GETTING BACK IN THE GAME

I love this metaphor! And I'm not even a sports fan!!

The word game can be interpreted a number of ways--an organized sport, a pick-up softball game kids play in the park when everybody else has gone home, cards or board games, any activity that relies on using knowledge, skill, and dexterity. Like LIFE, right?

So, here's a question for you: Anybody who hasn't gotten sidelined some time or other in your life? Raise your hand. Anybody. Any time. No one?

Uh-huh, that's the way I see it, too. Getting sidelined isn't just about getting taken out of the game because we couldn't score/run fast/hit hard--it's about just not being able to go on. Period.

Examples, you say? Okay, here goes:

• illness--everything from minor stuff that goes away in a week to stuff that lingers on
• injury (like carpal tunnel, sprained ankle, broken bone)
• accident (on or off the job, just something that was an accident)
• major disease--think COVID in its early days; that's the most recent one, but we've had flu epidemics probably forever, and other viruses (there's a whole alphabet of them); plus chronic health issues
• life things: lay-offs, downsizing of businesses, bankruptcy, foreclosures

I'll stop there, because we're starting to go down the tubes here. Suffice it to say, we've likely
all "been there, done that" some time or other, to one degree or another. And the best thing we can say is, "it ain't pretty, but it does finally end."

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Let's go on from there--"it does finally end."

What happens when you realize you're back in the game? When you know--or maybe only suspect/hope that you're really able to go on, if not just like you used to do (depends on how old you are) but at least something resembling that time?

For me, it's a cause for celebration. Bring on the bells/whistles/balloons/brass band . . . I may not be able to party, but by gum, I'm excited to be out of the woods.

My COVID leftovers included a major loss of physical energy. Mental seemed okay--I could think, plan, write, paint. But my body couldn't quite get out of the doldrums. Short bursts of energy were what I could count on. So, I learned to use what I had.

Recently one of my doctors changed a medication I'd recently started, and which seemed to do nothing at all, as proved by a blood draw. Hence the change. Talk about difference between night and day! I began to sleep better, have more energy during the day--and all day--found myself making plans for bigger projects, reading more. . . .

Now I'm not training for a marathon or a triathalon. Nor do I have plans to visit 10 European countries in 10 days. Not even paint the barn before breakfast. And I have to admit, my Snoopy dancing isn't up to speed yet. But the outlook is clear and bright and as the old song said, "there's a smile on my face for the whole human race."

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That's my experience of getting back in the game.

Here's hoping you can get back into your own game, whatever it is, and that you find the level you're playing at now is just right.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 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