LIFE IN THE SLOW LANE.....

There was a time when living life in the fast lane was the way to go. Everybody knew that. We had to go faster, farther, do more, get there quicker (wherever there was). It was the only definition for success going. The Eagles had a song about it. Had to be true.

Uh-huh. Until it wasn't true any more.

I can already anticipate reader response to this topic--they'll say: once she got to this age, she had to slow down, so now she's making it into a virtue.

And?

Let's get something out of the way right now: This is not about "stopping to smell the roses" or "getting off the merry-go-round"--that was 60s stuff. This is about living deeper. Ready? Take a deep breath.......

Think back to a time when you were deeply committed to something--your children, your marriage, your church, your hobby (whatever it was); politics; teaching; practicing medicine; playing in an orchestra; playing on a sports team, volunteering somewhere in your community . . . it doesn't matter what it was, or when it was, you had a strong attachment to that activity, that role you played. And while it was strong, it was also deep. So deep you didn't--couldn't-- always tear yourself away to do things or go places other people wanted you to do or go. 

In some instances, you may have lost friends or other relationships because of your commitment. Or, you may have been fortunate enough to have understanding folks around you who helped you honor your role and still remain part of a family or neighborhood or group.

My belief, based on my own experience and observing the experience of others, is that a deep commitment is a way of living in the Slow Lane. We continue in our path--either chosen by us or having been led into it--and we do that despite distractions and even well-meaning invitations to join in something else.

Consider world-class athletes who train for the chance to go to the Olympics. Consider musicians whose CDs you have in your collection who practiced for hours (literally!) every day of the week so their music would be the best they could make it. Consider scientists who work long hours in laboratories, sometimes alone, sometimes on teams--trying to find the answer to a puzzling disease, or the structure of cells, or how and why our climate is running amok.

My life wasn't geared toward any great goal--looking at what I did "back then," I see it was almost always something I saw that needed doing, at home or at church or in my community. I had a lot of company then, doing what I was doing--and I can say our attitude was one of "let's get this done." Or, as the Brits say, "Just get on with it."

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Some of us never had to make the decision to give up our Slow Lane life. But I suspect many of us had to wait until the time was right to find it--the children grown and flown, retirement from a day job, a move to another part of the country, a broken marriage, a death--we never thought we'd live through some of these changes, but we did. And when we came out on the other side, we found we had something called "free time." Hours and days unscheduled. A grand gift. And possibly a bit scary.

We may also have found ourselves a tad adrift--no job to go to, no family commitments, perhaps even no close friends, if we'd moved to a far-away place. This is the ideal time to consider living in the Slow Lane.

I know, whole books have been written on this subject, so you won't find this post definitive. The main things to remember are these:

--Slow Lane living is about depth, not speed.

--Former commitments don't have to be renewed. New ones can be explored.

--Not every hour of every day needs to be filled in. (There is no prize for a full calendar.)

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I've always been a schedule person (goes with being a list-maker) and I've discovered scheduling is still important to me, well into retirement, so I choose to continue to use it. Keeping track of medical appointments, birth dates of people dear to me, and due dates for library items are right at the top of my list. But I don't obsess about that keeping-track. I do it for peace of mind.

Life in the Slow Lane doesn't have to be filled with sloths. Tortoises are welcome; at least they move around, a little at a time. Maybe a better word to use for Slow Lane living is Patience. 

Maybe that's what Slow Lane living is all about--being patient, making a space and a place for Peace of Mind. I can do that. How about you?

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

P.S. The resurrection lilies in the pic below happen only once a year. I wait through the long period of lots of green leaves, their death into long brown stuff, and then the shoots come through, a few at a time. Then more. and finally a whole clutch of them in all their glory. Worth waiting for.

Resurrection Lilies with Holly Hippo

 WHY DO YOU READ?

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“And whether rich or poor, well or ill, happy or sad, books can be a refuge, they do not change with changing circumstance, they are the open highway to yesterday, today and tomorrow wherever you will to travel.” ― Gladys Taber, Stillmeadow Daybook

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Why do you read? Why do I read?

A couple of days ago I went to the library to check out books by Gladys Taber. Mrs. Taber was a short story writer, published often in the women’s magazines; also wrote novels; and later became a popular columnist for Ladies’ Home Journal and Family Circle. From her columns, which were about country life in Connecticut (and later Cape Cod), she branched out into several nonfiction books about the same subjects—life and living in the country and by the ocean.

I read the original columns in Family Circle when I was a teenager. It was like being a part of her family—her children and grandchildren, the family visits, dinners, taking care of cocker spaniels and an Irish setter--. Gladys Taber’s writing filled in some of the empty places in my life, and I couldn’t wait for the next issue of the magazine to come to the A&P Store.

Rereading her books now, I recall how much they meant to me in the late 1950s. I am grateful for people like Gladys Taber who shared their lives so generously.

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After I finally learned to read (in first grade), I couldn’t get enough of books and stories. Along about third or fourth grade I discovered mysteries for kids. The easy ones soon gave way to Nancy Drew and later on to Erle Stanley Gardner, Rex Stout, and Agatha Christie.

But my reading habits were eclectic--reading cereal boxes and pulp magazines, serious novels for high school English class . . . you name it, I probably read it.

From such a beginning, it was a natural, even inevitable, parth to a degree in English lit. That broad umbrella included American literature, expository writing (composition), and linguistics. I had a taste of European literature in advanced French classes. (That was an experience I appreciated, but never kept up with.)

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We are the children of a technological age. We have found streamlined ways of doing much of our routine work. Printing is no longer the only way of reproducing books. Reading them, however, has not changed. --Lawrence Clark Powell

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There have been a few times in my life when I couldn’t read.

When I was ten, I had scarlet fever. It was a mild case, but precautions were decreed: no reading; keep the room dark; bed rest. (That’s the only time in my life I can recall being bored. B-O-R-E-D.)

In my 30s and later, I had bad allergies that tended to wipe me out. I knew I was really sick when I didn’t even want to read.

Major surgery, with heavy doses of anesthetic, wiped me out again; while I was recuperating I couldn’t read anything for over three weeks. After that, only short--very short--selections in magazines.

And in my latter years, the time we call maturing, I’ve found some medications have a negative effect on me; my emotions virtually flat-line. Fortunately, I’ve been able to get away from most of those meds.

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You don't have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.

Ray Bradbury

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We read for so many reasons—to gather information for a job; to learn about other cultures; to escape current situations; for pure enjoyment.

I venture to say all these reasons are about connecting with something or someone else. We learn about our jobs by participating in what someone else wrote. We find out about other cultures, and discover how alike people are, everywhere. Even our escape reading, and our reading for the simple joy of reading, connect us to another person’s mind and heart that conceived the story we are living through their eyes.

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For my birthday I received two Amazon gift cards! Talk about rich!! I now have a healthy account balance at Amazon.com and a Wish List that makes me smile every time I look through it.

Buying books (and movies and DVDs of TV shows) will never grow old.

The only problem is where to store everything. Hm, that downsizing gig isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

A SHIFT IN PERSPECTIVE

When my eyes aren't too tired, and the focus is good, I get a chance to read. One of my recent forays into subjects that need a little more brain work brought me to an American poet and writer named Pat Schneider (1934-2020). During much of her life she taught folks how to write--or a better explanation would be, taught folks to recognize that they could write, never mind their age, economic status, gender, or previous experience (or lack of it).

Pat taught workshops for all kinds of groups, large and small. I first encountered her in her 2013 book, How the Light Gets In: Writing as a Spiritual Practice.

And this is one of the nuggets of wisdom I gleaned:

• Beginning Again is not the same as Starting Over.

I say "one of the nuggets" because I'm only about a quarter of the way through the book and it's sprouting little Post-It Notes on many, many pages.

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That nugget of Pat's is especially important to me right now because I'm stuck--as in axle-deep in wet cement with no one to pull me out--in the story I'm currently writing. Actually, have been writing since last February or March.

The first trial, I set the story on Ash Wednesday, with my usual cast of characters: The Rev. Dr. Abercrombie, his curate Rev. Andie, and a parishioner. Wrote a few pages. Hit a wall.

So, I waited a while (probably a month or two) and tried again. Dr. Abercrombie is getting ready to officiate at a funeral in his church. That went all right for a chapter or two, then I got interrupted, and when I came back, I picked up the story in the wrong place, the time frame went down the tubes, and I was close to trashing the whole thing. (Since it was on the computer, not printed, I would've had to delete a lot of manuscript--and I just couldn't do that. I think it's a case of "waste not, want not," which I learned in childhood.)

Another wait. Inspiration eluded me. Tried ignoring it. Still nothing.

Enter Pat Schneider. When I can't write, no matter the reason, I like to read about writing. Pat held up her lamp and I began to see some things--not what I needed to do next, but at least I was noticing.

When I got to the part where Pat says (I paraphrase here) "Beginning Again is NOT Starting Over," I felt a sharp elbow in my ribs--"Hey, you, pay attention!"

As Pat explains it:

• Starting Over means getting rid of what you had.
• Beginning Again means keeping what you had and finding a new place to begin, and go on from there.

It's a tiny shift, I suppose. People (myself included) have been starting over for eons. But it seems like a case of tossing the baby out with the bath water (another childhood warning). As a writer, I can't bear to think about shredding pages of notes and research, deleting forever computer files of previous drafts. Think of the hours and hours of work just discarded.

So I've become a die-hard advocate for Beginning Again. Seems to work with other tasks and endeavors: painting, cooking, sewing/quilting/knitting, you name it . . . .

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If you've read this far, I thank you for allowing me to share a difficult time and what I (may have) learned. Life Lessons are everywhere.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 FRIENDSHIP

[This essay first appeared some years ago. Lately, though, I've been thinking about friendship--how important it is for our well-being--so I decided to repeat these thoughts in preparation for a celebration, however quiet, of Friendship. And even more important--don't limit yourself to a one-day celebration! It's an Everyday Thing!]

August 7 is friendship day. That was yesterday, when I was searching for a topic for today's blog post.

Friendship has been on my mind and heart lately and I want to explore some definitions and thoughts on what friendship is, and what it is to have—or to be—a friend.

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The most elemental definition I’ve ever seen is the title of Joan Walsh Anglund’s book, A Friend Is Someone Who Likes You. It was published in 1958 for children 4 to 7 years old. A friend is…someone who likes you. Simple. Direct. Easy to understand.

But as we all know, we grow older, and life takes twists and turns, our experiences cause us to make leaps and bounds. Or go backward. Or fall on our prats. Sometimes what we go through is, well, less than joyful. Here are some thoughts to keep your hearts and minds engaged in friendly paths as you find your way through the jungle.

* * * * *

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.   --C. S. Lewis (1898-1967)

Who among us has not had a friend who kept us sane, even for a little while? Or who held our hand in a dark time? Who talked us down from a scary place—real or metaphorical—to continue living?

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Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over.   --Octavia Butler (1947-2006)

If you have a friend, then you, yourself, are a friend. It’s a reciprocal relationship, not one-sided, but a meeting of equals. So if you are a friend, you know what it means to remain silent when they “hurl themselves into their own destiny.” Sounds scary, doesn’t it? But we know we can’t live other people’s lives for them, no matter how much we care, how much more experience we have, how clearly we can see the pitfalls they will face. We can “prepare to pick up the pieces,” and I would add, resist the temptation to say I told you so. Even if you never said it in the first place.

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One more idea:

We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence.  -- Joseph Roux (French surgeon, 1780-1854)

Ignore the out-of-date pronouns and focus on the thought.

No one wants to lose a friend. Friends are more precious than silver and gold, than perfect gems, than all the possessions we can ever amass.

Yet, sometimes a friend is lost. To death, yes; but that is not the harshest loss. The loss that stabs our hearts and wrenches tears from our souls is the loss we have caused—or have been unable to prevent—for whatever reason.

John Donne (1572-1631) wrote, “Any man’s death diminishes me.” I would add, “Each friend’s loss takes a valuable part of me, and I’ll never regain it.”

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To send you off with a happier thought:

If instead of a gem, or even a flower, we should cast the gift of a loving thought into the heart of a friend, that would be giving as the angels give.  --George MacDonald (1824-1905)

Celebrate your friendships. They may not number in the hundreds or thousands, they may be virtual friends you’ve never seen. True friends are the ones who know you, warts and all . . . .

Blessings, my friends-----

Thursday's Child

IT'S AUGUST!

Okay, you turned your calendar page, right?

You scanned through the filled-in squares on your cell phone calendar, right? Mine has a couple of birthdays!

So you're ready to go! August, 8th month of our year, named in honor of the Roman emperor Augustus, in the year 8 BCE.

If you want to know more "awesome" things about August, check out The Fact Site.

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In my neighborhood, folks are keeping up with the lawn (heavy rains every so often keep us green, but also make mowing a necessity, whether we have the time or energy or not.

Our community is revving up for the new school year. A local group called Warm a Heart is loading up backpacks for students. We pitched in with a donation of school scissors (a helpful list on Facebook made it easy to choose and click to buy).

No doubt stores are crowded with parents filling shopping carts with school clothes and classroom supplies, plus the family groceries. I have to say, I don't miss that part of my life; getting four kids ready for a new school year was a job in itself.

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In these last few days before the big yellow buses trundle down the street to pick up students, there'll be last-minute swims, picnics, family visits with grandparents, maybe even a short car trip to a campground.

Once the school doors open, left-behind parents can take a deep breath, maybe drink another cup of coffee, and stop running so fast. Even going to work will seem easier.

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August always signals for me the beginning of canning season. Even though I no longer have a garden to tend, nurture, and harvest, I think of my children who have big gardens and will soon be canning tomatoes, green beans, and squash; then when the weather chills everything and fresh stuff is about gone, it'll be time to make jams and jellies.

Having done all those things in another life (long before I retired), I know how much work is involved. When I receive gifts of canned goods from my family, I honor the hard work and hours spent bending over plants they tend.

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Wishing you a joyful August--wherever you are, whatever season you're experiencing.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child