WHAT MAKES YOU HAPPY?

Right now, what makes me happy is turning a corner and suddenly coming into the presence of a stunning Autumn-colored tree. It happened yesterday, on my way home to a haircut appointment. Probably a maple, totally dressed in red, orange,yellow, gold--probably some other colors, too. (Did you know Autumn plays no favorites with color selection? True.) So on the way home, I stopped to take a photo of that gorgeous tree. I was on the wrong side of it, going toward home, but I took the photo anyway, getting a sign and some other stuff. But the tree! It was overwhelming.

Trees aren't the only happiness objects in my life. Lots of things I see give me joy. Clouds in unusual formations. Dogs, any dogs, anywhere. 

Also, fragrances--spring flowers (lilacs, especially)--roasting chicken in my kitchen--roasting vegetables, also in my kitchen--almost any baking (brownies and fruit crisp are my top picks)--fresh air after a rain . . . .

And tastes! Oh, my, good winter soup, full of veggies and  rich broth--risotto (which we have at least once a month)--Mediterranean mixed veggies, sauteed stovetop--morning coffee calmed down a little with creamer--good chocolate--lemon anything . . . .

What about things heard? I still love music, much of which is now on the Internet and available quickly. I'm partial to '70s tunes that I remember from my years in college (as a {ahem} mature student), and to what a lot of people call classical music, though my tastes run to 16th Century, then 17th, and 18th. And jazz! My life in the '50s was always happier when I could play jazz LPs and that taste continued the rest of my life.

That only leaves touch--fabric has long been a tactile happy thing. I've sewn doll clothing since age 8 (by hand) then my own wearables beginning at age 12 (4-H club), learned to make my own fabric by knitting (sometime crocheting). I'm grateful for relaxed styles, such as sweatshirts, and the concept of layering to improve the warmth of clothing when the weather tanks big-time. I also like the feel of wood (my dad was a carpenter most of my life)--the touch of printed pages (books, of course; and they also smell great)--the feel of a pen in my hand, writing across a journal page (the sound is comforting) . . . .

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Here's a quiz for you--What one thing brings out all the senses? (Answer below.)

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Take your senses for a walk--what wakes them up, gives them a boost when you're feeling a little less than Up. And most of all--what makes you happy? Do some of that today!

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

Answer to the quiz:

You see it, hear it, smell it,

taste it, and (grab a handful) 

feel it!

 SOMETIMES . . .

Life being what it is, things don't go smoothly . . . not all the time. Not always. Not even for long periods. We tend to shrug and say, "Well, that's the way life is." But as September segues into the shorter days of autumn, I find myself meandering around in deeper thoughts, such as:

- Sometimes . . . you don't need to leap out of bed just because the alarm rang.
What would happen if you hit the SNOOZE button and gave yourself 10 more minutes to prepare to meet the day? [The danger here is that you can hit SNOOZE time after time.]

- Sometimes . . . your greatest need is your own health.
Pushing yourself again and again beyond your normal limits may not be a good thing. Is the committee meeting going to fail because you aren't there? Will the office shut down because you need a mental health day? [We're not talking excuses here--we're looking at our own health.]

- Sometimes . . . another person's need is greater than yours.
Ah, there's the rub. How do I assess someone else's need? Is it a 10 today? Or merely a 4? Perhaps only a 2. Forget the numbers. Look at what's being asked of you--a few minutes on the phone; a cup of coffee at the shop where you can talk without being interrupted; a helping hand because nobody else will do it; or a request for prayer.

- Sometimes . . . life is totally unfair--day after day.
You have arthritis. Your hearing is rapidly declining. Your appetite up and left you and you're losing weight your doctor is unhappy about. Your dog has to be put down. Your neighbor makes racket long after your normal bedtime (say, 10 PM). Or your family members are so wrapped up in their own problems they don't call/email/text. And if they do, they vent. [Hard to see a ray of sunshine in this scenario, isn't it? This is when I scrounge around for one thing--just one!--to be grateful for.]


- Sometimes . . . you just need to listen--seriously listen.
Not every appeal for help requires you to do something specific about it. Listening, really taking it in, is doing something. [You're not even required to remember what you heard. Just be an ear.]

- Sometimes . . . all you can do is cry.
When it all gets to be too much, have a good weep. Letting the valves open can be a great cleansing of overloaded emotions. Or if the hurt and grief are too deep for tears, write about it--talk to yourself or the person you grieve for or to God--put it on paper. Later you can shred the pages, because they've done their part in allowing you a place to pour out your feelings.

- Sometimes . . . all you can do is laugh.
When it's too much for a good cry, laugh! There are still some things in my life that haven't got to the laughing stage, but a great many have. [You may recall the hard-boiled eggs on the kitchen ceiling episode. I can laugh, now.]

- Sometimes . . . all you can do is walk away. You can't fix it. Maybe nobody can but God.
This is probably the hardest of all. We need courage to admit that we can't "fix" something--that the only thing we can do is express our caring, if that's possible, and pray for relief.

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I know, I know--this isn't a feel-good post. But then, Life isn't always a feel-good place to live, is it? Sometimes . . . we just have to grit our teeth and get on with things. Or, maybe, find another way to get through. A friend can help a lot.

Have a blessed week.

Thursday's Child

Noah's Challenge

CHALLENGE . . .

Challenge -- "a task or situation that tests someone's abilities."

This all came about because I'm participating in an art challenge--5 days--each day's challenge based on a prompt emailed to me by the artist whose challenge it is.

I am free to interpret the prompt as I wish--literally, metaphorically--so long as I work with the art supplies recommended by the artist.

At the end of 5 days, I'll have 5 pages (or more) of "art stuff"--five pages I wouldn't have had if I'd not signed up for the Simple Things Art Challenge.

And what am I going to do with what I've created, you ask? Why, nothing, unless I want to. The challenge is only for myself. There are no right or wrong ways to do the work. No one needs to see what I've created unless I wish to show my work. I get no money, no award, no certificate, no--well, no anything!

So, I hear you thinking, what's the point? I'm glad you asked.

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Here's how it all started. . . .

After my heart valve surgery, and cardiac rehab, and eventual release by the various medical teams who checked up on me, I realized I'd gone through at least six months when my life didn't seem to be my own. If I wasn't sitting in a doctor's office, I was riding in the car on my way to an appointment. Once cardiac rehab was in place, I worked hard three days a week and crashed the other four. To put it in a nutshell, my life was focused on getting through surgery and post-op stuff, so I could get back to former activities.

At the time, I didn't think any of that was odd. It "just was"--the surgery was necessary, I got through it, the rehab was necessary, I got through that . . . that was the focus.

Months later, I began to look around and see things I'd neglected while I was medically occupied. And guess what? I realized I hadn't picked up a paint brush for months. Hadn't watched videos by artists I follow on the Internet.

To be clear--I'm not a professional artist--art is my hobby, one I enjoy and like to practice--so I'm not missing out on commissions or pay checks. But I am missing out on the way visual art makes me feel. Is my stuff any good? Don't know. Don't really care. I paint because I like to paint. Some people like what I do, but I don't join competitions or seek shows to display my work.

Thus--The Challenge! Five Days of testing my abilities. After months of no painting, how will I know if I met the challenge, since no one is checking? I will know if I've painted for 5 days in a row . . . if I continue to paint with no one giving me prompts . . . if the way a summer sky looks like it ought to be painted and I'm just the one to do it . . . .

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Challenges--testing your abilities--are everywhere:

• losing weight to get into the suit you plan to wear when you walk your daughter down the aisle at her wedding
• modifying your language so your young'uns don't pick up bad habits
• 
  keeping notes in notebooks so you can remember things, like what the doctor said, or when to renew subscriptions before they expire, or home repairs that need doing next summer
• keeping a list of how many books you read in a month (or a year)

They can be as simple as challenging yourself to get up at the same time every day (if that suits your life); paying bills at least a week before they're due; answering emails before you realize it's been a month since you heard from your child/sister/good buddy.

It can be fun--it can be serious--it can be totally frivolous. It's your challenge. You decide.

One of my greatest challenges--besides the heart stuff and the current art thing--is taking care of myself. Remembering to be kind to others, because it helps me be kind to my own body and life. Remembering this: concern is not the same as worry. 

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 COVERS

Ocean Waves Quilt

Blankets, sheets, quilts, afghans, lap quilts, cover-ups . . . whatever the size, whatever the intended use by the manufacturer, my house bears witness to my obsession with covers.

Some of these I can explain away as clearly utilitarian--where I live we have mostly very cold winters, with an occasional lapse by Mother Nature (or the global warming goddess). Temperature drops into the forties and farther down, starting in October, call for an extra layer of something on the bed to keep body heat in and outside chill out.

The number and style of coverings became obvious recently when I had family visiting for eight nights in August. We covered up in variety:

     - quilts (3 that I made)
     - duvet (purchased long ago and still serviceable)
     - flannel sheets (bottom and top) 
     - regular sheets (a couple of those for whoever didn't want flannel)
     - ancient woven throw (falling apart but still cozy)
     - lap quilts (for an extra layer, if needed)

But utilitarian doesn't explain the four baby quilts, four fleece blankets, and two (super-heavy) all-cotton blankets (used as bedspreads in years past), all stored in a convenient closet.

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The real explanation possibly--even probably--lies in my upbringing. Grandma Jenkins made a quilt every year. She started piecing the blocks in the spring, working through the summer and into the fall; by Thanksgiving she had a quilt top ready to join with batting and backing on the heavy wooden quilting frame. Grandpa hauled it down or in from wherever it had been stored for the past six or eight months, set it up in the living room, and the quilt was loaded onto the frame for hand quilting by my grandmother. That was her main occupation through the winter months. After all, gardening was over--everything that could be canned was already in jars on the shelves in the spare bedroom, the canner was scrubbed and put away, and next year's garden was only a dream occupying Grandpa's winter months.

Double Irish Chain

Memory grows hazy here. I don't know who received Grandma's quilts. Perhaps one or more of the 10 Jenkins kids--all grown and flown by the time I came on the scene. Or perhaps grandchildren as they married and started a new home. The only covers I remember at Grandma and Grandpa's house were two she made, one on their big brass bed that stood so high I couldn't climb on by myself, and one on the smaller bed in the spare room where I slept when I stayed the night. In memory, one quilt is blue and white--in a pattern I now know was an Irish Chain. The other was made of small triangles in every color God created--that one was probably an Ocean Waves quilt, but that's guesswork from the distance of more than half a century.


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My personal experience with making quilts started roughly 30 years ago when I took a class with my oldest daughter. It was called Quilt in a Day--a technique made possible by Eleanor Burns who revolutionized quilt making by introducing us to strip piecing. No longer did we cut each square, rectangle, or triangle for our pattern . . . we could cut strips, sew them in explicit ways, and then cut into pieced units. The class we attended made it possible to turn out a baby quilt (about 40 inches square) in one day of cutting, sewing, more cutting, more sewing--and then we put the quilt top, batting, and backing together. Voila! A finished baby quilt. 

After that class, both my daughter and I were hooked. She went on to make many baby quilts for people she knew starting their families, and eventually joined a large quilt guild where she was inspired by many innovative practitioners. I tried various patterns--some with more success than others--and learned what parts I liked best about quilting, what parts would need a lot of dedicated time, and what patterns I'd pass by as too demanding for the time I wanted to give to a project.

Over the years, I've felt a connection between my grandma and my aunts who made quilts. Once it was what we had to do if we wanted our family to be warm in the winter. Now we often make quilts just to be trying something different--new color combinations, new patterns, new sizes. Wall hangings, table toppers, table linens (placemats and napkins), bed toppers . . . there's always something new coming down the pike.

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Besides utilitarian usage and gift giving, covers have long been an ingredient in the creative play of children.

Take one big old cover, add a card table, and you have an instant cave/castle/den/secret room. No card table? Use the cover on a chair--upholstered or wooden--or the end of a sofa.

Nap quilts/covers became a requirement of nursery schools. Each child had a space to lie on, rest, possibly nap (though I doubt it). At home a nap quilt's individual space became a child's very own island--room for a book, a snack, possibly a cat.

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Another quilt that lives in memory came to my hospital room when I had surgery in 1995. My youngest daughter had found what looked to me like an antique quilt--not full bed size, but larger than a baby quilt--at an estate sale. She was intrigued by it and bought it just to have a quilt in her apartment. When she came to stay with me during surgery, she brought the quilt and laid it on my hospital bed while I slept. I think of that quilt as the first of many healing quilts I have known--they bring with them the prayers and good wishes of the giver, and that positive energy is somehow transferred to the person who needs healing. I like to think it's the alchemy of love.

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We're closing in on the season of quilts and covers. Sometimes I wrap up in a light cover while I watch a movie. And a little extra something is de rigueur for afternoon naps--grandmas take naps, too.

I'm grateful for the time I grew up in, and the family I had. They were folks who knew about love and laughter, and good food, and warm blankets. Thanks be.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

Modern Strip Quilt--I've made this
pattern at least three times in different
color combos.

  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 last week.

But 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?

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

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.”

* * * * *

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,

Thursday's Child

Blessings, my friends-----

Thursday's Child

 HOW MANY GREENS?

Now that our weather has moderated (a little), I'm interested in looking around outside. Not long ago I had an opportunity to drive out into the country a few miles. And everywhere I looked, I saw green.

Do you know how many greens there are in rural areas? Here's a sampling:

• soybean green - the plants are about knee high on me (remember, I'm not very tall), and so close together that they make a nice dense field look as if it's going on forever.
• corn green - corn is definitely much higher than my knee, probably closer to or even above my just-over-five-feet height. And still growing.
• grass green - every farmhouse has a nice lawn, even if it's only a patch in front of the house and runs alongside the road
• tree green - here's where things get tricky. Tree green is only a single color if you're painting trees with your kindergartner or, if you're like a lot of us, lump all trees in the landscape together. After all, that's a forest over there, isn't it? I can't tell what species each is from the road as I putter along at 50 mph (country roads also have speed limits).
• But if you happen to recognize a tree and can name its species, you'll find the maples are different from the oaks and different from willows and birches and pines and  . . . .
• weed green - this is a catch-all category for all the overgrown weeds that line country roads, usually along ditches where mowing is perilous and the consensus is that they can just be left alone.
• garden green - occasionally, from my vehicle, it's possible to see a cultivated garden
• a flower garden will have plants of various heights, often colorful because it's the season for blooming; the greens vary according to the variety--from deep green to dusty sage green, and everything in between.
• a kitchen garden - which provides vegetables and herbs for cooks, may have pole bean green, tomato plant green, parsley green, mint green, asparagus green, lettuce green, basil green, rosemary green, and many other hues, depending on the gardener's tastes and the availability of the plants or seeds. 

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If you'd like to know more about greens--the colors, not the kind you eat--do a search on the Crayola colors. The current Big Box has 120 crayons, and a healthy chunk of them are greens.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

mostly green

 OASIS

noun

1. A fertile spot in a desert where water is found.

2. A pleasant or peaceful area or period in the midst of a difficult, troubled, or hectic place or situation.

"An oasis of calm in the center of the city"

     synonyms:     refuge, haven, retreat, sanctuary, sanctum, shelter, harbor, asylum

"The park is an oasis filled with half a million flowers and thousands of lights."

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I once received some good advice from a friend: paraphrased, it went something like this: “Do what you can to make your own little corner of the world a better place.”

At the time that advice was given, I was feeling a little sorry for myself. Probably 99.44% of the human race have at one time or another felt a little bit sorry for themselves. And there’s always somebody around willing to give you (1) good advice, (2) a hug, if needed, or (3) a kick in the pants. All three work.

I want to digress a little here—self-pity, though considered a negative state, isn’t all bad. It may be merely a transient state in which to examine oneself, one’s condition, one’s responses—a time of active self-care. Such a time can lead to healing.

You've no doubt heard this many times: “If we don’t take care of ourselves, we’ll have nothing to give others.” In recent years, this advice is given to caregivers who spend a large part of their time taking care of family or friends during a long, perhaps terminal, illness. Caregivers are urged to get out of the house; go to appointments on their own; take an hour or two for shopping at leisure, doing errands. Friends are always available to sit with the patient.

Think about it. An empty vessel holds no balm. We all need to replenish our inner resources.

There are many ways to fill the empty vessel—travel, study; creative endeavors; reading, music; movies. Escapist, you say? Well, maybe; sometimes; and that could be the best way to start filling the vessel of our lives again.

Escapism, like self-pity, is not a permanent address. It’s a place for stepping back; a breathing space. Some folks go on retreats—the kind where you aren’t expected to interact with a lot of other people. Some find solace and peace and healing in prayer or meditation.

None of this has to involve travel or money. Go to the local park and sit in the sun (or shade, if you prefer) and let breezes and bird song wash over you. Or go for a solitary walk, or take your dog with you; or walk with someone who also knows how to be silent. Whatever the season, there’s a place you can go to withdraw from noise. One of my favorite places is the public library. Amazing how other people’s voices disappear when I’m reading at the library.

Breathing space may be as near as your patio, or a quiet room in your house. Make your own oasis. You’ll return to it again and again. It’s a place to just be.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

THIS 'N' THAT

We could also call this essay "Random Thoughts." Or, "Bits and Pieces." Or, "Snippets."

July is a hard month to write about. It's hot. It's humid. (Today we're promised Heat Index of 105 deg. or more!) I don't have a swimming pool. Air Quality is iffy, so sitting outside in the shade doesn't appeal.

So, I've had to make my own distractions. Best I could come up with this year is--HUMOR!

Following are some quotations from The Best of Bits & Pieces, a 1994 book one of my daughters gave me last Christmas. Ready?

1--Experience is a comb that nature gives us when we are bald. (Chinese proverb)

2--The person with a new idea is a crank until the idea succeeds. (Mark Twain)

3--Life is like a ten-speed bike--most of us have gears we never use. 

4--Learn from the mistakes of others--you can never live long enough to make them all yourself.

5--If everybody obeyed the Ten Commandments there might not be an 11 o'clock news.

6--All mothers are physically handicapped. They have only two hands.

7--The next best thing to solving a problem is finding some humor in it.

8--If you have lived well, laughed often, and loved much, consider yourself a success.

9--The Lord gave us two ends--one to sit on and the other to think with. Success depends on which one we use the most. (Ann Landers)

10--If you're going to give someone a piece of your mind, make sure you can spare it.

11--Don't watch the clock. Do what it does. Keep going. (Sam Levenson)

12--Thinking is the hardest work there is, which is probably the reason why so few engage in it. (Henry Ford)

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So there you go! A round dozen bits and pieces that may make you laugh, or smile, or maybe just think a little differently. 

Have a great week. Blessings,

Thursday's Child

Lots of words here!

THE GRUMPY SEASON

We all know the calendar seasons--Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter. But there's one that has no set time to appear--has never been studied, that I know of--and entirely wipes out any great things happening in one of the calendar's offerings. I give you--THE GRUMPY SEASON.

First, let me say that the Grumpy Season is entirely individual. Its arrival for me is probably not the same as its showing up in your life.

Second, since the Grumpy Season is individual, it has no official . . . well, anything. No shopping dates. No party schedules or concerts by kids in school bands and choruses. No decorations, no holiday motifs. You can't schedule your wedding for the Eve of the Grumpy Season because, as you've no doubt figured out already, there isn't one!

Third, in my experience, the Grumpy Season is a sly thing--it somehow knows just when I'm least likely to want its interference. Do I want to be grumpy? No! What if I have plans? Too bad for me.

That's enough, I think, to give you the idea. 

So, the trouble is this: I'm sitting at my laptop, fingers poised over the keyboard, ready to pounce on a great idea for this week's blog post. I sit in pouncing mode for minutes on end. Take a break to play Mahjongg solitaire. Come back to the keyboard, wait a few more minutes. Get up for a bottle of water and a walk through the front of the house. This can go on for hours. 

I have never found a way to disengage with the Grumpy Season. It strikes on some kind of whim. I thought by writing about it, sharing it with a larger audience, I might get some relief. So far, zilch.

Maybe this time it'll be a short season--over and done with by tomorrow. Then again--

Wishing you the best--and may your life be filled with good things. (See Winnie the Pooh's thoughts below.)

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 DO YOU TRANSISH?

[This post first appeared 10 years ago!!! Yes, ten! And when I reread it, with the idea of using it as inspiration for another whirl with Transition, I discovered I didn't want to change a thing. Hmm, wonder does that says about me?]

Although I've watched myself making the transition from being a girl to being a woman, I still feel 15 years old. My reflection disagrees.  Jaime Winstone

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Transition, noun: the process or a period of changing from one state or condition to another.

Synonyms: change, passage, move, transformation, conversion, metamorphosis, alteration, handover, changeover; segue, shift, switch, jump, leap, progression; progress, development, evolution, flux

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Lately I am thinking about transitions (see above). I even perused two dictionaries, both of which did not entirely agree with the above definitions that I culled from the Internet. (There's a lesson in there somewhere.)

About all I came up with is that a transition is a noun: the process or period during which something goes from one state or condition to another.

Change, on the other hand, is mostly used as a verb: to vary, alter, or otherwise modify, transform, etc. something or someone.

We've come to regard transition as a verb (sorry, I didn't mean this to become an English class)--we talk about transitioning from one state to another. The quotation I used at the beginning of this post shows the proper use--making the transition--of the noun.

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Whew! Now that we've got that settled, let's go on with transition as a noun and what it means in Real Life.

In the past I’ve recognized I was going through a transition only after I passed through it. Does that make sense? I think so.

Now, at an advanced age, I am aware of transition as I make it . . . for example, what I’m doing differently now that I have some limitations. Such as:

Tendinitis – I knit or sew for shorter periods of time, in order to keep my

arm from going into spasms.

 

     Lower energy levels – My days are planned around the must-dos so that
     I don’t overdo; three events in one day are the absolute limit. Sometimes
     it’s just one, such as a big family holiday dinner with lots of folks around.

     Memory and Follow-through – I don’t do long-term projects. Small ones
     suit me now because I’ll get them finished. My life is strewn with WIPs
     (Works in Progress) that may never get to the finish line: quilts cut out
     but not sewn, half-knitted items, manuscripts of  the beginnings of stories;
     not to mention boxes of stored items in the garage that may (but probably
     don’t) contain items of value, but should be sorted.

Some days I’m not happy with myself. My Today List is longer than the hours it takes to accomplish them, now that I’m a tortoise and not a hare. (Did I used to get all that stuff done in one day?) I go to bed vaguely dissatisfied with unfinished projects, items on my list that didn’t get checked off.

Then I remember all the things that I did do—perhaps small things that never made it to The List: an email to a friend I don’t see very often; a phone call from one of the kids; bills paid so I don’t get penalties; bird feeders filled and suet put out. If I can recall these things, then I realize I’m not totally inert. I may not move as fast as I used to (Tortoise Syndrome), but I do move. And I remember that there’s always another day (probably) in which to do some more.

I suspect the real point of transitions has to do with perspective--how does a person react to the change from one state or condition to another? Here's a glimpse at my perspectives:

I'm not crazy about having tendinitis, which can be treated, but after a while its effects are definitely limiting to some of my activities. Should I give up knitting? Quit sitting at a sewing machine to make quilts for charitable giving?
     No, but I don't have to give myself impossible deadlines.

A super-busy day on the calendar has me almost dreading it. If I don't have enough energy to get through an extra activity, what's the worst thing that will happen?
     I'll take a nap when I get home--or go to bed earlier--or give myself a
     "day off" the next day to rest up.

Some of my half-baked projects can be finished--by someone else, perhaps; or by me, if they morph into something besides what they first were intended to be.
     Nothing is cast in stone; I can change my mind without penalty--after all,
     it's my project.

Transitions aren't good--or bad. They simply are. They signal the change from one state or condition to the next. (See definitions at the beginning of this post.)

Sometimes they're happy changes--from being a single gal to being a married one. Or from Mom to Grandma. Sometimes they're less desirable--aging with some of the health problems (and wrinkles and grey hair and gravity problems) that may accrue as we mature.

But if we're still alive, we're always in transition. Think about it.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

In another day, we'll celebrate the birthday of our nation--July 4th. You can google Declaration of Independence and get the whole text, plus the names of all who signed it.

Today, though, I want to talk about personal birthdays.

      As an aside--if you're a purist, you'll call it the birth anniversary. Fine with me. But I've always called it a birthday, so you'll just have to make allowances for me.

Anyway! Birthdays in my family have always been special times. Now that we are growing in numbers--four generations add up to a larger number every year--I seldom get to celebrate birthdays with my children, grandchildren, or greatgrandchildren. But the greeting card industry is still in business in part because I remember everyone with a card.

There are folks who say, "I never celebrate my birthday." Or, "I just ignore birthdays." Well, that's their choice. But I like birthdays for one simple reason: It's a day that celebrates the birth of a person I know and have affection for and wish them well in their journey.

A friend of mine recently celebrated his birthday. A few years ago he told me he doesn't add a year to his age each time--he started subtracting a year! He's now the same age as his child, or maybe a year younger! (By the new measurement.)

If the only reason people want to ignore their birthdays is so they don't have to acknowledge their age, I'm afraid it's a lost cause. The motor vehicle bureau has your number. So does Social Security (if you're qualified). Your doctor and all other medical personnel and institutions.

So, whether you celebrate the day you became an independent, breathing, resident on this planet, or decide to ignore it--welcome anyway. Some of us wish you a happy birthday!

Blessings to all,

Thursday's Child

 

  PLAYING THE OLD CARD

Bacon: 1561-1626

[Took a walk down Memory Lane, also known as my blog post archives, and came upon this one published in June of 2022. Obviously, I'm even older now than I was in '22, so it was interesting to read my thoughts from three years ago. Happy to say, I'm still on board with the subject of aging and "playing the old card," when need be.]

Last week I was loading my groceries into the trunk of my car when a youngish (hard to tell these days, but I'll say mid-30s, at a guess)--anyway, a youngish employee of the store smiled and said, "I'll take your cart."

I had parked very near a cart-return, my usual plan so I don't spend much time on foot in between vehicles, but I agreed she could take my cart. I thanked her.

As I drove away, I thought about that little exchange. She was the age of my grandchildren. She was an employee of the store. She had a nice smile and a pleasant manner. And I was quite happy to have her look at my gray hair and walking shoes and decide it would be a good thing to offer to take my cart back to the store.

The success of our little exchange was her attitude--she came across as genuinely happy to help me, but she wasn't going to push it.

Best of all--I didn't have to play the old card. She did it with grace and style, and I left smiling because I'd had help without being made to feel old.

Let's have some definitions. Here are some of the ways people have made me feel old:

--handicapped - helping without asking
--deaf - talking too loud or very slowly
--feeble - taking my arm when I don't want help
--worn out - saying "you poor thing" 
--slow - sighing with impatience (my perception)
--blind - telling me what I'm seeing
--mentally impaired - not giving me time to think

Nearly anybody 20 or more years younger than I am can move faster, think about a dozen things at once, and put on a show of strength. Long, long ago I gave up trying to keep up with the younger folks. Not because I'd lost all my super-powers, but because I refused to compete. 

Even when I don't play the old card, I know other people will. They'll also help me when I don't want help, but I've grown outspoken enough to tell them no, thank you. (This is important if you have an arthritic shoulder that shrieks when someone tries to dress you, such as, help you put your coat on.) And if I can do it with a smile, we're both happy--they offered, I declined with a pleasant look on my face (and no pain in that shoulder).

When I get fed up with trying to explain that I'm not as old as they think I am, I entertain myself with some of the great sayings of famous people. Hope you enjoy these.

-----

          Old age is like everything else. To make a success of it, you've got 
          to start young. 
          Theodore Roosevelt (American statesman, writer, US President
          1901-1909)


          The excitement of learning separates youth from old age. As long as 
          you're learning you're not old. 
          Rosalyn S. Yalow (American medical physicist 1921-2011)


          The secret of genius is to carry the spirit of the child into old age, which 
          means never losing your enthusiasm. 
          Aldous Huxley (British writer, novelist, philosopher 1894-1963)

          One of the many pleasures of old age is giving things up. 
          Malcolm Muggeridge (British Journalist 1903-1990)


          [I especially relate to Mr. Muggeridge--lately I've grown very partial
          to giving things up.]

          Scripture is filled with examples of men and women whom God 

          used late in life, often with great impact - men and women who 

          refused to use old age as an excuse to ignore what God wanted 

          them to do. 

          Billy Graham (American evangelist 1918-2018)

          Old age is when the liver spots show through your gloves. 

          Phyllis Diller (American comedienne 1917-2012)

Whatever your age, have a blessed week!