LAUGHTER!

[I'm repeating this post because . . . well, because I think a lot of people need to remember that laughter is important to us human folks. If you're in a low place in your life at the moment, see if there isn't something you can laugh about. If it's a really really low place, try for a smile, however weak, or even a light giggle. I'll join you.]

My laughter tank has been running low lately. When I began looking for quotations to illustrate this post, I discovered what I've always known (how's that for logic?)--laughter and pain are considered by many, many people to be two sides of the same coin.

Okay, I can work with that. I don't laugh when things are going badly. Say, for example, my car doesn't start, or the garage door spring won't lift the door when I push the button, or I slip on the front steps and skin my knee (if I'm lucky and don't go into sprain/broken bone country) . . . none of those qualified for the slightest chuckle. Not even in retrospect.

But I do know that when I'm feeling low, when my emotions have managed to delude me into thinking nothing good will ever happen again (rare, but it has happened), then I'm ready for relief. I've been known to watch a TV series that used to send me into gales of laughter, but if I'm in that low-down place, nothing sounds or looks funny.

I love Erma Bombeck for her home-grown humor. She saved my bacon on more than one occasion when I had a houseful of little kids all needing something different, and I just needed a little peace and quiet. She could laugh at herself and her situation--somewhat like mine--and I was eased.

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This past winter I had a long spell of nothing-funny-about-anything. In those periods I can't read, I don't want to write, knitting/sewing/cooking don't interest or distract me. 

To have some voices in the house, I put on a DVD--TV series, movie, whatever; I don't remember just what it was. And within 20 minutes I had laughed out loud twice. Twice!

Those moments of laughter brought me back into the human race.

(Thank you, Mark Twain--for reminding me that I do have "one really effective weapon" in my personal arsenal.)

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Why would we waste any of our days mired in sadness or anger or fear? Well, apparently we can't banish them entirely. Can you imagine day after day after day of laughter? Important to have a balance. Sadness is a natural thing to happen to us--we all lose something or someone. Anger rises when we least expect it. Fear? Oh, yeah, fear is always around waiting to pounce.

So a little laughter each day may save it from being wasted? Hmm. Need to think about that for a while. But I'm 99.44% sure I can live with it.

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Do you have someone you can laugh with? My closest friends are people who smile or giggle or chortle or double over with mirth at the same things that hit me that way. Doesn't have to be trading one-liners. Think about it. 

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As time passes, I'm learning to let go of more and more things that used to get under my skin and keep me in a constant state of irritation. More things strike me as funny. Or nutty. Or absurd.

Smiling comes easier. (Remember the old joke? "Smile! People will wonder what you're up to.") I smile a lot. People at the grocery store and Walmart smile back. Maybe they wonder what I'm up to. Or, maybe, they know.

Have a blessed week . . . filled with laughter, and joy.

Thursday's Child

DO YOUR DAYS HAVE NAMES?

Not the names on the calendar . . . Monday, Wednesday, Saturday. I mean, do your days have names that reflect their purpose? You may remember this little song from childhood:

     Wash on Monday, iron on Tuesday, mend on Wednesday, churn on Thursday, clean on Friday . . . bake on Saturday!

Since we're not all farm kids, we might not have heard "churn on Thursday"--not sure what was recited in our family, but I'm 98.6% sure it wasn't something fun!

I bring this up because I've recently noticed that some of my days have not only changed their activities, they've gotten lost in the shuffle. Here's what happened (I think):

• When I started this blog back in 2013, I named it Thursday's Child because I was born on Thursday. So Thursday became "Blog Day."
• The day before Blog Day was the day I finally settled on for drafting the essay--including some research, looking for clip art or photos to include, and maybe even re-writing it completely when the ideas didn't jell. So Wednesday became Blog Drafting Day.
• With those two days in place, I could fill in the rest: Friday was resting day--the blog had been drafted, revised, and finally published. Friday was almost a day for fun--or at least, not for anything serious.
• Saturday has long been a special day. When I worked a 40-hour-a-week job, Saturday was designated for two things: shopping in Fort Wayne in the morning, then writing in the afternoon. (Not blog writing; these were times for my short stories and novels to take their turn in the computer.) A third activity was practicing the organ music I'd play Sunday.
• Sunday was set aside for church. Until COVID shut down our lives in 2020, I was part-time church organist in Fort Wayne. After the shut-down, I looked for services online for worship. Eventually these morphed into daily Morning Prayer services online, some from local/US churches, some from Canterbury Cathedral in the UK.
• Monday--before I retired in 2007, Monday was the beginning of the work week. After retirement, Monday had to find a new identity.
• Tuesday--same problem as Monday. So I gave them the dubious honors of being laundry and cleaning days. 

The thing about designated activities for each day is that--like so many things in this life--nothing is set in stone. Retirement changed things. COVID changed things. My recent surgery and its attendant recovery and cardiac rehab changed those days even more. 

I've just about given up the idea of each day having a personality. Does it matter? I mean, when you get right down to it, does it matter if I do laundry on Sunday afternoon? Or go to the grocery store on Monday when the shelves are in the process of being restocked? 

In fact, the whole thing about giving each day a personality and sticking to that is just another way I try to control my surroundings. 

So here's what I'm doing--at present--I'm going to cardiac rehab on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. After that workout, I'm not fit for much, so I take the balance of those days off, rest or nap, maybe read (or maybe not). Basically I let my body have some down time. (The mind usually follows along.) Tuesday and Thursday should be days I can catch up on things I don't get done on rehab days. That is yet to come to fruition.

Who knows? I may once again settle into my little activity-per-day niche. Or, maybe not!

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 WHAT'S YOUR MOTTO?

Motto: a word or words to live by; a guiding principle; something short or cute or easily remembered that identifies something in yourself.

We're going to talk about personal mottoes today . . . and you've no doubt guessed that a personal motto comes from one's own, um, personal experience.

For example, Heather Lende came up with "Find the Good" as a three-word bit of advice to give her children. (This was a challenge given to her by a friend.) From just this small experience, Heather wrote a whole book titled, naturally, Find the Good. 

I know people who have adopted Murphy's Law as their own--"If something can go wrong, it will." (Why would anybody seriously want to go around living their life based on that?)

So let's ignore all unhelpful possibilities. I'll share my motto today:

FORWARD IS FORWARD

You may remember I've used that before, with a tortoise trudging across the page.

My recent experience with getting a new heart valve gave me endless (it seems) insights into forward movement. So I made a list of activities and events that can't be hurried:

• gestation of a baby--human, other animal child. Though each species has its own timetable, they all follow the rules--going forward. (We'll not get into problem pregnancies here.) And--it takes as long as it takes.
• healing--broken bones, surgery, relationships, traumas of all kinds
• maturing  of children (definitely not delving into this one)
• cooking/baking/canning/preserving--you don't stop in the middle
• growing a garden

That's enough to give you the idea--things start out, they progress, and eventually they end.

Is there ever a situation in which we stop and go back? Well, how about doing homework? If you don't get the right answer, wouldn't you back up and try again? (That's assuming you have an answer key and can check your own work.) Or if you can't get an answer at all?

Language labs often have recorders so students can repeat words and phrases in foreign languages and then listen to their own voices alongside the native speaker's example. (This was a good way to experience humility, as I learned in my foreign language days.)

In my own experience, I've ripped out many a line of stitching because of errors in my piecing or cutting. Another good humility-builder--making a quilt. Or a piece of clothing.

So, yes, sometimes we stall out: we have to stop, turn around, retrace our steps, then go forward again. Some things (listed above) may go from start to finish. But there just as many in which trying again is the best advice. (You may know it as "learning from experience.")

Here's a piece of advice from my own life:

     If you don't start, nothing happens.

     If you do start, be prepared to go all the way.

Currently, I am going to cardiac rehab three times a week--one-hour sessions, for a period of 6 or 8 weeks. A lot depends on how I progress. Some days I'm rather slow. Other days, I can keep going more easily. And it all depends on my advice to myself:

FORWARD IS FORWARD

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 

A POEM FOR YOU

[As you know, I recently went through surgery (doing very well now) and having spent several weeks in preparation, then a stay in the hospital, and now recovering at home, I've come to really, really, really appreciate the Ordinary. This post appeared a few years back, and its message still rings true for me, as I hope it does for you.]

Thursday’s Child:

Today's post is in honor of Liz Flaherty's writing. We met over 30 years ago and have encouraged each other ever since. If you haven't met Liz through her books, look for them. They're filled with people you know--in fiction form, of course; you'll recognize not only the characters but also their stories.

A few years ago, Liz Flaherty quoted William Martin's poem "Making the Ordinary Come Alive" and I saved it to read over and over. In searching for the poem to share with you, I came upon this short meditation by David Lose on his blog, “. . . in the Meantime.” I hope you enjoy what he says.

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David Lose:

I don’t have a lot to say about the following poem. Sometimes that’s the only fit response when you encounter sheer wisdom. There is nothing to say, just a great deal to ponder.

William Martin’s counsel isn’t only for parents to children, I believe, but for all of us. For how can we give or ask for that which we haven’t experienced ourselves. And so before we can invite our children to see the extraordinary in the ordinary, we ourselves need to practice that discipline.

A meal cooked by a friend. The quiet fidelity of a spouse. A warm fire to banish for a moment the chill of winter. A good book. A shoulder to cry on. A hand to hold. Crocus – soon, we pray! – bursting through the snow. A quite (sic) moment to rest and reflect. A poem that makes you sit up and take notice.

Each of these is a small, even mundane thing. Yet each also has the capacity, if we are open to it, to usher us into an experience of grace, when God’s goodness presents itself not as a prize to be sought but a gift to be received. May it be so with our children…and with us.

Make the Ordinary Come Alive

Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is a way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples, and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself.

By William Martin

[Thank you, Liz, for sharing this poem.]

 PUTTING IN THE PRACTICE

Have you been practicing lately? You know, practicing your Gratitudes!

They don't just "happen"--not on their own. Gratitudes only exist when you acknowledge them--give them expression--share them with family and friends (maybe even the world, if you write a blog).

I'll share mine with you today--and in case you've just tuned in, I'll mention that I've recently spent a spell getting ready for heart surgery, then two intense days in the hospital for a valve replacement, and now well into the aftermath (blood work, echocardiogram, doctor appts., cardiac rehab, and the good old etc.).

People - it takes a ton of people to make even the shortest hospital stay fall into place. I started out with the intention of remembering people's names: nurses in pre-op; techs who did pre-op echos and EKGs; techs who had special assignments (x-ray, testing body fluids). Finally had to give up because there seemed to be an unending stream of them. They all told me their names, which I appreciated; but my memory got stuffed full long before they moved on. I also had no food or water for hours before my procedure, so brain power wasn't up to snuff.

In addition to those named above, there were the surgeons (takes four hands to guide the valve into place); anesthetist (I loved that gal! She offered me music which she played in my ear while I was undergoing whatever I was undergoing at the time); nurses who shifted me from the gurney to the operating table (those gals and guys have to do a lot of physio to have that kind of strength).

Aftercare - When the surgery was over and I was not yet quite with it, I was moved to the 5th floor, cardiac care unit. Or ICU. But every patient on that floor was in cardiac care. I had a lot of companions on the journey, though I was in a room of my own.

Again I tried to keep track of the nurses--the first one was going off her shift, so I got acquainted with Becky, the night nurse. My daughter was staying in the ICU room with me, so we both talked with Becky. By the middle of the night, we were entertaining Becky with our brand of goofy humor. Passed the hours for us, and kept my mind from receding into a corner and refusing to come out. Also--I had been lying on my back, legs straight, no lifting my head, for 18 hours or more. Humor was the best medicine at that time.

Eventually I was allowed to get up to use the toilet, naturally with a nurse to hold me up in case I folded. After that, I was able to sit up in bed, bend my legs a bit; eventually they got me up to take a walk around the unit, past all the rooms with folks like me in them, and once I passed that test, I was free to go home. It was mid-afternoon.

Family & Friends - Everyone who goes through the unusual things of life--surgery, death of a loved one, caring for those with long-term illness (you know the list as well as I)--every single one of us needs our family and friends. Their prayers--their caring--their phone calls and notes--their other ways of communicating their concerns--what would we do without them? I give thanks for family and friends, for folks near at home and far away. You've all made a difference, and my recovery is supported by what you've done and continue to do.

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My gratitude covers so many people--in so many roles--who did so many different things--all for my benefit.

Yes, I was ecstatic to go home after only one night in the hospital. Yes, I knew there would be a time of healing and more appointments and more tests.

But the overwhelming feeling I had was thankfulness--that there is a procedure to lengthen my life, that it is available in a hospital near me, and that so many, many people were giving their time and talents to make the procedure and my recovery possible.

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I am beginning to experience renewed energy, one of the pluses of the surgery I had. Thus begins a learning curve--how to handle extra energy, how to schedule events and make time for interests I've had to put aside. No doubt you'll hear about my progress.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 

 COMING SOON

This time next week I'll be recuperating from surgery to replace a heart valve that just plumb wore out. At my age, that wasn't a big surprise, but it wasn't something I had put on my "someday" calendar, either.

Here's the best news I've had so far (in numerous appointments for talks with medical folks):

• tests show that my arteries and veins are clear--no need for stents
• this procedure can be done without opening up my chest
• this procedure has been in use for 15-plus years, and I was told that I could expect another 15 years' worth of wear out of my new valve; after that I can have the same procedure again
• hospital stay is 1-3 days, most likely only one, if I'm not having any problems
• initial recovery at home is about 7 days, then I'll start cardiac rehab for 12 weeks or so

I think that's the gist. This info is mainly to give you a heads-up that next week you may not see Thursday's Child in your inbox. Or, you might see a rerun of another post that I happen to like.

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Here in Northeast Indiana we're gearing up for 3-6 inches of snow overnight. Last week's non-functioning furnace is again pumping out heat. Outdoor temps rise and sink on a schedule only they know. Meantime, we make sure covers, warm clothes, and hot soup are within easy reach.

We continue to give thanks for everyone in the helping professions and everyone who knows how to fix broken boilers, among other things.

Most of all--thanks to all who keep prayers going.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

THINGS I'VE LEARNED ALONG THE WAY

We're all on a learning curve, from the time we're born till we finally give up this life.

You'll recognize all the ordinary, expected, ways we've progressed--learning to ride a bike, reading for the first time, winning (or losing) a ball game because of an error we made. You can make your own list of high (or low) points.

Today I want to pull out a few memories and examine what I've learned. Such as:

• what to do about the "self-critic" that rides on my shoulder
• how to deal with perfectionism
• failure
• joy
• self-care

That critic that sits on my shoulder and whispers in my ear that I'm wasting my time (no matter what I'm trying to accomplish) has ruined many a project. Doesn't matter what it is--art, music, crafts, fiber arts, sometimes even finishing my college degree. 

Then there was perfectionism--a trait I took on pretty early in my life as a way to "earn" my parents' approval. Huge mistake--it never worked. And if I ever did become "perfect" (by someone's standards) there was always the risk of having it fall through.

So we're at failure. If I was going to be perfect, then I had no option but to make sure I never, ever, failed. You can imagine how that played out.

Somewhere along the line I found joy--and it came with all those projects my self-critic said I couldn't do. But I persevered, and even when what I tried didn't work out, I said, okay, I learned something about that. And it was a joyful time.

The first four categories are about ways we live our lives. In the end, they add up to how we care for ourselves. 

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Here are some of the lessons I learned:

• I had to embrace "good enough" and let my self-critic go off and pout in a corner.
• I had to let go of the competitive spirit that said I had to be perfect--or another way of putting it, being better than everybody else.
• I had to see failure as an opportunity to learn/grow/see something in a new way.
• I had to welcome joy into my life--knowing there was never going to be the ideal, or perfect answer or way to live; but there was going to be a life worth living.
• I learned that self-care isn't the same as selfishness. Self-care is knowing myself well enough to figure out what I'm doing that keeps my mind and body happy and working well, and equally, figuring out what is toxic to good mental and physical health.

Best of all, it's never too late to learn more about how to take care of yourself; by doing so, you will have a self to give to others.

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Besides all the big categories discussed above, I learned lots of things to add to my life--country-western line dancing; knitting and sewing large projects; cooking gluten-free; yoga; tai chi; living alone and doing all my own yard work, house work, and getting maintenance for house, yard, and vehicle. I wrote novels and short stories (but not for publication). I started this blog. I worked in a law office for 30 years. 

Mostly, what I've learned "along the way," is to do what I can to help others; to be kind, or (as someone is quoted as saying) if I can't be kind, to be kind-er. I wish you joy in your journey.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child