It snowed last night. For about a half hour the world seemed to drink with thirst the heavy snowflakes as they fell. There is one thing that I adore about March. If snow falls...it rarely lasts more than a few hours. It seems that as it melts the earth has new flowers pushing from the sleepy earth.
The other night was bitter. As the weather changed from warm to cold snow it seemed to fill, snag, and push at every nerve in my body. I have damage throughout my back: 1. Multiple car accidents (I'm a very safe driver but I have had the misfortune of riding with UNSAFE drivers)2. Many falls apparently I sometimes make the mistake of NOT looking before I leap. 3. Heredity, I can't BLAME my parents, they faced many of the same challenges.
The nerves in my hands were especially annoyed. Unless you have felt the anger of nerve damage, unless you have done your best to simply "hang in there," (a phrase that I hate, but sometimes is the best I can do), unless you have watched helplessly as your hands, legs, and feet start to jerk and twist without your permission, unless you have witnessed a beloved child face these challenges, unless you have witnessed a dear spouse face these things, UNLESS, UNLESS, UNLESS you may not understand what this post is about.
There are far too many ways actions that lead to bitter. There is the bitterness of children trapped into sexual slavery, and human bondage. There is the bitter struggle of mental health challenge. How well would you handle having relentless voices always close to provide you with hideous images of pain, death, and evil...and some nights nothing you do seem to hush them. Facing the death of a loved one as the earth is stilled and dark. Oh YES, there are far too many times, places, and ways, to have a bitter night.
I believe that almost every human that walks this earth will at some point have a bitter night. This will be a night when light seems to be swallowed. Bitter will feel as though it will chew you up and spit you out.
Just as you feel to give up all hope, faith, or thought of redemption, the darkness will gather itself in a dark cloak. Light will grow, stretch, then become brighter and brighter. The birds will greet the newness of this day with songs of joy. Somehow...some way, morning will again greet the sleeping earth.
A small child lies in her tired Mother's lap. She is being rocked, and comforted with loving songs. The child is fearful, restless, gasping to draw enough oxygen into her tiny body to breathe. The struggle is momentous, especially since the only remedy is to obtain oxygen by taking her to the hospital when her breathing becomes dangerously impaired. The hospital bills are high. Finances are stretched.
Yet redemption is always a short time away. As the darkness is pushed away by the light, a new day, a new chance, a NEW SWEET is formed that masters the bitter. In this moment, this blessed moment, the pain shrinks, the air is more breatheable. Hope is renewed for a joyous future.
How does the sweet redeem the bitter? Should we try to ignore the bitter? NO! It is a strange idea but so true, that some how, some way, the darkness, bitterness, make the renewing of morning seem even sweeter. Yes, there will be other bitter nights. That is the reality of living. On the other hand, there will be redemptive mornings when shadings of light, and the reflections of joy, will paint the sky in radiant pink, orange, and brilliant. The birds will sing their triumphant welcome to the new day.
Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass....it's about learning to dance in the rain!
Monday, March 7, 2016
Monday, February 15, 2016
Mama's Kids
February 15, 1919 was a grand day. Like many marvelous events it
started fairly small...in a tiny town, in a humble home, with a new
baby. Her Grandmother delivered her into the world in her parent's
bedroom.
Sarah was the first child born in her family. There was a bit of disappointment. Her Father was a sheep rancher. His occupation was incredibly intense. He hoped for a son to help carry the load. America was still very narrow in their view of what women should do. Working on a sheep ranch was NOT in that particular definition.
Her eyes loomed large and lustrous in her tiny baby face. Her Mother held her close and served up her first meal. This closeness to her Mother lasted for ninety-one years. I don't suppose that it is surprising that this maternal bond would carry forward into Sarah's children and family.
I'm going to jump forward now, another 40 years or so. Sarah was married and had three children. She had lost a full-term son along her life's path. His earthly remains were tucked away in a cemetery in the town where her husband had earned his collegiate degrees. She had lost three other babes when they had been mere possibilities. Disappointed, she and her sweetheart kept their faces towards the future, the goals and dreams that lay for them there.
I remember my Mom telling me many, many times over the years, "You don't have to give birth to be a Mother. She lived those words actively. First she "fostered," many children unofficially. Children with parents in crisis. Friends of her own children, children that she knew about from her activity in her church group.
Next came the "official," foster children. She heard at church about a program to bring Native American children from the reservation where the schools were seriously lacking, to live with a family that could offer them better educational opportunities. This was a long time before being "politically correct," was important. She did not try to erase their Native American heritage. Sarah did her best to help them understand the traditions of their heritage. Four girls were brought into her home. She did her best to stay connected through the years. One of the girls continued communicating by letter until Mama passed away at 95.
Then there were the three state welfare children. A darling 2 year old daughter, a 6 year old son, and the oldest, another boy was 8. Imagine the sorrow of hearing a 2 year old say matter-of-factly, "My Mama is in prison." Gratefully she did not understand that her Mother was imprisoned for prostitution and petty theft.
These three brought joy and torment into Sarah's family. They were adorable children. She told the rest of our family through laughter about the time that the youngest said to her husband, "Dad, when you go to the store we need bum wipers, we're all out." Her extremely refined husband almost choked on his dinner.
Sarah and Wendell were in their late forties. After caring for these three for two years they applied to adopt them. They were informed that they were too old to be adopting these young children. In addition, the state refused to take away the Mother's rights. That same Mother who had abandoned them for a day here, a week there. The way they were discovered being all alone? Leslie, an eight year old at the time, was shoplifting at a grocery store to get food for his siblings.
After the bid to adopt the three State Services decided it was time to move them. So my two brothers, and my little sister, were pulled away to a home where the woman had already given birth to seven children. That did not last long. She came unglued, physically and mentally, and again the children were uprooted and dropped into a different home.
That was the last time that Sarah fostered "official" children from State Welfare. It was too heart breaking to see the children pay over, and over, and over again, for the sins of the parents.
Did she stop fostering? Not even a little bit. She just loved dear ones who had Mother's far away, or whose Mother had died. Of course, her nurturing and loving spirit just found other ways to nurture and love. She was the first person her friends and acquaintances called in emergencies, or to share joy and success.
I love my Mama, forever and always. I have been truly blessed with a wonderful Mother. I'm grateful for her unselfish example of love and caring.
Sarah was the first child born in her family. There was a bit of disappointment. Her Father was a sheep rancher. His occupation was incredibly intense. He hoped for a son to help carry the load. America was still very narrow in their view of what women should do. Working on a sheep ranch was NOT in that particular definition.
Her eyes loomed large and lustrous in her tiny baby face. Her Mother held her close and served up her first meal. This closeness to her Mother lasted for ninety-one years. I don't suppose that it is surprising that this maternal bond would carry forward into Sarah's children and family.
I'm going to jump forward now, another 40 years or so. Sarah was married and had three children. She had lost a full-term son along her life's path. His earthly remains were tucked away in a cemetery in the town where her husband had earned his collegiate degrees. She had lost three other babes when they had been mere possibilities. Disappointed, she and her sweetheart kept their faces towards the future, the goals and dreams that lay for them there.
I remember my Mom telling me many, many times over the years, "You don't have to give birth to be a Mother. She lived those words actively. First she "fostered," many children unofficially. Children with parents in crisis. Friends of her own children, children that she knew about from her activity in her church group.
Next came the "official," foster children. She heard at church about a program to bring Native American children from the reservation where the schools were seriously lacking, to live with a family that could offer them better educational opportunities. This was a long time before being "politically correct," was important. She did not try to erase their Native American heritage. Sarah did her best to help them understand the traditions of their heritage. Four girls were brought into her home. She did her best to stay connected through the years. One of the girls continued communicating by letter until Mama passed away at 95.
Then there were the three state welfare children. A darling 2 year old daughter, a 6 year old son, and the oldest, another boy was 8. Imagine the sorrow of hearing a 2 year old say matter-of-factly, "My Mama is in prison." Gratefully she did not understand that her Mother was imprisoned for prostitution and petty theft.
These three brought joy and torment into Sarah's family. They were adorable children. She told the rest of our family through laughter about the time that the youngest said to her husband, "Dad, when you go to the store we need bum wipers, we're all out." Her extremely refined husband almost choked on his dinner.
Sarah and Wendell were in their late forties. After caring for these three for two years they applied to adopt them. They were informed that they were too old to be adopting these young children. In addition, the state refused to take away the Mother's rights. That same Mother who had abandoned them for a day here, a week there. The way they were discovered being all alone? Leslie, an eight year old at the time, was shoplifting at a grocery store to get food for his siblings.
After the bid to adopt the three State Services decided it was time to move them. So my two brothers, and my little sister, were pulled away to a home where the woman had already given birth to seven children. That did not last long. She came unglued, physically and mentally, and again the children were uprooted and dropped into a different home.
That was the last time that Sarah fostered "official" children from State Welfare. It was too heart breaking to see the children pay over, and over, and over again, for the sins of the parents.
Did she stop fostering? Not even a little bit. She just loved dear ones who had Mother's far away, or whose Mother had died. Of course, her nurturing and loving spirit just found other ways to nurture and love. She was the first person her friends and acquaintances called in emergencies, or to share joy and success.
I love my Mama, forever and always. I have been truly blessed with a wonderful Mother. I'm grateful for her unselfish example of love and caring.
Monday, February 8, 2016
Squirrel or Wolf?
I was in a very large field. I was HORRIFIED to see a gray wolf running towards me. His eyes were filled with hunger. I couldn't move. My feet were firmly sealed into the ground below. The wolf crouched ready to spring...and came closer, and closer. His fangs were bared. I couldn't cry out or scream. Every time that I tried not one saving whisper came out.
I suddenly realized that everything seemed out of focus. I rubbed my eyes. (Apparently my hands still worked)! The creature I had perceived to be a life threatening gray wolf, was actually a gray squirrel that bounded up into a tree.
When I awakened, almost instantly I knew the meaning of this dream. Dreams are very personal, and generally they are just your mind ruminating refuse from your day to day life. On the other hand, some dreams can teach you. This was one of those kind of dreams.
In my life I often build up challenges and problems in my mind until they seem enormous. Yet times when I focus and face the problem they turn out to be squirrels. Many, many times in my life I have felt paralyzed by a challenge, worry, or problem. I often blow the trouble out of perspective. When I finally face my difficulty, I often find that the worry was actually much smaller than I originally considered.
Why do I share this personal experience? I share it because I'm pretty much certain that others in the world have this challenge beside me. Have you turned any gray squirrels into wolves? What ARE the issues facing you? Can you focus, concentrate, use creativity, and turn your wolf into a squirrel?
Perspective is a gift. It tells you, "You've done hard things before. You can do this again!" Today, take ten minutes. Go in a room all by yourself with paper, pen, or some technological device. Turn off the ringer on your phone. List the problems you are currently holding on a slow simmer in your mind. Face them squarely and write down any types of positive coping mechanisms that you have. (NO CHOCOLATE IS NOT a positive coping mechanism). lol Write a plan of action that gives you the strength to face these problems.
There is an old story that my Mama used to tell. A man came to a wealthy farmer to get a job. The farmer asked about the man's job skills. The man was a yes or no, and only talk when you have to kind of guy. He said tersely, "I can sleep through thunder storms."
The farmer thought that was an odd reply, but his need for help was great. He hired the man. Six months later a tremendous thunder storm hit. When the farmer looked for his hired worker he found that he was in bed asleep.
Angrily the farmer said, "Why are you in bed? Get up! We have to close the shutters, make certain that all of the animals are safely in the barn, and that they have food and water access in the barn. We must make certain that all things that could blow away in a storm are in the the shed for tools, and other things that blow away.
The man smiled, "I can sleep through a storm."
The farmer decided the man was crazy. He didn't want to deal with this man's seeming craziness. He stalked out into the yard to do all the things he had listed. Everywhere he went every task had been done and done well. Finally he understood his employee's words. He literally COULD sleep through a storm because he was always well prepared.
In the morning he apologized to the wise employee and begged him to stay at his farm.
The man smiled broadly and said two words, "Of course."
The good news is that our feet are not sealed to the ground. We have voices, and we can articulate things that matter. What are you fearing today? Is it better to postpone it or should you face it and overcome?
I suddenly realized that everything seemed out of focus. I rubbed my eyes. (Apparently my hands still worked)! The creature I had perceived to be a life threatening gray wolf, was actually a gray squirrel that bounded up into a tree.
When I awakened, almost instantly I knew the meaning of this dream. Dreams are very personal, and generally they are just your mind ruminating refuse from your day to day life. On the other hand, some dreams can teach you. This was one of those kind of dreams.
In my life I often build up challenges and problems in my mind until they seem enormous. Yet times when I focus and face the problem they turn out to be squirrels. Many, many times in my life I have felt paralyzed by a challenge, worry, or problem. I often blow the trouble out of perspective. When I finally face my difficulty, I often find that the worry was actually much smaller than I originally considered.
Why do I share this personal experience? I share it because I'm pretty much certain that others in the world have this challenge beside me. Have you turned any gray squirrels into wolves? What ARE the issues facing you? Can you focus, concentrate, use creativity, and turn your wolf into a squirrel?
Perspective is a gift. It tells you, "You've done hard things before. You can do this again!" Today, take ten minutes. Go in a room all by yourself with paper, pen, or some technological device. Turn off the ringer on your phone. List the problems you are currently holding on a slow simmer in your mind. Face them squarely and write down any types of positive coping mechanisms that you have. (NO CHOCOLATE IS NOT a positive coping mechanism). lol Write a plan of action that gives you the strength to face these problems.
There is an old story that my Mama used to tell. A man came to a wealthy farmer to get a job. The farmer asked about the man's job skills. The man was a yes or no, and only talk when you have to kind of guy. He said tersely, "I can sleep through thunder storms."
The farmer thought that was an odd reply, but his need for help was great. He hired the man. Six months later a tremendous thunder storm hit. When the farmer looked for his hired worker he found that he was in bed asleep.
Angrily the farmer said, "Why are you in bed? Get up! We have to close the shutters, make certain that all of the animals are safely in the barn, and that they have food and water access in the barn. We must make certain that all things that could blow away in a storm are in the the shed for tools, and other things that blow away.
The man smiled, "I can sleep through a storm."
The farmer decided the man was crazy. He didn't want to deal with this man's seeming craziness. He stalked out into the yard to do all the things he had listed. Everywhere he went every task had been done and done well. Finally he understood his employee's words. He literally COULD sleep through a storm because he was always well prepared.
In the morning he apologized to the wise employee and begged him to stay at his farm.
The man smiled broadly and said two words, "Of course."
The good news is that our feet are not sealed to the ground. We have voices, and we can articulate things that matter. What are you fearing today? Is it better to postpone it or should you face it and overcome?
Thursday, February 4, 2016
Agoraphobia and Mental Challenges
The Greek root of the word agoraphobia is agora. Agora is marketplace, or open place. Phobia indicates a fear. So literally the word means fear of the marketplace or open place. To put a more modern day spin on it, fear of leaving a controlled environment...like your own home.
I was born with severe allergy asthma, chronic bronchitis, and an impaired immune system. I was pretty close to being a bubble baby as a child, teenager, and even into my adult years. The worst time of year for me is January and February. Last year I was ill throughout both months until the second week of March.
In spite of these challenges I have always been a very social soul, adoring to spend time with others. I'm grateful that for almost ten months of the year I enjoy meeting with others, especially at church, or visiting in others homes.
Then comes January and February. January and February with short days (and LOOOOONNNNGGG nights), fill me with agoraphobia. I do not wish to proceed very far beyond my front door. I do not sit contentedly at home. I'm terrified to leave my home, but I'm also bored with my own continued company. One might say that it puts me at odds with myself.
Throughout my personal life journey I have experienced illnesses that are still falsely referred to as "Mental illnesses." Through research I have come to believe that the diseases should be reclassified as physical illnesses with mental manifestations.
Nobody would accuse a diabetic of having an illness that was imaginary. It would also be extremely foolish to tell someone with a brain tumor that the experience was psychosomatic. This is a long word that refers to things that are supposedly only in our own personal realities, and can't be proven by human senses.
With this old-fashioned idea in mind, why would you believe that if your body is not creating the proper chemicals to keep a mental balance it would cause you to experience feelings of DIS EASE? The word actually means what I just spelled out, a feeling of being unwell.
Our brains are extremely complicated organisms. They virtually are the control center for the rest of our body. It takes an extremely well balanced chemical balance to provide the simple sense of being at rest within our bodies.
Clinical depression, or other mental manifestations of physical illness are far different than discouragement. Discouragement is an emotion riding on the circumstances in your life. Clinical depression, agoraphobia, and other challenges of this nature, are rarely connected to circumstance. Oh negative circumstances can definitely worsen them, but often they are present even in times we typically consider positive and successful. Consider the actors that have had every type of success that we generally feel should create and maintain happiness. Marilyn Monroe, for example, suffered clinical depression. Her death was suspicious, a possible suicide. The extremely rich have many, many stories of clinical depression, in spite of their wealth and social stature.
Unfortunately, mental manifestations are often tied to genetics. Yet I find comfort in being forewarned of that possibility. It does not mean that I am DOOMED to face the disease. It means that I can do research and be prepared in ways to cope with my own, and look to the future in case my children or grandchildren inherit this.
Mental illness is NOT the end of the world. Especially in this current world, there are so many wonderful ways and means of coping with and improving any illness that impacts our moods and brain function.
PLEASE! The most important thing that we can do about mental health challenge is to remove the stigma. For centuries, people with mental health issues have been locked away so that they did not embarrass their families. When there was no treatment, often people have been institutionalized for "their own protection, or the protection of others." We live in a progressive time when we know so much more about these magnificent bodies that our spirits inhabit. It's important to remember that mental illness is not an imagined experience. When you are living through your bodies inability to regulate your brains functions, IT IS ALL TOO REAL!
I was born with severe allergy asthma, chronic bronchitis, and an impaired immune system. I was pretty close to being a bubble baby as a child, teenager, and even into my adult years. The worst time of year for me is January and February. Last year I was ill throughout both months until the second week of March.
In spite of these challenges I have always been a very social soul, adoring to spend time with others. I'm grateful that for almost ten months of the year I enjoy meeting with others, especially at church, or visiting in others homes.
Then comes January and February. January and February with short days (and LOOOOONNNNGGG nights), fill me with agoraphobia. I do not wish to proceed very far beyond my front door. I do not sit contentedly at home. I'm terrified to leave my home, but I'm also bored with my own continued company. One might say that it puts me at odds with myself.
Throughout my personal life journey I have experienced illnesses that are still falsely referred to as "Mental illnesses." Through research I have come to believe that the diseases should be reclassified as physical illnesses with mental manifestations.
Nobody would accuse a diabetic of having an illness that was imaginary. It would also be extremely foolish to tell someone with a brain tumor that the experience was psychosomatic. This is a long word that refers to things that are supposedly only in our own personal realities, and can't be proven by human senses.
With this old-fashioned idea in mind, why would you believe that if your body is not creating the proper chemicals to keep a mental balance it would cause you to experience feelings of DIS EASE? The word actually means what I just spelled out, a feeling of being unwell.
Our brains are extremely complicated organisms. They virtually are the control center for the rest of our body. It takes an extremely well balanced chemical balance to provide the simple sense of being at rest within our bodies.
Clinical depression, or other mental manifestations of physical illness are far different than discouragement. Discouragement is an emotion riding on the circumstances in your life. Clinical depression, agoraphobia, and other challenges of this nature, are rarely connected to circumstance. Oh negative circumstances can definitely worsen them, but often they are present even in times we typically consider positive and successful. Consider the actors that have had every type of success that we generally feel should create and maintain happiness. Marilyn Monroe, for example, suffered clinical depression. Her death was suspicious, a possible suicide. The extremely rich have many, many stories of clinical depression, in spite of their wealth and social stature.
Unfortunately, mental manifestations are often tied to genetics. Yet I find comfort in being forewarned of that possibility. It does not mean that I am DOOMED to face the disease. It means that I can do research and be prepared in ways to cope with my own, and look to the future in case my children or grandchildren inherit this.
Mental illness is NOT the end of the world. Especially in this current world, there are so many wonderful ways and means of coping with and improving any illness that impacts our moods and brain function.
PLEASE! The most important thing that we can do about mental health challenge is to remove the stigma. For centuries, people with mental health issues have been locked away so that they did not embarrass their families. When there was no treatment, often people have been institutionalized for "their own protection, or the protection of others." We live in a progressive time when we know so much more about these magnificent bodies that our spirits inhabit. It's important to remember that mental illness is not an imagined experience. When you are living through your bodies inability to regulate your brains functions, IT IS ALL TOO REAL!
Joel Stein's discussion of public shaming...and possibly being shamed
Joel Stein writes for Times magazine. I am completely and utterly jealous of the fact that he earns a living writing! That is truly a dream for a writer. I write. I feel the need to write in one format or another each and everyday. I have written two novels that are published, I have one more that is in the last stages of getting published, and I have written portions of another 7 novels.
Back to that getting paid to write. Unfortunately, each and every human on this planet needs money. It costs money to keep a roof over your head, and the weather out. It costs money to eat, to pay for the utilities so that you can turn on lights, and be warm inside that place where you keep the weather out. If you manage to afford a vehicle there are monthly payments to own it, and it costs money for insurance, and to maintain it. Even if you manage to pay all of those expenses, it costs money to put fuel in the tank so that it can take you where you need or want to go. Pretty much on this planet you need money for survival.
Now back to Mr. Stein's article. In Africa there was an old lion named Cecil. He was known across the globe. Somehow, someway, a rich dentist gained permission to come and shoot and kill the venerable old creature.
What could possibly motivate someone to hunt a creature that is elderly? It certainly wasn't the thrill of hunting an intelligent animal. I believe the poor old animal waddled arthritisly (new word but any over 50 will totally get it) by the dentist that hunted him, and was mercilessly shot down.
Did the shooter want a lion head to mount on his fireplace mantel? There is an old fashioned phrase, "Long in the tooth," which refers to being old and having your teeth getting lower as you age. I'm not even certain that Cecil had any teeth left, after all, and this dentist probably knew this already, oral hygiene and dental care is not widespread for HUMANS, let alone lions in most of Africa. I simply can't think of a single motivation that would send someone excitedly out to kill that old lion.
The internet is a marvelous educational tool. In a heartbeat we can gain all types of information (some of it not so wise or true). As a wannabe writer, the internet is an important tool. I can sit on my bed in one state, and do research all over this great country of ours.
On the other hand it can be a powerful tool for those who like to stand on their mythical high ground and judge the actions of others. Cowards are those that stand in judgment of others without knowing the entire story, or remain anonymous while they tear down others maliciously. A quote that Joel quoted, and now I'm quoting Joel quoting the quote, "Moral psychology has a very sinister property." Truly tragic that something that has purpose and values, morality, can be used in such a negative manner.
His last paragraph is very interesting to me. He says, "Maybe it's best to stop shaming others. Sure, that will slow progress, but it will prevent fascism. Unless a lot of you disagree with me. In which case, I totally think whatever you do." Ditto Mr. Stein and please keep up your writing so that I may enjoy reading.
I state this with all the sincerity of my heart. Oh did I mention that I use a pen name? A nom de plum? A pseudonym?
Back to that getting paid to write. Unfortunately, each and every human on this planet needs money. It costs money to keep a roof over your head, and the weather out. It costs money to eat, to pay for the utilities so that you can turn on lights, and be warm inside that place where you keep the weather out. If you manage to afford a vehicle there are monthly payments to own it, and it costs money for insurance, and to maintain it. Even if you manage to pay all of those expenses, it costs money to put fuel in the tank so that it can take you where you need or want to go. Pretty much on this planet you need money for survival.
Now back to Mr. Stein's article. In Africa there was an old lion named Cecil. He was known across the globe. Somehow, someway, a rich dentist gained permission to come and shoot and kill the venerable old creature.
What could possibly motivate someone to hunt a creature that is elderly? It certainly wasn't the thrill of hunting an intelligent animal. I believe the poor old animal waddled arthritisly (new word but any over 50 will totally get it) by the dentist that hunted him, and was mercilessly shot down.
Did the shooter want a lion head to mount on his fireplace mantel? There is an old fashioned phrase, "Long in the tooth," which refers to being old and having your teeth getting lower as you age. I'm not even certain that Cecil had any teeth left, after all, and this dentist probably knew this already, oral hygiene and dental care is not widespread for HUMANS, let alone lions in most of Africa. I simply can't think of a single motivation that would send someone excitedly out to kill that old lion.
The internet is a marvelous educational tool. In a heartbeat we can gain all types of information (some of it not so wise or true). As a wannabe writer, the internet is an important tool. I can sit on my bed in one state, and do research all over this great country of ours.
On the other hand it can be a powerful tool for those who like to stand on their mythical high ground and judge the actions of others. Cowards are those that stand in judgment of others without knowing the entire story, or remain anonymous while they tear down others maliciously. A quote that Joel quoted, and now I'm quoting Joel quoting the quote, "Moral psychology has a very sinister property." Truly tragic that something that has purpose and values, morality, can be used in such a negative manner.
His last paragraph is very interesting to me. He says, "Maybe it's best to stop shaming others. Sure, that will slow progress, but it will prevent fascism. Unless a lot of you disagree with me. In which case, I totally think whatever you do." Ditto Mr. Stein and please keep up your writing so that I may enjoy reading.
I state this with all the sincerity of my heart. Oh did I mention that I use a pen name? A nom de plum? A pseudonym?
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Objoyful
"Dear Objoyful" the note from Caroljoy's Mother that was in Caroljoy's plain paper bag lunch said. Caroljoy had become used to her Mom's entertaining little notes that she put in Caroljoy's lunch. Her Mother wrote them each and every time that she packed her daughter's lunch.
Caroljoy had become good at ignoring the notes. After all, she was in high school now, practically an adult! On the other hand, she never threw them away. She would take them home and glue them into a special memory book. She would read them later when high school life was not pulsing around her.
Caroljoy felt terrible. Her eyes were swollen, her head was pounding, and she was convinced that she would simply NEVER step foot in this horrid school one more day. Caroljoy had been bullied from first grade to the grade she was in now, a junior in high school.
Over the years she had done her best to build armor around her heart. Sometimes it helped, but often it did not.
Lately she had to begin going in the two school entrances towards the back of the school. It took extra time. The alternative was much worse. Almost daily the "jocks," congregated on a bench right next to the front door.
The popular girls loved this. When they would pass, the boys would whistle at them. Or the group of jocks would call out numbers, ten being the most attractive, down to one being the least attractive.
Caroljoy DID NOT love this. These boys did NOT whistle at her, or call out a number referring to her beauty. They barked as she came by. A dog...they called her a dog...too homely to even rate a ONE on their scale.
She walked a mile to school. Many days she drug her feet not wanting to face another day of being bullied. On this morning she had arrived late. She took the chance that the annoying boys would NOT be seated on the bench. They were. On this day, she wasn't strong, she began to cry as she rushed past their taunts.
The tears continued into her day. She either hid behind a text book or did her best to swallow the tears before they could exit her eyes. It worked fairly well. Caroljoy had very few classes with friends, mainly because she had very few friends, and nobody in the other classes seemed to be aware of her existence or care that she was crying.
English was usually Caroljoy's favorite class. Spelling was very, very easy to her. It was probably because reading was one of her preferred escapes from the bullying. She also loved to write, short stories, and poems, trying always to stretch her skills.
It was NOT her favorite class this year. Three boys sat around her that concentrated on making her life a daily hell. Sporadically they would put a tack or three on her chair. Since it was sporadic she would forget to look and THEN! How they would laugh. She knew that a tack was a tiny thing. It did NOT FEEL tiny when it was piercing any portion of her anatomy.
They passed her notes with nasty details about their male parts, or worse, detailed drawings. They called her names, and then there was the day that one of them had a thrown a pen at her. It pierced her forehead, only two inches above her eye. The pen was stuck...she had to pull it out of her own flesh.
With all of that passing through her mind Caroljoy decided that today she needed to hear what her Mother had said. Caroljoy did not share the details of her bullying with her family. Her home and family were her safety zone her sanctuary. She felt that if she shared the negatives she faced it would follow her home.
On this day her Mother's note reminded her of the miraculous story of her birth and life. It reminded her how many times she should have died, but lived. It reminded her that she had a purpose, a value in the world.
When the first bell rang to alert students to go back to class, Caroljoy's eyes were dry. She felt renewed. She was also reminded that no matter what anyone did or said to her, she was still a person of worth. She was a miracle!
Caroljoy had become good at ignoring the notes. After all, she was in high school now, practically an adult! On the other hand, she never threw them away. She would take them home and glue them into a special memory book. She would read them later when high school life was not pulsing around her.
Caroljoy felt terrible. Her eyes were swollen, her head was pounding, and she was convinced that she would simply NEVER step foot in this horrid school one more day. Caroljoy had been bullied from first grade to the grade she was in now, a junior in high school.
Over the years she had done her best to build armor around her heart. Sometimes it helped, but often it did not.
Lately she had to begin going in the two school entrances towards the back of the school. It took extra time. The alternative was much worse. Almost daily the "jocks," congregated on a bench right next to the front door.
The popular girls loved this. When they would pass, the boys would whistle at them. Or the group of jocks would call out numbers, ten being the most attractive, down to one being the least attractive.
Caroljoy DID NOT love this. These boys did NOT whistle at her, or call out a number referring to her beauty. They barked as she came by. A dog...they called her a dog...too homely to even rate a ONE on their scale.
She walked a mile to school. Many days she drug her feet not wanting to face another day of being bullied. On this morning she had arrived late. She took the chance that the annoying boys would NOT be seated on the bench. They were. On this day, she wasn't strong, she began to cry as she rushed past their taunts.
The tears continued into her day. She either hid behind a text book or did her best to swallow the tears before they could exit her eyes. It worked fairly well. Caroljoy had very few classes with friends, mainly because she had very few friends, and nobody in the other classes seemed to be aware of her existence or care that she was crying.
English was usually Caroljoy's favorite class. Spelling was very, very easy to her. It was probably because reading was one of her preferred escapes from the bullying. She also loved to write, short stories, and poems, trying always to stretch her skills.
It was NOT her favorite class this year. Three boys sat around her that concentrated on making her life a daily hell. Sporadically they would put a tack or three on her chair. Since it was sporadic she would forget to look and THEN! How they would laugh. She knew that a tack was a tiny thing. It did NOT FEEL tiny when it was piercing any portion of her anatomy.
They passed her notes with nasty details about their male parts, or worse, detailed drawings. They called her names, and then there was the day that one of them had a thrown a pen at her. It pierced her forehead, only two inches above her eye. The pen was stuck...she had to pull it out of her own flesh.
With all of that passing through her mind Caroljoy decided that today she needed to hear what her Mother had said. Caroljoy did not share the details of her bullying with her family. Her home and family were her safety zone her sanctuary. She felt that if she shared the negatives she faced it would follow her home.
On this day her Mother's note reminded her of the miraculous story of her birth and life. It reminded her how many times she should have died, but lived. It reminded her that she had a purpose, a value in the world.
When the first bell rang to alert students to go back to class, Caroljoy's eyes were dry. She felt renewed. She was also reminded that no matter what anyone did or said to her, she was still a person of worth. She was a miracle!
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Short Term Memory Deficit
When I was three years old I was SOOOOOOOOO excited! It was Christmas morning. I remember that it was still dark outside. My brother, sister, and I, pajama clad, were all moving rapidly into the front room with our parents close behind.
I do NOT remember one present that I got. OK...well I may just remember ONE present. It was the one that I had begged and pleaded with my parents to tell Santa. I wanted a dump truck. Not just ANY old dump truck. No, the one I wanted had to be pretty big...with a bucket that really went up and down. It was to be used for earth moving in my sand pile...AND to move my dolls back and forth to different parts of the sand pile.
That is one of my earliest memories. It has not changed in the last fifty-six years. It's almost like the anchor to keep the rest of my young memories in place and stable.
Speaking of being fifty-nine, I now live with short term memory deficit. I thought it was because of my medical conditions, and the medicines that I take. Turns out, it just might have to do a teeny tiny bit with the fact that I'm not really twenty-nine anymore.
I like to look at things in life from a positive frame of reference. Even forgetting where you put your cell phone in your 2,000 square foot house from hour to hour isn't that bad, right? Below are some items that just might indicate your short term memory is flaming out like a small meteor hitting earth's atmosphere.
1. You have two children. Just two. You can no longer remember which child went with you to the store a day ago...or maybe which child was with you at a friend's funeral. (The funeral probably is more important to remember than the grocery store, right)?
2. You only have those two children, and you remember that one of them LIKES to eat at Olive Garden, and one does not, but you can't remember which is which.
3. Your husband does NOT like to eat at Olive Garden, LOVES to eat at Carabbas, and you get confused and take him to the Olive Garden for his birthday.
4. Your Mother's 93rd birthday is on February 15, but you give her a card and present on the 13th?
5. You are telling a friend a great story...you build up to the point..and suddenly...the point is now square, or round, because you can't remember what the whole point was??
6. You tell your children that you're really hungry and think you'll get a bowl of cereal, and they remind you that they just fixed you a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, an hour ago?
7. You take a nap in the evening, and wake up panicking because you think it's past time to get up to go to an important appointment, and you overslept?
8. You are asked to greet the ladies at a church women's group and take roll. You start on the right side of the room, moving right to left. You finish in about ten minutes after chatting briefly with the ladies as you go. You finish on the left look to the right and think, "Oh, I didn't meet that lady yet." So you go up to her, introduce yourself, then you ask what her name is so that you can record her on the roll. She points at the beginning of the roll and says, "Oh, yes. Right here, see? I'm the first one that you met. See, that's my name there by the number one."
My husband sometimes thought that I was trying to get away with things by claiming that my short term memory deficit was causing the problem. I don't know why he would say that. I mean, after all, it is possible to forget to put gas in the car, even though the empty gas light is blinking, and the audible alarm is signaling every 2 minutes, right? Of course it is. Just my short-term memory deficit again.
It also does not work well to claim that you forgot NOT to sing and dance to the radio when you pick up your middle school child and they remind you for the TENTH time not to dance and sing where the other students might just see you! It's also hard to sell that you forgot that you shouldn't be dancing and singing in Old Navy where ANYBODY might see you...to your teenage child.
Just so you know, I DO remember the important things, like my social security number, my birthdate, and my name...well most of the time, ok some of the time? Ok, ok...once in awhile? I mean come on, who is keeping track anyway?
I do NOT remember one present that I got. OK...well I may just remember ONE present. It was the one that I had begged and pleaded with my parents to tell Santa. I wanted a dump truck. Not just ANY old dump truck. No, the one I wanted had to be pretty big...with a bucket that really went up and down. It was to be used for earth moving in my sand pile...AND to move my dolls back and forth to different parts of the sand pile.
That is one of my earliest memories. It has not changed in the last fifty-six years. It's almost like the anchor to keep the rest of my young memories in place and stable.
Speaking of being fifty-nine, I now live with short term memory deficit. I thought it was because of my medical conditions, and the medicines that I take. Turns out, it just might have to do a teeny tiny bit with the fact that I'm not really twenty-nine anymore.
I like to look at things in life from a positive frame of reference. Even forgetting where you put your cell phone in your 2,000 square foot house from hour to hour isn't that bad, right? Below are some items that just might indicate your short term memory is flaming out like a small meteor hitting earth's atmosphere.
1. You have two children. Just two. You can no longer remember which child went with you to the store a day ago...or maybe which child was with you at a friend's funeral. (The funeral probably is more important to remember than the grocery store, right)?
2. You only have those two children, and you remember that one of them LIKES to eat at Olive Garden, and one does not, but you can't remember which is which.
3. Your husband does NOT like to eat at Olive Garden, LOVES to eat at Carabbas, and you get confused and take him to the Olive Garden for his birthday.
4. Your Mother's 93rd birthday is on February 15, but you give her a card and present on the 13th?
5. You are telling a friend a great story...you build up to the point..and suddenly...the point is now square, or round, because you can't remember what the whole point was??
6. You tell your children that you're really hungry and think you'll get a bowl of cereal, and they remind you that they just fixed you a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, an hour ago?
7. You take a nap in the evening, and wake up panicking because you think it's past time to get up to go to an important appointment, and you overslept?
8. You are asked to greet the ladies at a church women's group and take roll. You start on the right side of the room, moving right to left. You finish in about ten minutes after chatting briefly with the ladies as you go. You finish on the left look to the right and think, "Oh, I didn't meet that lady yet." So you go up to her, introduce yourself, then you ask what her name is so that you can record her on the roll. She points at the beginning of the roll and says, "Oh, yes. Right here, see? I'm the first one that you met. See, that's my name there by the number one."
My husband sometimes thought that I was trying to get away with things by claiming that my short term memory deficit was causing the problem. I don't know why he would say that. I mean, after all, it is possible to forget to put gas in the car, even though the empty gas light is blinking, and the audible alarm is signaling every 2 minutes, right? Of course it is. Just my short-term memory deficit again.
It also does not work well to claim that you forgot NOT to sing and dance to the radio when you pick up your middle school child and they remind you for the TENTH time not to dance and sing where the other students might just see you! It's also hard to sell that you forgot that you shouldn't be dancing and singing in Old Navy where ANYBODY might see you...to your teenage child.
Just so you know, I DO remember the important things, like my social security number, my birthdate, and my name...well most of the time, ok some of the time? Ok, ok...once in awhile? I mean come on, who is keeping track anyway?
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