THOUGHTS THAT SURFACED

Recently I celebrated another birth anniversary--commonly known as a "birthday," although I, like everyone else, have had only one of true "birth day". . . anyway, I celebrated the day of the month on which I was born. It was a quiet day--unhelpful weather so no getting out and about; middle of the week, hardly a time to whoop it up; and the number of my new year is nothing special. (In a few years I'll have one of those numbers that ends in a "0" and makes people say, "Really? You're how old?" And I'll wonder if they're thinking, "Good heavens, I thought she was a lot older than that.")



As an aside--I bought a bunch of birthday greeting cards several weeks ago, ready for the onslaught of family celebrations coming up in the first three months of the year. One has a springer spaniel on the front, in a party hat, of course, and the message: "Wow! People years go by fast!" They do indeed.

This thing we call Time . . . not sure how to think about it nowadays. People, like the above spaniel, say, "Time goes by so fast." Does it really? Does it "go faster" than it used to? Or is that an illusion? Some cosmic sleight-of-hand that whirls the clock hands (or digits) around while our attention is drawn to some other part of this awesome universe?

If you want to experience time in a different way, read some of the short stories or novels of Jack Finney. They're science fiction, yes; but they're entertaining; they're engaging; and they suck you into the story before you realize it and once you've swallowed the premise that this world operates in this way, you're in for a treat. Finney's stories are easy to read, there's humor there, and the twist at the end  . . . . Well, just read some for yourself. The best ones are about time: Time and Again, From Time to Time, and so on.

Back to Time as we experience it--. Since this winter has been another one of those cabin-fever producing seasons, I noticed that days looked almost exactly alike. Which makes it hard to distinguish Monday from Thursday or Tuesday from Wednesday. On days I could actually get out of my driveway, or felt like wearing everything in my coat closet to keep warm and covered, I tried to maintain my personal Calendar of Events--Monday, sewing with Jane; Tuesday, shopping, etc. 

A few days ago I thought we might be in for an extended warm spell--what we affectionately call The January Thaw. Well, okay, stuff thawed. Ice build-up at the end of the driveway turned to its liquid state, and grass turned green again. But I wasn't prepared for the warm moist air to hover above the cold earth in a dense cloud. Fog, fog, fog. Deep, dense; enough to cause the weather people to issue weather advisory statements. And as I couldn't see much beyond the house across the street, I heeded the statements and stayed home.

Thus the third Sunday of January went by and I again didn't get to church due to weather. Also, two Fridays had passed us by and no sewing group met, again due to cold temps and high winds.

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With the universal human trait of perversity, not getting out to go places has come to feel like deprivation. Yet, there's always good advice to be had:

Snowed in? Read a book! 

Too icy to get out? Make tea and play solitaire! 

Wind too strong for easy breathing? Stay in and sew/knit/clean house/cook/listen to music/write letters/email everybody on your contacts list . . . .

Nothing appeals. Not after the third or fourth week.

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Confession: I've turned into a reader, not a writer. Three partial manuscripts lounge around in my computer, novels ready/willing to be finished. One is two-thirds along toward the end. It's a story I like, the characters are people I'd like to know, the conflict is altogether human and understandable, and to top it all off--I know how it ends!! But I can't seem to write.

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This is the time of year when I wish I could hibernate--sleep away the next couple of months until buds appear on trees, grass revives, birds waken the dawn, and us hibernated creatures yawn, stretch, and amble out of our caves for a breath of Spring.

Instead--I'm stuck with Winter, and with trying to make these days/weeks/months of inactivity into a blessing. 

This is a challenge, for sure. I'll be working on it for another, say, 60 days.

In the meantime, keep your spirits up--find your own way to survive cabin fever (if you have it), share some of your wisdom with the rest of us who desperately need it.

Make it a blessed week!

GETTING UP IN THE MORNING

[I know the daylight hours are lengthening, but getting up in the morning is still, sometimes, a real challenge. So I reread this post published late in 2016 and decided to run it again--there are always things to get up for, even on cold I-don't-want-to-go-out days.]

When I was about eight years old, I sometimes got to stay all night at Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins’s house. It was a small house—only four rooms—but it felt cozy.

I was old enough to sleep in the spare room by myself. Apparently insomnia hadn’t reared its ugly head in that phase of my life, so I would sleep until the morning sounds and smells gentled me awake.

Grandpa gets up first. I hear him in the kitchen, lifting the stove lids to check the bed of coals left from the night before, then opening the fire door (it squeaks), pulling chunks of stove wood from the buckets in the space behind the stove and filling the fire box. Then I hear the rasp of a kitchen match against its sandpapery striking strip. After a short wait—fire snapping and popping—the stove lids are dragged across the stove top and clunked into place.

Those early morning sounds reassured me. Grandma and Grandpa’s house was a safe place to sleep and to wake up.

Later, after Grandma gets up, I smell bacon frying in one of the big iron skillets. When I get up and mosey out to the kitchen, Grandma will crack eggs in the bacon drippings and our breakfast will be nearly ready.

The eggs were fresh from Grandma’s hens, down in the barn. There weren’t many hens now. With her family grown and gone and only occasional company, Grandma didn’t need to cook big meals.

Grandpa has been out to check on something—maybe the chickens—and he now comes back inside. The big blue granite coffee pot has come to a boil. Grandma pours out two cups (I’m still too young to imbibe) and sets the table.

Coffee made in my modern drip pot doesn’t have the same nose-tickling aroma as the elixir from Grandma's blue granite pot. But I’ve been a dedicated coffee drinker since about age 14, like my mother and her parents, and all the aunts and uncles and cousins.

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Throughout my life there has been something—or someone—that gave me the extra push to get out of bed. In winter, the floor might be cold, the room chilly, the sun not yet up, but there was always some reason to give up the warmth of my comfortable bed. When the children were home, I had the morning ritual of getting them ready for school and getting myself ready for the office. Since I retired, I had a few years of dog duty with Joy—she was an especially good alarm clock, never barked at me, but managed to convey her wish to go out NOW.

Life never stands still. Have you noticed that, too? Things have shifted for me. With no one else in the house--person, dog, or cat--I wake up to the possibility of an event that I want to attend: walking at the Y first thing with my walking buddy (we keep each other accountable), before all the people get there; yoga or tai chi class; coffee or lunch with a friend; sewing or knitting with another woman who enjoys that activity as much as I do. 

Something different—unusual—or rarely occurring—gives me a sense of the day being an adventure. Big adventure, little adventure--all are welcome.

Often I greet the day knowing I’ll have a treat. Coffee and chocolate, both limited on my diet, are always a treat. Or a new book to read, a new movie or episode on Netflix. A shopping trip (even though I may not buy anything). [Aside: I once went to Barnes & Noble and bought nothing. Not even a newspaper. I know you don't believe me, but it's quite true. Sad, but true.]

Other times I wake with an overwhelming sense of joy. I’m rested, and warm; I have a sense of well-being—no problem in view; or maybe I wake with a sense that a problem has been resolved, a prayer answered. Something, somewhere, fell into place and the world can breathe easily again.

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No one starts the bacon or the coffee at my house. There are no little home-y sounds that tell me all is well and Grandpa—or somebody—is taking care of things. Life has moved on, and I’m the one taking care of things. Getting myself up in the morning.

But the memories live on in me. And I smile.

AFTERMATH

Whether you started Christmas the day after Thanksgiving and took down all the decorations on December 26th or started Christmas on December 25th and celebrated the full 12 days (through January 6th), there's more to come.

Not more Christmas celebrating, exactly. But whatever transformations you felt, whatever new feelings you experienced, these you carry into the new year.

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In 1959, 20th Century Fox made a film called Say One For Me, starring Bing Crosby as Father Conroy, with Debbie Reynolds and Robert Wagner as major players in the story. One of the songs in that production was called "The Secret of Christmas."

Here are the words of the refrain, written by Sammy Cahn:

It's not the glow you feel when snow appears,
It's not the Christmas card you've sent for years,
Not the joyful sound when sleigh-bells ring,
Or the merry songs children sing.

The little gift you send on Christmas day,
Will not bring back the friend you've turned away;
So may I suggest The Secret of Christmas
is not the things you do at Christmastime,
But the Christmas things you do all year through!

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What are the "Christmas things" we do?

Well, there's merry-making! Parties (the ones you give, the ones you go to), gift-giving . . . .

There's the uber-busy business of shopping, decorating, baking cookies, making candy, writing cards, planning dinners, knitting scarves, buying new clothes . . . .

For some folks there's a Christmas pageant or play, a cantata, rehearsals and getting one's self and/or the kids to the rehearsal hall . . . .

Or how about visiting shut-ins who don't have family to celebrate with? Taking small gifts to nursing homes and hospitals for patients and caregivers? Buying poinsettias to brighten the patient's room?

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Those are some of the Christmas things people do. And as soon as Christmas is "over," whenever that is, we go back to regular activities. To be fair, I don't think we actually forget to do these things--they just drop to a lower place in the list of priorities.

As the song's messages suggests, Christmas isn't only one time a year. The things we do at that mid-winter celebration can be carried on throughout the next twelve months. 


So how would a list of Christmas Things To Do All Year Through look?

How about this:

~Give a no-reason party for a few people you love to see. Buy each one a little gift if you want to.

~Write notes to folks throughout the year--tell them how much you appreciate them; encourage them during difficult times; congratulate them when they have good news.

~Knit/crochet scarves for people who come to the shelters in your area. Or hats. Don't knit or crochet? Buy some inexpensive items and donate them to the shelter. If you're really ambitious, make lapghans (small afghans suitable to keep laps warm) for folks in nursing homes who sit a lot.

~Volunteer to help with school or church programs--backstage work, making costumes, helping actors learn their lines; or take part yourself--try out for a role, sing in the chorus, play the piano at rehearsal.

~Get a list of shut-ins from your church or neighborhood community center. Send notes. Order small bouquets and deliver them. If you have the time, go for a short visit (five or ten minutes means a lot to someone who has no visitors).

~Read to someone who has trouble seeing.

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Best of all, make your own list. You know what you can do and like to do. See what you can come up with to help someone else get a little better quality of life. If you're already into the All-Year-Through feeling, you are a blessing, and you are blessed. You don't get a badge to sew on your jacket or a pin to wear or a certificate . . . but the Christmas things you do all year through will make your life, and someone else's, merry and bright.

NEW YEAR - NEW OPPORTUNITIES


2018 is now up and running! May it be your best yet!

A couple of years ago I posted a list of Good Intentions for the new year:

1. Practice kindness and forgiveness as often as possible.
2. Read three new authors.
3. Reduce the clutter and get rid of excess possessions.

Not sure I managed all three in 2016 (which was the year I was aiming for). But in 2017, I know I made some headway.

#1, practice kindness and forgiveness as often as possible--This one is almost impossible not to do. "As often as possible" is likely to be every single day, and if you want to drill down a little more, every hour/minute. Kindness includes attitude--toward other drivers, toward shoppers in a crowded mega-store, toward new neighbors . . . .

Forgiveness is another moment-by-moment action. Our neighborhood has changed drastically in a little over 15 months--of the 6 houses that are now occupied by strangers, I know the names of the ones who live in three of the houses. Everyone is younger than I am, most work (one woman works two full-time jobs, though my mind boggles at that possibility), and the ones with young children are as busy as I always was when I was at their age and stage of life.

Each new family brings personal habits, family dynamics complete with noise, and more vehicles than this street was designed for. Opportunities for kindness and forgiveness meet me at every turn.

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#2, read three new authors. I did that one! My new authors are:

Barbara Brown Taylor - memoir
Jason Fagone - history
Mary Oliver - poetry and essays
Michael B. Curry - theology
Annie Barrows and Mary Ann Shaffer - fiction

(I didn't set out to exceed three, but it happened anyway.)

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#3, reduce clutter and get rid of excess possessions. Here's another ongoing project. I have help whenever my Minnesota daughter comes to visit--she loves to organize, doesn't mind sorting/discarding (though I realize it's my stuff she's sorting and discarding), and then cleans the shelf or cupboard or storage area for me when we're ready to put away the things I'm keeping. Yes, I've made progress, and the give-away pile grows steadily. 

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This year's list will be much the same. Whatever I choose to emphasize will, without a doubt, be an ongoing endeavor. Loving others, for instance - especially when the "others" seem unlovable. This might involve keeping my opinion to myself at times--some of my opinions aren't meant to be expressed aloud. Giving more of myself to help people in need. Praying for people and places and situations that seem far away and unimaginable. And still forgiving what needs to be forgiven, being kind when I'd rather not.

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Good intentions . . . necessary for forward movement. I'm hoping mine give me the little push I need to roll on. Yours, too.