – not me!

In the shower I noticed green paint all the way down my calf from 24 hours before.  I had wiped it off quickly then started scooping up the huge puddle of green paint (Versailles) that was quickly soaking into the new forest green plush carpet; a last minute spill.  I was finishing up the vacuuming, being industrious; cleaning up the mess so when I came back it would be encouraging to begin.  Big pieces were gathered up.  Tiny bits of wall paper were vacuumed by a cheap vacuum.  Some renter had left it behind and it probably needs a fresh bag by the looks of things.  At 11:00 P.M. Exhausted Husband was lying on the floor waiting while Afternoon Napper Wife finished some edge cleaning, moving fast.  Over goes the paint, lid gives way.  Green paint on me, on the new carpet, we face the music - together, because we really want to save the brand new carpet.
 
There goes that early finish for the night.  He didn’t say much.  And when he did, his tone made me decide it wasn’t the time for cheery small talk.  Many buckets later, the water turned very light green.  We covered the wet area with several sopping paper towels, a plastic garbage bag and an extra piece of carpet.   Rug Doctor scheduled (me again).  

This is the first week of my New Year’s Resolutions.  I wasn’t even certain I was going to make any this year.  Now I am remembering why I hesitated – and why I ended up with a list. Here we are, four late nights this week in addition to two evenings spent cleaning the garage and sending odds and ends to the big shop, another project.  Another several projects - too many projects.  This rental re-do is months and several promises past its deadline.  It was not the number one thing on my list.  In fact, it did not appear on my resolutions at all.  It just floated to the top by default.

My list is not about work but joie de vivre.  Moments were stolen from my jobs for my joy – to read a book, call a friend, learn the Greek alphabet from youtube.com, and cook a nice meal.  At the end of the week, I think of the things on my list I didn’t get done…and the ones I did.   There were moments I spent just processing – productive in a way that doesn’t seem to count concretely anywhere on my list, but necessary quiet moments sort of like dreaming, refreshing – those that dream in the daytime.  

It isn’t always about getting things done but while I painted, Things That Matter played on my cell phone. Multi-tasking helped me get settled doing my project.  I learned a salsa step while working out, stole moments to take pictures, sent out a birthday card, and refilled the dishwasher while answering questions.  I studied Greek in the car and folded laundry while – oh you get the idea – speaker phones are handy.  

Things to do: 
  • Put a notepad by my bed for writing things down. 
  • Get the money jar started.
  • More Greek
  • More Spanish 
  • More cooking, home cleaning, entertaining
  • Major Bookwork Season - quit procrastinating.






Thursday, January 9, 2014

Shooting the Moon


Lucky I'm in In Love With My Best Friend


Where do I want to go this year?
A)        Paris
B)          Alaska
C)           Jackson Hole
D)           Victoria BC


What sport to I want to do this year?
A)          Skiing
B)           Yoga
 C)          Crossfit


What do I want to learn this year?
a)            Greek, Spanish
b)            Photography lessons



What do I want to read this year?
a)            Books I can talk over and share with my boys.


What do I want to wear this year?
a)          Size  6 - 8


How do I want to live this year?
a)            Clean, pretty house.
b)            Save $1 a week x week number.
c)            Blog about the process of this list.
d)           Keep in Touch, (birthdays, thank you’s, )
e)            Cook for Fun and Company

Westward ~ Cedar on the Left, Rattlesnake Mountain on the Right


“Nothing has meaning except for the meaning you give it.” 



Recapping New Year's Eve

Such Goings On

Chapman Bench

Everybody should do at least two things each day that he hates to do, just for practice.



My Lefse with Chico, CA Sour Power - Dare you to just eat one.



Found: 

Imported Organic Olive Oil ~ Secret Source

Three Phones


“If you want to make a permanent change, stop focusing on the size of your problems and start focusing on the size of you!” 







Organizing Before Breakfast



Cotton Candy Sunset

The greatest weapon against stress is our ability to choose one thought over another.

Bleck.  New Year's Resolutions.  Well, I am just old enough to know that throwing away the calendar from 2013 doesn't mean the obstacles from the last round magically vanished!  So what to do?  Same old wall, same old me.  So what really has to change?

I hoped for more spousal support.   When he so cooperatively reminded me of my diet, I ate leftover dessert for breakfast to soothe my hurt feelings.  After all, he's the one who sees me naked.  He savors his dinner while I watch.  He remains as trim as the day we were married.  I'm 34 pounds heavier just watching him eat, apparently.

He gives me a list of things to do for the day, and I'll find other things to do, or eat an entire chocolate bar just to show my independent spirit and restate my voting rights.  Not sure what I thought that would accomplish, other than making dessert disappear and sure enough, I was right.  So was he!  Is it in my own mind that if I tell my goals he automatically finds ways to sabotage my plans?  So here are my cards.

Like the Berlin Wall, overwhelming barriers don't just go away overnight.  The barriers to my success are simple: a refusal to adapt to the extenuating circumstances and do the best I can.  I plan to keep my wedding vows despite perceiving food battles and control issues.  I faithfully followed Ann Landers long  before the days of  blogs, Twitter and facebook.com.  If she said it once, she said it a thousand times:  "No one can take advantage of you without your permission."

Personal growth isn't to be taken literally after a certain point in life.  Putting food in our mouths, more than we need anyway, actually creates different and more intense problems instead of solving them.  So does giving up on dreams and wallowing in self-pity.

For awhile I've been observing (following) a couple of people - my daughter, Mindy and Srinivas Rao. Mindy (teacher, traveler, linguist, student) has been adjusting to culture shock. Srinivas is a surfer (life-coach and writer among other things).  How are they connected? Think culture shock and getting wiped out by a wave.

Marriage can be amazing - a friend for life.  His "blueprint" sometimes is as foreign as Ethiopian culture.   Trying to meet the expectations of your spouse and his family can be like getting wiped out.  Thirty-four plus years later.  Yes, I am a slow learner. The stress literally takes me down.  Sleep required, and lots of it (Mindy/Culture shock) so you can get back up and ride the wave that wiped  you out last time.

While I'm mixing metaphors, how about this? A stool can't stand on only two legs.  One leg is keeping my vows of matrimony.  Leg two is not losing my own identity, the knowledge I've gained or amassed that may seem unimportant or insignificant to my spouse.  Leg three is adapting to doing things another way, a way that may at times seem ridiculous - like being a foreigner.  The goal is balance - a three legged stool.  The result?  Who knows, but I want to find out.



Identify the problem.

Lack of self discipline and dislike for being told what to do.

Who is responsible for my attitude?

Me.

Who chooses (controls) what food goes my mouth?

Me.

Who reaps most of the results of my choices?

Me.

Are there all kinds of barricades in my life that are not of my own making which cause me to feel stressed?

Yes and No.

Do I have resources?

Sisters. Brother.  Parental Guidance.  Reasonably happy childhood.  Moderately dysfunctional life.  Knowledge, books, purpose.

Most difficult part?

Not comparing apples with oranges.  A high percentage of our problem is how we measure success.  



Bring it on.  2014 is the year I immerse myself in the gift that is my life.


Date Night -
When we remember  how much we like each other.
(Half Serving - Perfect Treat - Pat on the Back)







Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Here It Comes: 2014
Christmas Day ~ Sauce for Sweet and Sour Pork





Five Crowns

Pot Stickers






Christmas Past - A Memory



  Aunt Lois's Steamed Cranberry Pudding

 2 C. Cranberries, fresh or frozen
1 1/2 C. Sifted All Purpose Flour
1/3 C. Boiling Water
1/2 t. Salt
2 t. Soda
1/2 C. Molasses
Wash and drain berries.  Sift flour, salt and soda into bowl.  Add berries and dredge with flour mixture.  Mix with remaining ingredients and mix well.  Pour into a buttered double boiler and steam with cover on tightly for 1 1/2 hours.  Serve warm with the following sauce.

Vanilla Sauce:
1 C sugar
1/2 C light cream
1 C butter
1 t. vanilla
Cook sugar, butter and cream in double boiler for about 30 minutes; stir occassionally.  Just before serving, add vanilla.
Snack Tray Gift 

Ho-hum.  Just another Wyoming Sunset



 "We Had Seasons In The Sun."

And so another year ends, old and decrepit if we visualize the elderly gentleman with the overgrown white beard and sickle in hand. Three hundred sixty five days used up,  miserable, and on the verge of death by inevitability: the March of Time.  Twenty-thirteen, you were a learning experience in many ways, and for that we thank you. 

My holiday card included a one paragraph reference to the death of a young friend of our son.  In so many ways it deserved much more than that.  One event defined our year.  While not the conscious reality of every moment, one event more than any other pervasively and persistently shadows us.

One Saturday morning in September the sun rose as usual.  While most of us snuggled in for a few more hours of sleep,  two friends stood together quietly chatting and watched the day dawn.  It wasn't the first crisp and cool Arizona morning they had enjoyed together, but it was the last.  We were changed more than we can grasp over the course of that day, overwhelmed as we were.  One event, the unexpected death of a young man, a friend, a child, a brother, cousin and nephew is the wrapping on the package of our year.  It is not everything about our year but it does perfectly encase and represent  practically everything about it. 

It defines not only our year but also our future.  It shook our foundations.  We view and judge the importance of everything else past and present from a new perspective.   The hold we have on life seems more than a little tenuous.  Utterly conscious of a new level of reality, at unexpected moments we have grappled and gasped with the pain of loss, remembering.  And then, like the sun rises, we are left pondering again how very precious life is.  That knowledge makes all moments more poignant.

We grieve with our son.  We don’t push ourselves or him to get over it, but to get through.  We are aware that sorrow's work takes time.  We feel bereft but press on as usual, filling in the gaps.  We have grown up.   We feel responsible.  We live more consciously and hopefully less selfishly.  Moments pass heavily by virtue of something difficult to define.  

We carry a sense of responsibility.  Life, days, surviving - matters.  We carry the burden of reality, too.  The place they should be, now empty. We carry the burden of our grief and our friend's family's loss - if somehow our appreciation and respect for their beloved will help, perhaps miserable comfort.  We share the moments with them when we are beyond words - alive and lost.  Through that understanding we are sustained.

And that, my friends, is not a bad way to face a new year.  Sober and sensible.   Life marches up to greet us.  For better or worse we have awoken each morning to the light of another day. How precious, if painful, life is.  Each moment, really, has value and each day is a gift.  Even though we have spent so many moments mindlessly tending to our own desires, we know better.   We know that Twenty-Fourteen, while filled today with possibility and wishes for happiness, may hold sorrow for some.  We know because it happened to us.


Life then is a mixture of sorrow, hope, friendship, love, work and play.  Life is decorated by being kind and tender, by laughing and understanding, sharing and teaching – the moments we reached out, listened, helped, watched and felt.  Those moments of shared humanity and connection will be the moments that will have the greatest value a year from now. 

If granted life for another year of days by virtue of Celestial Decree, I want to fill them with friendship, gentleness, understanding, patience and strength - to have moments less defined by what I want, even with what I think I need – and more with sharing things like sunrises.