ON NOT-READING

[A little intro here--I've recovered from the flu/virus that laid me low when I first wrote this post. I still have times when reading is difficult because my eyes are tired or my brain is too full of information. But the rest of what I say is still valid. Hope you enjoy it this time around.]

Let me say right up front--this is not a plea to get you to give up reading. It's not even an example of good or right behavior.

The best thing I can say for myself and today's post is this: It's a confession.

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There was a time, especially early in my life, when I could've been chosen as the poster child for reading, had there been such a person. Reading was natural to me, but only after I'd learned a few rudimentary rules, such as:

• Learn to pronounce words by "sounding out" the letters. (This rule was intended to free up adults who huffed--some even rolled their eyes--every time I asked how a word sounded. I must've asked too often.)
• Learn the meaning of words #1: by the context--though I doubt that context was used by those who advocated this practice. (Again, this was a rule to benefit adults; but in hindsight, it benefited me, as well.)
• Learn the meaning of words #2: by looking them up. (Well-meant advice, but in practice it meant that I had to stop reading, find the dictionary, then find the word in the dictionary, and read the meaning. Then return to reading, if I could find my place, and try to insert the meaning of the word I'd just looked up. I wasted a lot of years doing this, believe me.)
• Listen for outside voices--a common occurrence was "Get your nose out of that book, young lady, and finish the dusting." (My savior in this instance was my Aunt Sara, who taught eight grades in a one-room school; her blessed rejoinder to my mother was, "Oh, let her read. It's so good for her. And she'll get good grades in her studies." God bless Aunt Sara! Getting good grades was probably my parents' main Goal in Life for their daughter.)
• Read only when (1) in class; (2) alone; (3) riding in the car; or (4) wherever I could find a hiding place so I wouldn't get snagged for odious household tasks.

[I'm sure you've already twigged to the fact that I was an only child, thus the only family slave, er, no, helper. That's it, helper. As I matured, more or less, I could see that my contributions to the family welfare by washing or drying dishes, picking up my clothes, putting away toys and books, or running errands (I loved going to the store to buy a loaf of bread or something equally simple) would free my mother's time to do other things I wasn't old enough or strong enough to do.]

Once I was well-established in the smooth operation of the family, I had to find time to read. Homework was always a good excuse, except I didn't have much. Most of my work was done at school during elementary and junior high. (Yes, I know that's old school talk.) 

One place I could always read was at Grandma Jenkins's house. My mom would take me and my current book when she went to visit Grandma; then the aunts would start showing up. I'd sit in a corner and read--everyone admired how good I was, to sit quietly while they all talked at once (seven women all talking at full-on volume at the same time is quite a scene). What they didn't know was that I could read my book and listen to their conversations at the same time. I learned a lot about life just listening to their gossip, er, no, conversations. This knowledge stayed inside me until I began writing novels--then it became an internalized  encyclopedia of human behavior that fed into my characters.

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From the above, you can glean the benefits, the advantages, even the joys of reading. 

Now we come to the last several months. I've written before about my penchant for re-reading--like visits with old friends, those rereads. Last year I went through two or three series of books that I'd read at least twice before.

Once I got the flu, or virus, or both--whatever it was--once I got sick, I didn't have the energy to read. Didn't even have the energy to watch videos, though they were at least easier to sustain; and I could always fall asleep to a video if I needed to.

As of the coming of Spring, I have been basically back in the game. Not ready to train for a marathon or paint the barn before breakfast, but I am taking up life where I left off last winter. Except for one thing--I can't read for more than a few minutes.

This new condition is not due to lack of materials--I've bought at least four books (one an anthology containing three novels) and had a couple given to me for my birthday. The anthology and one other are fiction. Two are biographies. One is a self-help book. And the other is the story of the founding of Pepperidge Farm (including recipes).

You can see I've covered all the bases--fiction, nonfiction, cookbook . . . .

It's also not a problem with eyesight or other physical limitation.

So, you ask, what do I do instead of reading? I watch videos--online church services; online art tutorials (hundreds, literally, to choose from); sewing/quilting tutorials. Detective series, old movies, classic films. All free. All available at the touch of the computer keys. My daughter and I are partial to British detective series.

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I look forward to holding a book in my hands and reading words printed on the pages. Reading demands that I use my imagination to help the writer create the fictional (or real) world of the book. Videos have helped me keep my mind active, and I'm grateful for that, really I am. But books--! 

Talk to you soon--if I'm not lost in a book . . . .

 

HAVE YOU TRIED DABBLING?

Back in the 1980s (if I'm wrong about the date, please let me know--that's how I learn)--as I say, back in the 1980s Merit as a measure of achievement became a tarnished word. No longer did one need to show talent, or giftedness, or even keen interest in a topic, subject, or endeavor--all one needed to do was make an attempt. This was the era of treats/awards/recognition for all.

I know you think this is going to be a defense of Merit, but you'd be wrong. Sorry, no cigar.

Neither is it going to be a defense of the Everyone Is a Winner practice.

Today we're going to make a somewhat in-depth study of Dabbling. Let's start with a definition:

Dabbling - engaging in an activity superficially, or without serious intent; playing around; puttering; tinkering.

(The above is an amalgam from various sources.)

There's also a definition that applies only to ducks who bob for their food; it's called dabbling, and they're sometimes known as dabblers. But that's not what we are.

Back to our subject: Dabbling.

I was a bit taken aback by my Roget's Thesaurus which appeared to delight in pointing out the superficial, non-serious, and (implied) hardly worth mentioning, interest

Today I want to focus on the positive benefits anyone can reap through Dabbling.

Take art--I've recently renewed my acquaintance with watercolors, cold-press paper, natural vs. synthetic bristles, mops/hakes/riggers/round points--the entire enchilada. I've bought and borrowed books, found a painting partner (that's a plus--I can learn a lot from her), and managed to work my way through several lessons in a book to re-learn anything I had once been taught (decades ago).

In no sense of the phrase can I call myself a serious artist. In a word, I dabble. And I love it! It's fun, it's crazy, it lifts me up if I'm in a blah place. The results don't have to be showable, not even to my nearest and dearest; they're simply what happens when I play around, putter, tinker . . . you know, dabble.

However, if I had a mom with a bare refrigerator door, I'd be awfully pleased if she used her cute magnets to put one of my paintings up for public gaze.

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Dabbling is more than just filling in time. Whatever your area of Dabble, you'll be engaging your brain (this is guaranteed, though not by me), encouraging it to work with your other organs to see, hear, smell, taste, feel more, recognize more, learn more about the physical world. I love to read, but unless the book is musty (definitely an olfactory sensation), all I do is see the pages and try to engage emotionally with the story. 

Doing something else--art, woodworking, sewing or other needlework, tinkering with motors, making a garden, designing a gazebo or pergola for your back yard (you don't to actually build it, just designing it is good for the brain), thinking up games for your grandkids or practicing your reading techniques for the read-aloud time at the library--any of this, and more, can engage your brain and through it, the other organs that keep you alive and perking along. You don't have to go for a Ph.D. in anything (unless you really want to)--just play around, try things out; revel in the joy of not having to reach a standard of achievement. 

In a word--Dabble!

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At the start of this essay, you probably expected me to defend Merit as the only barometer for human achievement. I hope you've given up that expectation--I do still think, and probably always will, that Merit is a valid method for awarding recognition.

Look at the Olympics--look at the US World Series in baseball--look at the numerous awards given to authors, journalists, musicians, artists, scientists, outstanding citizens (you name it, there's an award for it) . . . . We do applaud the excellence, even the beauty, of performance. 

Yes, I'm still all for that. 

But for a great majority of us, excellence and beauty are within reach so long as we don't let go of our enjoyment. We don't have to let art or music or any of our activities overshadow our joy in living. We don't have to choose: our families and friends versus the pursuit of greatness. So what if we don't win a Nobel Prize? Or a Pulitzer? Or an Oscar? Did we have the excitement of learning and doing something, like a sport or music or helping out at a homeless shelter? Did we see beauty somewhere in our world, despite conditions we didn't think could possibly exist?

It may not have been a lifelong endeavor, but it certainly doesn't have to be seen as superficial. Or merely playing around. 

Dabbling can be done with serious intent, so long as we remember to let joy come in.

Why not try it?

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

  ATTITUDES & GRATITUDES

[Even if you're not going through a rough place, I hope you'll find something in this little essay to help you on your own journey. April is always a difficult month for me--physically and emotionally--so I'm repeating this post for all of us who have some rough patches.]

When I was young, long before I could drive a car, I rode with my parents. If we wanted to get somewhere quickly, we took what my dad called "hard roads"--meaning, the surface of the road was probably concrete, or maybe asphalt. We called it "the black top" because that's what it looked like.

If it didn't matter how long the trip took, or if the people we were going to visit lived 'way off from civilization (or so it seemed to  my young mind), we drove on gravel roads. These were supposedly maintained by the township where the roads were located. Sometimes they were.

I bring this up because whenever we found ourselves on the lesser improved roads, we often hit a rough place. Literally. The road might be deeply rutted, due to heavy rains followed by vehicles, trucks or wagons, that sank down in the mire. Somehow or other, we always got through.

Right now, I--along with any number of people--am going through a rough place. The way ahead is uncertain, though so far there's been no detour or sliding off the road into a water-filled ditch. Metaphorically speaking, you understand.

I don't recall my parents and I ever had a bad outcome to our jaunts. Somehow or other, we always came through--maybe a little muddy on the outside, or possibly with a flat tire out of the ordeal. Overall, though, not so bad. Maybe that's the genesis of my basically positive attitude--we always came through.

So today, in case you're in, or nearing, a rough place, I'm sharing some thoughts that may make the going a little easier.

First, Attitude:

• You cannot control what happens to you, but you can control your attitude toward what happens to you, and in that, you will be mastering change rather than allowing it to master you.( Brian Tracy)

• The secret of genius is to carry the spirit of the child into old age, which means never losing your enthusiasm. (Aldous Huxley)

And now, Gratitude:

• Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow. (Melody Beattie)
• As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them. (John F. Kennedy)

I'll give Winston Churchill the last word:

Until next time,

Blessings

Thursday's Child

 HAPPY EASTER!

Since we're nearly at Easter Day, this post will be a little different. I came across a poem you might like--its first line will throw you for a bit of a loop, and then you'll just roll along with the rest of the lines.

Sometimes things don’t go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail.
Sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war,
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can’t leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best intentions do not go
amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen; may it happen for you.

Here's a surprise--the poet, a Welsh woman--doesn't want her name given. She's written many, many poems, published since the 1970s, and also writes novels and essays. But this poem, usually called "Sometimes," has been caught up in the whirlwind world of current non-stop, wow-look-at-this life we're living, and she got sick of seeing it everywhere.

So I'm honoring her wish to remain anonymous.

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So, you ask, how does this have anything to do with Easter? I'm glad you asked!

Let's think about it--two thousand years ago, give or take a few decades, a bunch of fledgling believers broke bread with a man they knew well (or so they thought) who said he'd die in a few more days and three days later, he'd rise from the dead. Well, some said, why not? He's done it before, for his friend Lazarus.

Others, of course, probably climbed on the fence, afraid to make a commitment to this  promise they'd been given. It just seemed so--well, so fantastic, right?

However, SOMETIMES . . . . You just gotta make that leap.

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This Easter Day, may the sun shine on you and your family. May you find all the Easter eggs hidden in the new green grass on your lawn. May it all happen for you.

Easter Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 SPRING!

Yes, indeed, Spring arrived!! Did you see signs?

S - Sunshine - Snow! - Sparrows - Surprise Lilies getting ready to show above ground

P - Peonies - Parks open - the "puddlewonderful" season (thank you e e cummings)

R - Rhubarb - Rainy days (wear your cute boots)

I - Iris beginning to show - Inspiration everywhere you look!

N - New-ness all around - Nesting birds

G - Gardens - Grass - Green & Gold

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I had two daffodils bloom already--wasn't even sure they'd survived the winter, but they did.

Birds are house-building, courting, some of the robins are already pregnant. 

And just in case I've gotten all goofy about how wonderful spring is, along came Tuesday's 50-mph wind gusts to remind me that it ain't all sweetness and light in springtime!

Whatever you're seeing in your springtime environment, enjoy it as long as you can.

'Til next time,

Blessings from

Thursday's Child

  SPRING CLEANING

Growing up in the Midwest, in a family of hard workers with strong ideas of right and wrong, I could always count on one thing. Every year the arrival of Spring meant something important: Cleaning Out. Cleaning Up. 

Almost an "off with the old and on with the new" attitude. But not quite.

Houses were swept, scrubbed, and polished until every surface mirrored my face and the fragrance of lavender greeted me every time I came home from school.

Furniture appeared in back yards--not for sale, but for airing.

Clotheslines sagged with heavy bedspreads, wool blankets, small-to-medium sized rugs. Also for airing.

Eventually, after the furniture and other household linens were back in place, out came our winter clothing. Once the wool jackets, coats, and sweaters appeared on the clotheslines, we knew it really was Spring. None of those things would be worn again until cold weather appeared, probably in November. (And you were on your own if you felt cold before the official date of hauling out woolies.)

In those days, not much was thrown away. "Make it do or do without" wasn't just an attitude of the Yankees of New England--it was the difference between having a sufficient something until money again became available to replace it. And, it was a matter of pride.

So I don't recall much of the old stuff going out and being replaced by new stuff. I do recall folks reusing clothing--cutting out the good parts of old suits to make a child's coat, for example. (Clearly, recycling is not a new concept.)

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Fast forward to today--yes, we recycle; been doing that officially for a couple of decades. We've had to re-learn the "make it do" philosophy during a year of COVID, especially when it came to having enough paper products or canned goods.

Then there's another category of Spring Cleaning: our attitudes.

There's a lot--a whole lot--of stuff in the news about diversity, racism, social justice, and more. We're encouraged to think of others. Help those who are having a hard time. If you can't donate money or goods, how about giving a kind word? Or a smile? Or just letting somebody in line ahead of you at the checkout when they have three items and you have a cartful?

It's been a while since I took my attitudes out for an airing--got them down off the shelf and dusted them, rubbed them with a cloth and some fragrant dusting spray to make them shine again. Maybe take them outside and hang them on a drying rack (no clotheslines around here) in the sun and breeze. I think it's time. And Spring is as good a time as any.

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Without our help, Nature comes along and does a super job of Renewal. Every year. Without fail. 

The church encourages Renewal--Easter is a grand celebration of the power of new life.

We can do it, too. It doesn't have to be expensive or labor intensive. How about it?

 HAPPINESS IS . . .

One of my favorite gifts each Christmas is the Peanuts calendar from my son and daughter-in-law. Each month shows a picture defining Happiness--Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Lucy, Linus, Woodstock, Sally--sometimes in a group, sometimes alone.

Here are some highlights:

--JANUARY: HAPPINESS IS a new adventure. Perfect for the first month of a new year.

--MARCH: HAPPINESS IS a good book. That one could be on every month of my personal calendar.

--MAY: HAPPINESS IS being with friends. Where would we be without our friends?

--AUGUST: HAPPINESS IS an afternoon nap. Yesss!

--SEPTEMBER: HAPPINESS IS expressing yourself. The picture shows Snoopy painting a portrait of Woodstock. I don't do portraits, but I love to paint. (We won't talk about quality here.)

--AND THE LAST ONE, LEADING INTO THE NEXT YEAR: HAPPINESS IS staying cozy. Snoopy is nearly invisible under a huge padded jacket.

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As I mulled over the topic for today's post, I found myself remembering what it was like being a kid, what made me happy, what I looked forward to, what seemed to me to be the epitome of being happy.

At age 6--going to school. So much great stuff to do--books to read, workbooks to fill out, drawings to color, other kids to see and hear (a one-room school was a microcosm of life for me).

At age 9--discovering writing! Putting characters we'd heard about in the book read to us by Miss Kincaid into our own story! It was like walking through a secret portal into another universe, where my own words made the story.

At age 12--living in a big city. (Wichita, KS was about 300K population at that time; big city by my standards.) Finding out there were other kinds of people in the world--meeting my first African Americans as students in my school. Having male teachers. And discovering art--making puppets, fashioning clay images, painting with watercolors.

At age 15--getting a chance to write for the high school newspaper; acting in one-act plays; going to high school basketball games.

After high school, everything seemed to be going faster. Life was lived on an adult plane--college students were treated like serious contenders for honors and graduation diplomas.

Happiness came with studies--though I have to admit advanced math classes made me break out in a rash; my brain wasn't ready to deal with number logic--word logic, now, that was just my style.

Adult happiness--so much depends on the person--what they grew up with, what their expectations were about life, what resources they had, or didn't have, to make dreams become reality. Like many people, I learned to adjust my dreams and expectations to fit with the resources I had or could assemble.

In my late 20s, I could find joy in my young family; going to church; eventually returning to college to finish my education. 

Beyond that time, life didn't offer many different kinds of experiences. I did eventually work at a full-time job, which brought its own kind of happiness. I returned to writing fiction and found a writer's group of like-minded women. A short-term accompaniment job at a church became nearly full-time employment as the organist (never expected that!).

After retirement, and a rather long adjustment period in which I had to decide what I could do, what I could afford to do, and what I'd much rather do, I settled into mostly activities that called me to be creative--quilting, knitting; playing church music; watercolor painting, and writing.

Happiness is still a good book or an afternoon nap--or both! But there's always a new adventure around somewhere, waiting to be discovered. 

May you be blessed with happiness in your life!

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P.S.--If you find snatches of the "Happiness Is" song from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown running through your mind today, do a quick google search--"two kinds of ice cream" will bring up several sites, and on YouTube you can hear it sung. Enjoy! Sing along!!