HOLIDAY SNAP SHOTS

Once upon a time, when I was a single mom, I didn't have a camera and sure as heck couldn't afford one SOOOOOOOOO I pretended to have one. I would curl my fingers and look through the tunnel they made and say "snap-snap" and that was my photo moment. The kids and I both liked it and it turned into a game for our family at large. I would ask for their snapshots of the day by counting to three and saying "snap" and they would have to share whatever image came into their mind. These "snaps" seem to seal the moment just like a photo.

Here are some of mine from the discombobulated Christmas of 2015:

1-2-3 Here's an odd one. (Never can tell)  It's Issa's cute crossed feet while she sits on the potty chair and I on the edge of the tub as we talk. So relaxed and sweet.

1-2-3 The last glance before bed of Santa stockings on the dining room table
filled and stretched and waiting while all was glimmer and cozy haze. (Knowing chaos would come)

1-2-3 Three kids tumbling in a super large red Target gift bag laughing the kind of laugh before someone gets hurt. (No one did--a Christmas miracle)

1-2-3 Issa following her younger cousin (18 months) around the house reading to her THE LITTLE ENGINE THAT COULD in gibberish obviously being the teacher and elder while Flori toddled furiously away from her lesson.

And to be truthful, I have lots of images of stacked dirty dishes, lost puzzle pieces on the floor, stray socks and random lost pieces of Star Wars toys--the darn red arrows that were lost and found and lost and found and lost and found.

Count to three and share an image. 

OH THE GIFTS I'VE BEEN GIVEN!!!!

(I guess I'm still in Dr Seuss mode with my titles!)

I've had strong indicators that this might be a discombobulated holiday.
Not disorganized, just topsy-turvy. Old traditions going by the wayside.
Changing rituals and people. It will be the first Christmas without some kid or grand kid under our roof. All good and right changes but I wondered if I would be kind of blue.

Not so much. Slightly invigorated, helped mostly by what I have already been given. Big fat gifts.

—I had a story book day with my granddaughter who lives close. I knew I was going to babysit and I knew it would be a day of chores. (I don't always entertain like an enlightened day care) I had stuff to get done. It was a rainy, dreary day. I dreaded the car seat routine and the bargaining I was in for.
So not what happened.

—We went to the UPS store. Long lines. I had a big shopping bag that I emptied of packages and in she went. The worker was excruciatingly slow and the system fraught with mistakes. But Issa hunkered down in the empty bag and when anyone came in to join the line, she popped up with arms spread wide and yelled "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"  It was incredible to see faces go from tense to soft as she did it and to see the immediate conviviality of the line. She was like a kid from a fifties Christmas movie the whole day long ending with belting out a song in The True Value Hardware Store that my mom sang to me and I sing to Issa. Never knew it has registered with her. There she was singing it word perfect, "I Love You a Bushel and A Peck"  

—Another gift not to be taken for granted is when I broke a 20 or more year tradition with my friend Eileen. She and her daughter have always come for Christmas Eve. I said, "I can't do it this year for all kinds of reasons." She lovingly accepted that. Big gift.

—Yet another big fat gift. I just had an annual brunch with the first two women I had as colleagues when I first moved to Maine,Joanne and Lynn. They hired me. We were a team of women who supported one another easily, foibles and all. We only get together once a year and then gab straight for three hours and not much of it reminiscing, We are a present tense friendship. This was our 31st year of getting together.  We are loyal and come when things are good and when they are tough. A gift.

—Here's an odd unexpected gift. I have had reason to make many complex phone calls whether to fix an Internet connection, change a stove hood, figure out confused finances or order a gift AND I have had nothing but pleasant, helpful, laugh filled conversations. Stunningly different from the usual. I'll take that as a big,fat gift also.

Best gift? I know when I'm receiving a gift.
  
PS-- my husband brought me coffee in bed and turned the light in my eyes to wake me to get this posted after a week of no Internet. Gifts galore!! I growled just a  little as he did what I had asked. 

GRINCH GRINCH GRINCH!!! JOY JOY JOY!!

     

I was going to write about how I’ve been so Grinchy

about Christmas lately, AND how now, I’m beginning to get the joy.

BUT then our router got goofy (as in which tangle of wires goes where)  and I got goofier thinking I could fix it and crawled under the table holding all the wires of stuff ( DVD player, Digital Photo Frame, turn table, computer, CD player stacked on turn table, a lamp---the usual.  No success and as a bi-product, I learned that I’m not as flexible as I thought and I took pathetic measures to get up and down and around. 

So now, I feel tired and stiff and have no Internet.

And I hate to miss a deadline even when it’s self-imposed.

OK. Back to joy.  Mutter mutter mutter.  No one eats sugar anymore anyway.  No use making Christmas cookies.

Mutter, mutter.  Families are too complex (at least mine) too spread geographically, too many grandparents, too much travel, too little being there.  Mutter, mutter. Too many celebrations in December.  Skimming with a smile and a drink. Mutter, mutter, mutter.  Gluttony of food and presents.  Indulgence and guilt.  Mutter, mutter, mutter. Can’t find a good old fashioned Christmas tree with space for ornaments. Only well groomed trees. Mutter, mutter, mutter.

There. I feel better already. Nothing like a good complaint session to clear the air. My daughters and I used to take turns complaining and do a kind of round robin until we felt good and finished. (I may have shared this before but it is good holiday behavior. Pick your complaint parent now.)  Good complaining can’t be one sided or it's an iconic pit party. My two daughters and I would start out slow and polite and end up shouting our heavy duty complaints. One time we even put it to song and sang it from the front porch. We always ended up light hearted and laughing at/with life. If this sounds sweet and Hallmark like, you've got it wrong. Think wicked.

So Jingle Bells. Holly Jolly. Joy to the World. My Grinch is defeated.  Nothing like good complaining to bring back joy.

And I mean it. A counter-intuitive truth.

BLACK FRIDAY

I hate the name and I may hate the concept as well. I try not be disdainful  as friends spell out their strategy to buy the most, the cheapest, in the fastest way possible to cover lots of ground. It carries such a frantic naked sweaty greed. And it taints Thanksgiving for me. If it were just more old fashioned festive. And slower.  If only it were Bing Crosby-esque.

I am a present giver. I love to give spontaneously and often and give the 'just right' thing. I don't even mind when it is obligatory like Birthdays and Christmas. But this year I want the quiet peace of Silent Night rather than the Holly Jolly-ness.  Presents seem almost grotesque as the world struggles with poverty and hatred and profound unrest.  

One of the stories in history that I find so poignant is of soldiers/enemies on Christmas Eve singing Christmas Carols together during a cease fire (whether formal or not) knowing that the next day they would go back to trying to kill one another. Soldiers described it as a holy moment of common human connection.
How do we create and extend that kind of moment?  How do we get our energy there? 

Yes to the start of the many holy celebrations of the season. Yes to lots of giving.Yes to joy. Yes to the wonder of children being surprised with gifts.
Yes to lights and hope to make it through the darkness. Black Friday to me seems like a kick-off in the wrong direction. Wrong goal post

THANKSGIVING MENU

Like many of you, I honor my relatives with carrying their dishes forward on Thanksgiving in the US.
I do wish every country celebrated a "thanksgiving" on the same day.
Food and family as a break for peace

MY THANKSGIVING MENU (and those who first made or inspired the dishes) 

Spiced sweet and salty nuts--me
White bean hummus with rosemary--me
Dark Swedish crackers--daughter-in-law

Turkey--17 pounder--dad
Stuffing--mushroom, celery, onion, turkey seasoning from cute yellow box--my mom's
Mashed potatoes and gravy--my mom's
Candied sweet potatoes--sauted pieces in butter and brown sugar glaze-my mom's
Brussel sprouts--new
Green Salad with pear and walnuts--new
Creamed onions--my grandmother
Rolls--my sister-in-law 
Relishes--regular ol' black olives and Spanish olives--my dad
Canned cranberry jelly-who knows
Cranberry ice--my mom
Cranberry relish--with Lime and Jalepenos--mine
Pumpkin cheese cake with gingersnap crust--my daughters
Pumpkin pie with whipped cream--my mom

Mandatory walk on the beach and then home to leftovers.

HATE? WHAT ON EARTH TO DO?

A colleague of mine sent me the following link with her comment:

http://www.collective-evolution.com/2015/11/17/the-dalai-lama-tells-everybody-to-stop-praying-for-paris/
"Not to mince words with the Dalai Lama, but to "Pray for Paris" doesn't necessarily mean those prayers are asking "God to fix it." Also, maybe he is too attached to the concept of praying to a being - assuming that that is the only mechanism at play in prayer. The power of the quantum physics of emitting loving and healing prayers for Paris may be one of many important tools towards creating peace." 

The colleague, Ariette, is my partner in creation for my writing and work. We have labored to get my book I PRAY ANYWAY; Devotions For The Ambivalent out the damn door and into the marketplace. We have discussed and debated every comma and concept of the book together.
We often talk about the goals for the book and my various blogs and it comes down to wanting dialogue and conversation with readers. How appropriate to hear from Ariette as a reader and contributor.

My response: Prayer can take many forms.  Too often it's the "gimme, fix it, make it right" with a tiny 'thank you' to ensure the results.  Not necessarily wrong.  For a great example read Anne Lamott's HELP, THANKS, WOW.  

I am a prayer explorer so I read and talk about it quite a bit. But what I am sure about  is ONLY my experience.  When I manage to enter a prayer place it is all about peace and deep joy and compassion. It reorients me from irritations and anxiety and meaninglessness so that I can enter the secular with my peace battery full. Meditation is a different animal for me. It does help me see more clearly. It does create calm. It is full or empty. Prayer, is full of peace for me  and a peace generator beyond me.  

I think Dear Dalai and I are in agreement and to pick at differences is exactly what the world does not need.  We need whatever paths take us to peace and compassion and active giving when we feel hate.

THIS NO TIME TO BE BASHFUL

Mama, mama, mama.  
So. My book(iprayanywaydevotionsfortheambivalent) will be available on Amazon the first week in December. Yes, I wrote it in a blur on purpose.

I want everyone to read it. Sort of.
Maybe everyone that I don't know.
So shhhhh.  Don't tell anyone about it, ok?
Is this some reverse marketing ploy?
No. It's me being bashful.
It's me wanting to wait a minute til the book is just like I want it.
It's me wondering why I didn't write a book about leadership where I have some expertise. I would not be one bit bashful about that.

So why bashful?
Or reluctant?

Here are my demons:
-I don't care if you pray or not. I didn't for years. I wrote it to talk out loud to myself, I think, and decided to share it.
-It does have 365 prayers, thoughts, poems. I still don't know what to call them.
-I've been told it's very intimate and revealing of who I am. Readers ask if I'm worried about that. (Not until they asked)
-My daughter tells me I'm not ambivalent. Well that kind of kills the concept doesn't it? 
-The cover doesn't fit the content but I like red (wait til you see what I chose)
-I cringe so often now that when I read it for corrections  I have to ask  my writing colleague to make the decisions. (Normal writing demon, I think)

But there comes a time. Worrying about this book is sort of like obsessing about what to wear to a wedding when you know only the bride will be looked at.
Most books don't get read anyway. (I'm being so bad)

Please buy and read this book.
There.
I have to get used to saying that sentence.

I asked you to push me off the diving board. Here I go-------

AUTUMN ELEGY

Fall is absolutely my favorite season and it drives me a little nuts. It carries so much beauty and exuberance and sadness all at the same time. It is the extraordinary burst of brilliance before the shutting down of Winter. 'Poignant' is the word I'm looking for.  Anyway, here is a poem by my friend, Liz Swenson, who refuses to be published but enriches me by sending me her poetry.  This captures the unease as the end of autumn approaches. Bittersweet.

sometimes within is a mere

reflection

of without.

an overcast morning in

late autumn when

curled and spent

leaves silently forfeit their 

grip 

and float haplessly to 

the ground.

to be blown by the next

vagrant breeze,

to be mulched by the 

final autumn mowing,

to reveal the bare thick

and thin

branches that have 

nourished and supported them. 

i, too, lack initiative,

self-direction and 

determination.

i linger,

i drift,

suspended between then

and now,

now and to be,

looking for the 

nourishing soul-food that 

will set me again in motion,

reaffix me to the perennial and 

immutable

branches of life.   

"THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US" Wordsworth

I like to write. Actually, I don't write. I talk. It's like I have a quota of words I need to get out of me in order to take in more, through listening or reading.

So I sat down to write (to you, my conversation word partners) and I balked.
I looked out the window from my writing corner and saw the gold of a sun close to setting and the October black silhouette of a tree stripped of half of it's leaves and I fled. That is exactly how if felt. I fled. I escaped.  

I charged to the car, leaving a quick note for my husband and followed beauty.
I drove from one gorgeous Fall tree to another, stopping to walk when I couldn't stand being contained.  I stayed mostly in neighborhoods. I was starved for nature and hadn't known it and hadn't listened to it. It scared me to realize that a gorgeous Summer and Fall could be lost to me. My interior world had gotten too much attention. It was the kind of panic I get when I know I've wasted time or that I think I  missed the most important thing.  

Think how it must feel when you are dying and know it!  Did I spend time right?
Did I 'get' the beauty of life when it was right there for the taking?  Did I ignore the fact of an ending.  

Too philosophical about looking at Fall leaves? Not to me. Thank Goodness I have a kind of bullshit buzzer that goes off when I am betraying myself in some way and it nudges and nags and stymies me until I suddenly take action to 
have what I need.  We all know better.  We pledge to live more fully every time we realize there is an ending. 

Ninety minutes of unplanned meandering in beauty set me right.  Check your own bullshit buzzer's batteries. Turn it to loud. Respond. Reduce regret. Live. 

SELF-NAGGING: THE GOOD AND THE BAD

I self-nag. I assume you do too. It's why choice is such a pain in the neck.
It's why a task that must be done or a medical emergency is sometimes kind of 
relaxing. Truly. Why?  Because there is not much choice involved.

When I have discretionary time, I get two voices going at me at the same time. One is my good nag and the other is my evil nag. "Read that book you're loving" says Good Nag. "Clean that closet, clean that closet" says Bad Nag.

Of course the tricky part is to know the difference between Good Nag and Bad Nag. (I'm getting a Halloween vibe here)  In a workshop, I would have us create and name our Good Nag and Bad Nag.  

The Nags nudge you to action.  Reading the book could be bad in reality and cleaning the closet could be very good.  How do you/I know? 
 Here's how I sort of know:

-If while taking action (book or closet)  I enjoy it while I am doing it. I don't resent it or think I shouldn't be doing it. Good Nag

-If I know that I am acting on a value that matters to me even if I hate the activity. Good Nap

-If the action begins to feel so so burdensome that I can't do it well or finish or
take pride in it. Bad Nag

-If the action is something I would do if the day was one of my last.  Good Nag
Great Nag.

I'll tell you why I care.  ALL TIME IS DISCRETIONARY. EVERYDAY, ALL THE TIME, WE CHOOSE HOW TO SPEND OUR LIVES.

WON'T SOMEONE PUSH ME OFF THE DIVING BOARD, PLEASE

I am in creative agony.  I have written a book and will self publish it soon.
The content is done.  It's not the book I thought I would write first. (I have several lined up)  It's about a less known side of me (or not--we are all so obvious actually). I may have mentioned it here. The title is I Pray Anyway:Devotions for the Ambivalent

I pray. And I am a skeptic and a believer and a perpetually curious searcher 
that can't find one home base or spiritual certainty.  And, still I pray, my way.
The book has a prayer poem for each day of the year and a monthly entry about my personal bumps and bruises from my own religious roller coaster. I share my kind of prayer practice.  

I am shy as the time comes to publish. I want everyone in the world to read it except people I know. But I am ready and eager even BUT I can not get the cover so that it feels just right. I have had many versions and worry that I have ruined them all with too much tweaking.  

So help push me off the diving board.  I WILL HAVE THIS BOOK AVAILABLE ON AMAZON BY NOVEMBER 1ST.  READY OR NOT.  (THERE IS NO READY)  

THANKS CHRISTOPHER

I need the holiday, I'll take it.
But let's remember that this land and people did exist before Chris.
How do we honor a whole history of almost anything?
So much cultural bias and narrative.
We have to let go of the idea of winners over losers.
Somehow.
Somehow.

STALKING JOY

After a lousy week and too much lousy world news, I had lost my joy.
I know I've lost it  when I get locked into sarcasm (usually funny but still sarcasm) and gallows humor.  My optimism takes on a jaded touch of trying too hard. 

I needed to find my joy again. So I dedicated half a day to doing only what gave me joy. Harder than it sounds. Luckily I had time alone.  First you have to remember what your joy feels like and then do what you have to do to stay with it.
Joy to me is like carbonated satisfaction. It's not raucous like happiness, nor indulgent like pleasure. Joy lightens and refreshes and reorients to a kind of positive innocence.  

Here's where my joy took me today:

—I had an invalid morning. Coffee and reading in bed. I only read what grabbed me and changed when I lost the joy in it. I looked at a book with paintings and commentary of Picasso's work. Then I switched to a novel. I never got to the point of boredom because I stayed with joy and changed when i realized I was "doing my duty" in some way.

—I had two phone calls that were going to head into unpleasant tasks. I told both callers that I was having a 'joy' day and I'd deal with tasks on Monday.
Bewildered but acquiescent, they agreed. Triumph. I turned off the phone.
Joy, joy.

—I sat on the porch in the sun and enjoyed the details of window boxes that soon I will destroy. Just stared and enjoyed.

—I gave some time to being sad about sad things--just sat with it until it evaporated and joy re-appeared.  

—I held still a lot. 

—I kept the discipline of shifting actions as my joy did. If it diminished, I waited til the next joy pull came.

—I did some odd task that gave me joy--like clearing a book shelf of 20 books

—I pulled in my antennae that are so sensitive to other people and kept close to myself--attuned to me.

I wish I could explain it better. It is such a good practice to do a reset for joy.
Joy just is, but sometimes needs attention and amplification. On another day, I might have a different list of joy givers. The practice is to stalk and consciously grow your joy.

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

Good ol' Ben feels like my soul mate. Always has. From my first sixth grade report on him to this morning.

My latest crush is my falling back in love with my library. (Thank you Ben for such a good idea) Yes, people should have access to books and for free.  What a radical important idea for a democracy.  

I have re-discovered the inter-library loan.  I call the library and give them a list of books (up to 15) and they tell me when one appears and I go pick it up.
For free people!!!!  For free.  

I am ecstatic. No need to buy. I save my iPad for travel or the odd book I want to share on Facebook. The library staff laughs (and enjoys) my absolute joy when I pick up books. The last time I picked up books they asked, "Is this still like your Birthday for you?"  Yes, yes and yes.  If I get jaded about free books at my command, available with ease, then all is lost.

I leave extolling America and Ben, for creative energy, for the radical idea of democracy, for big ideas that generate good change, for an insatiable hunger for progress and learning. Yippee.  

Ben was a scoundrel and ready for adventure (and romance too). He drove John Adams nuts with his womanizing and exorbitant book buying when they were in
Europe together.  No wonder I love him.  Let's hear it for Ben!!  We need this kind of zesty positive energy full of possibilities.  

THE PLEASURE OF LETTERS WRITTEN ON PAPER. HOW QUAINT!

Here's how I want to start:

—Dear reader, hope this finds you well. Thanks for the kind words you shared about my latest writing. I've been in the end of Summer hectic transition to Fall and look forward to a reading and writing frenzy instead. I have the books you suggested stacked on my already stacked desk. My book I PRAY ANYWAY—Devotions for the Ambivalent should go to Createspace this week. 
Hope this letter finds digging into your own work after a great Summer. Forgive my em dashes—

This is a poor imitation of a letter from the book Elizabeth Bishop and The New Yorker. I read it over the week-end and it was and is so sooooooothing. Every single letter back and forth between author and editors is so polite and lovely
(a word I rarely use). The cadence is almost courtly even when discussing punctuation.  I find reading letters written before the 60's so reassuring. (Poor ol' sixties--they are not to blame for absolutely everything.)  You know, that they recent TIME magazine asks the question, "Is etiquette finished forever?" or something like that.  

Anyway, if you want some calming and civility, read correspondence from the near or distant past. It shows how far we have come in a decline to crude tidbits of projectile vomiting viewed as writing or communication. (Sorry, I didn't know that description, itself, would be so graphic. Irony emerges!  

So dear reader, I recommend the book Elizabeth and The New Yorker. Elizabeth Bishop was/is quite the poet and worked with some greats at the THE NEW YORKER magazine. She drove them nuts with her erratic punctuation as I do my  writing colleague.  The point is to enjoy a kind of civility that is not at all restrictive, but uplifting in style and substance.

AND NOW, THE LESSONS LEARNED FROM A 2 1/2 YEAR OLD.

Reminders from a babysitting grandmother/YaYa:


—Bedtime should not be at the end of the day when everyone is exhausted! All that cuddle and ritual and book after deadly book needs morning energy.

—Anyone who thinks they don't pray, will if they can't get that darn little person to take a nap as the oxygen beckons just out of reach

—Building  a tight routine is excruciatingly boring and doesn't work when you most need it.  Chaos is only slightly worse

—Peak moments of toilet training only happen when you absolutely have to be out the door on the dot for the most important appointment of your life and you have to go into  Bhudda mind or lose yours

—Repetition builds learning.  Repetition makes you repeat what you wished the little kiddo already knew.  Repetition makes hate your own voice.
Repetition is unrelenting punishment for kid and adult. Repetition only works for learning when it's fun which produces the need for fun games for things that should be dull, like brushing teeth and, which in turn, become deathly boring.

—We all resort to sugar under duress. Thank goodness for bribery with sugar and just a teeny tiny drip of cold medicine when there is no cold.

—Demanding relentlessly really does work.  


—Give-up trying to find the lost "y" for the alphabet puzzle

—Know that you are normal if a heart squeezing moment resets you to "over the moon"  about your kiddo and don't beat yourself up when all you want to do is freeze dry your two year old while you catch your breath



–

THANKS OLIVER SACKS

Oliver Sacks died this past week.  Oddly, I haven't read a lot of his books. He was Professor of Neurology at NYU and wrote books about his clinical practice.
He recently finished his memoir, On the Move.  I did read an article of his that stuck with me. It was about the Sabbath.

I spent the day, yesterday on the front porch in total quiet.  That, in itself, is a miracle, given the car repair garage across the street and a house guest and a frequent and welcome granddaughter visit.  The quiet had that poignant feel of Summer sliding into Fall. The window box flowers were having their last fling at freshness.  Everything was poised in an in between moment. Hushed and achingly (not an overblown phrase here) perfect.

I picked up a magazine and read Oliver Sacks' comments about the Sabbath.
He had not been an observant Jew for years but was visiting a cousin. He had finished his memoir and had been told shortly after that he was dying of cancer.
No reprieve.  He went to Sabbath at his cousin's home.

The peace of the Sabbath, of a stopped world, a time outside of time, was palpable, infused everything, and I found myself drenched with wistfulness, something akin to nostalgia.

He goes on to say more about the Sabbath as his death grows closer:

I find my thought, increasingly, not on the supernatural or spiritual, but on what is meant by living a good and worthwhile life—achieving a sense of peace within oneself. I find my thought drifting to the Sabbath, the day of rest, the seventh day of the week, and perhaps the seventh day of one's life as well, when one can feel that one's work is done, and one may, in good conscience, rest.

That is the tone of the moment I had on my front porch. An intimation.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

January 1st just doesn't do it for me as a "new" year.  I approach it with a kind of regret orientation or obligation.  "OK, I'm soaked in sugar and glutted with too much stuff and now I'm supposed to get on a major self-improvement program!"  I don't think so. I'm usually ready for hibernation which is a great form of denial.

Now September 1st is a different story.  From years of back to school ritual, I am ready for a true new year.  Ready for:

--Going into something new, never done before.

--Being with new people (like them or not)

--To learn, to be in an environment that makes me learn and stretch

--To face a few fears (nothing more courageous than a first day Kindergartner)

--To take action and work after a Summer slump--the good kind

--For the support of new books and maybe shoes to highlight the challenge

That's how a New Year should look and for me it's September.
Let's hear it for the life long learners who start a new year whenever they want!!

HOW AM I? EXCELLENT!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here's my deal:
  
—I know so many people going through tough times and I'm empathic so I absorb feelings.  I don't want  people I care about to hurt.

—ISIS makes me nuts with pure fury and then defeat.  The destruction of antiquities combined with the beheading of an 82 year old scholar got on my last nerve.

—Forest fires once wiped out my husband's home. The wildness and size of the flames and the thought of courageous young people working so hard and earnestly to fight the giant blaze makes me get weepy. Goodness and generosity in the face of huge danger and possible death.

—The lack of gravitas and dignity in our presidential candidates seems so juvenile.  I want an adult to run our country--a healthy, balanced, open to difference, and sane adult.  

—Race??? I sigh. The issue can become so vague when we talk solutions and so ugly and raw and violent when it becomes person to person.  

This is just some of the things on my 'easy to get hopeless' list.

BUT BUT BUT. I am thinking of a person in my workplace quite a few years ago who was unfailingly, buoyantly energetically positive. We teased him. We made a little fun of his stance. He never varied. He carried his optimism with him regardless of his personal day.

Brian St Pierre, where are you?  Today I remembered you and your energy during my optimism dip. So people, how about this week carrying a little optimism, leading the way, regardless of your day. As an experiment.
I'm starting now.

How am I???  EXCELLENT!!!

I HAVE A NEW TITLE

Please refer to me as Matriarch Joyce. "Thank you dahlings. So kind. So kind"

I have turned a corner into a new stage of life and it deserves a title.
And Matriarch is it. It applies to both home and work.

At my recent family reunion I began to practice it. And at a leadership workshop last week, I did the same.

--I focused on the newest generation, grand kids at home and hi-potential talent at work.  Both needed lessons from experience and a soothing voice that understood (and a break from the demanding of day to day parents and managers.

--I didn't cook one meal at the family gathering.  At the workshop, I did no preparation but spoke only from my experience.

--I imposed moments of wisdom or learning when I wanted to, stopping proceedings to do so. AND was thanked for it--a clear indicator of Matriarch status.

--I gave perspective to the new generation by sharing history and stories

--I felt a little lazy BUT deserving of it

Maggie Smith, move over.  Or better yet, "Maggie, would you like to pour the tea and laugh at the foibles of the younger generation and gossip behind our fans? We are so much more able to see clearly than those who are living so close-up to the action. One cube or two?"  

KNOWING WHAT MATTERS MOST AND DOING IT = DEEP SATISFACTION

You can stop reading if you are a person that is never pulled in two or four or twenty kind-of, sort-of equally important directions. It means a constant choosing. Today I'll focus on this. Tomorrow I'll take care of that. This matters more------ or does it?

I'm not talking about tasks so much as I am about different activities or goals.
Garden versus reading. Family versus reading. Exercise versus reading.
I'm kidding!! Mostly.  You know what I mean.

I just had a week and a half of family reunioning. And here's what I'll miss most. I knew that grand kids mattered most. My focus was clear. Everything else was secondary. My kids--secondary.  Food--secondary.  My reading and writing time--secondary.  Relaxing in beauty--secondary.  What a relief when there is no juggling of goals or large activities.  So I played in the basement when the day was Summer perfect. I gave up playing fairy houses for dress-up with scarves.. I watched a goofy pre-teen TV show rather than paint and color.  It was not relaxing. It was mostly fun. It was tiring. BUT IT WAS SO SATISFYING.  It re-connected me with far away grand kids. 

I knew what mattered most and did it. 
May I carry that clarity into this week that has quite a bit of juggling in it because I haven't decided what matters MOST.
Lesson for me? Don't waste life energy through not knowing where you want to most use it.

SUMMERTIME! SUMMER TIME??? IS THERE ANY?

This is not a philosophical question.
Summer used to mean a broad expanse of fluid time, open-ended--one activity (or no activity) transforming into another with no rush or hub-bub.
Activity meant something that happened on your street, not something you were driven to.
At least, for kids, this was true.
Is it still?
Is Summer timelessness a function of childhood or culture?

Oh, how I want it to be true for kids now.
Because I loved the Summer quality of "enough time" and the gifts it gave me.

There was abundant time to:
--Have an ongoing Canasta contest that ran across weeks. The table stayed set-up on the porch.  Scores were kept in blue composition books. Little kids watched older kids play.

--Have a croquet tournament with my best friend that lasted through a whole summer. We were careful to be tied at the end of each day.

--Dream-up an all enveloping world like "Scientist" where we poured water from container to container making magic serum. Tin bouillon tube containers were the best equipment.

--See who could finish a popsicle the slowest. (A pop-sicle had two sticks)

--Decorate bikes with crepe paper wound in the wheel spokes and around the handle bars. Popsicle sticks inserted for click-click sound

--Make a fire fly hotel with everyone contributing their jars covered with wax paper punched with holes and sitting around them in the dark, past bedtime.

--Ride bikes (decorated) around the block one hundred times irritating everyone as we counted and cheered

--Invent games that were harshly refined or given up depending on the staying power of the game to the street as a whole. I will teach my grandchildren one that stays with me called, "I'm Going Away to Smoke My Pipe and I Won't Be
Back Til Saturday Night". This was a winner with a witch and a mom and misbehaving kids and magic that turned them into pies.  

--Make canals in the sandbox, fill them with water and float Ivory Soap boats in them

I say all this as my family gathers for a week long reunion and I already feel the compressed time for play and connection. May it feel like expanded time for
my grandkids when they look back at lobster on the lawn and the childhood games I will teach them. 

LIFE LESSONS FROM A TODDLER

1.  Timing and Transitions either make or break a day.  Learning the timing of switching gears, activities, people, or places has to be graceful like catching a wave with the timing just right. Anticipate and prepare for the change and then move quickly and do it.

2.  Sleep matters. Rituals to relax are key.  So is habit built by consistency.
Lack of sleep turns little things into huge emotional turmoil.

3. My toddler teacher is quite commanding. She is direct. Keeps requests to a few short words said with authority.  Popsicle!  Outside!  Potty now!  The back-up is to lead the other person to what you want and point.

4.  Attractive distraction is a major tool for redirecting energy. The drawing power of each needs to be weighed to the value of the redirect. Talk is not as good as physical example. Want to change from puzzles to drawing?  Put the crayons on the table and begin to move puzzles away.  To leave a playground takes lots of drawing power. Of course food is the best and ice cream the best of the best.  Be positively enthusiastic about what is next.

5.  Punishment doesn't work and carries forward an attitude you will pay for later.  Clapping like a fool for what you like and want does work to create  new behavior.

6.  Please and thank you actually ARE  magic words and never get worn out. Ever. Teenagers take note.  My kids could work me like crazy when they were polite.

7.  Toddlers are just smart enough to be scared. Don't talk them out of it.
Reassure some, teach some, and protect a lot.

8.  Follow behind supporting-- allowing freedom of movement and pace of learning and risk taking. Don't lead or push. Just allow and protect invisibly.

9,  Slow down. Speed ruins everything. One good moment leads to another good moment that leads to another and saves you lots of grief.

10.  Lovely, adorable, smart toddlers can also be boring, trying and exasperating.  Expect it, accept it, complain about it-------so you can go back to seeing the lovely, adorable, smart toddler.

Now substitute, "husband", "boss", "mom" and "me" for "Toddler"

I'VE BEEN MARRIED SEVEN TIMES----

----To the same person!!!  That is a quote from a famous family therapist whose name I can't remember—so much for fame.  He said it to me and I was enraged and, oh so, innocent and young.  Not so young or innocent anymore and more amused than enraged.

He is talking about the eras and stages of any marriage that stays vital and allows for two strong and different people.  For better or for worse, I have one of those. So as we grow and bring new aspects into our individual lives, it almost always irritates the hell out of the other person. We are in a state of continuous adaptation without subjugation. If you don't know what I'm talking about, move on. I'll be here next week. Not everyone wants or can tolerate this type of marriage. Two strong I's and one strong WE is the goal.

Anyway, when one person throws the relationship equilibrium out of sync, there is usually a period of irritation followed by negotiation and then a new normal.

This can take a year or a day depending on the depth of the change. "I want to sleep on the other side of the bed" may take a couple of days. "I want to change careers" is a whole other animal.

Why am I talking about this?

ONE is because I think my husband and I have graduated into a new stage after about five months of bickering, then real talks, then real negotiation, then resolution. It takes a willingness to stay in strong disagreement without turning every moment go to hell. In a long term marriage, there is experience that this canl happen so the intensity level doesn't have to go as high. Doesn't HAVE to. Still may. Quick recovery is the key. And I think we are through another narrow passage.

TWO is because he has just published five books on relationship stuff that has helped us to be married at least seven times to one another.

Here they are:
Starting Right
Marriage Conflict
Intimate Marriage
Talking Together
Healing A Marriage

All the books are clear and wise and real.  Go to Amazon under David E Sanford.
We are in a new stage because he is not glued to his computer.
But to laugh, I am working on several books and want to be glued to mine!!
That's what I mean about making room for two people in one marriage.

AREN'T WE LUCKY!!!!

I have a dear friend who I see regularly.  We share our ups and downs.
But lately we've been sharing mostly downs.
And then we feel guilty because we have darned good lives.
I mean, we are not Afghan women.

So, when we are in the middle of a good complaint session, one of us
will laugh and say, "Aren't we lucky".  And then we laugh.  It's both sarcastic and a course corrector.  Then we will list why we are lucky and it gets hysterically funny and then shifts into giving it perspective.

For example, she called when she had two feet of water in her basement
which she found when she returned home at 11 at night. She roused the plumber and he unhappily came. BUT he wouldn't go into the water til the electricity was turned off and that was in the basement under water. So she called the fire department that came blaring and were hesitant to go in til it was drained. It was a burst pipe so the water was continuing to rise. She asked for a pair of boots to go in herself.  I don't remember the resolution.  I do remember her phone call of distress and that I listened and the said, "Aren't we lucky?"

—Aren't we lucky that there is such a thing as a plumber that got out of bed?
Aren't we lucky that the firemen were cute?  Aren't we lucky that ruined stuff clears out clutter? Aren't we lucky that sleep doesn't matter? —

Anyway, you get the idea.
AREN'T WE LUCKY?????????????

HEART TENDERIZER

I'm having a delayed reaction to the Charleston travesty.

You know what I hate?  I hate that the shooter was welcomed into the church and participated in prayer with the people he shot.

Do you know what I love? I love that the shooter was welcomed into and participated in prayer with the people he shot.

I am a member of the Portland, Maine A.M.E Green Memorial Zion church.
I was welcomed in without question. I am welcomed in with my faith questions and dilemmas. I am gifted with the joy and love of this intimate mostly Black
church.  I am gifted with the unity of spirit in this church that goes oh-so-far beyond our individual differences, with color perhaps the least of the differences.

I know exactly who was killed as I see it through my churches eye. I see who it would have been in my AME church.
And still, my church had its prayer group the following Wednesday.
And still, it chooses to love again and again. And not easily. Not easily.

I have a bi-racial, cross-racial granddaughter.  She loves as naturally as she laughs and cries. She is two years old. 

I have had my trust broken many times and quite recently.
I'm glad I choose to trust. 
Betrayal can cause a tough heart.
Or it causes the heart to expand beyond self-love into a more universal compassion.

My heart is tender this week.  
Tender enough to believe will create more love than hate.
Tender enough to honor the Charleston Emmanuel A.M.E. church as it welcomed the stranger.
Tender enough to want to protect the innocent.
Tender enough to weep.

AWAY—AS IN NO COMPUTERLAND.

So enjoy a word break from me.
There are sooooo many words these days.
Cleanse your palate.
Back on the 29th of June.

What would happen if you limited your self to 300 words a day?