Life is full of them - bright moments of unexpected joy, and hours of sadness and pain.
Maybe I needed to be reminded that both exist for a reason. They force us to grow, to learn about compassion, and to find the endurance to stay the course no matter how complicated the journey.
It was a stormy afternoon and I had taken shelter in a coffee shop. Steaming pumpkin latte in front of me, I watched a blind man and his beautiful, yellow labrador arrive. Just as I was about to go to him to assist with the condiments for his coffee, I noticed he held the items close to his face, and chose the ones he needed. Fate must have left him with a little sight and I was grateful I noticed before I offered my help.
Perhaps fate also sensed I could use a friend at the moment because she chose to make the seat across from mine the only one available and I offered it to him as he passed by. He removed his sunglasses as he sat down and thanked me for the invitation. Under the table, his dog laid close enough to me that I could have reached down and touched him, but I knew the rules - no touching a working dog.
The following thirty minutes flew as we exchanged casual pleasantries - I, asking him about his life with a seeing-eye dog and he graciously answering the questions I had always wanted to ask of someone in his circumstance.
He was a handsome, middle-aged man with hair the color of a white, puffy cloud and dressed impeccably like a mannequin you might see in the men's department at Macys. He was intelligent, joyful, and gracious. And oh, how he loved that dog! Her name was Jolly. He periodically reached down and stroked her as we talked. His eyes filled with tears when he mentioned his previous companion dog who had retired due to age. He mentioned that most strangers were very kind, helpful and accommodating to him. I was touched by his enthusiastic spirit and gratitude for what he called, "his abundance of blessings."
When the time arrived for us both to depart, I tried to express how much our chat had meant to me. I left realizing I would probably never see him again, but encouraged with absolutely certainty that I was a better person for having met him.
As for my encounter with sadness - well, I read a post yesterday that suggested family matters should probably not be aired on social media. In accordance with that sentiment, I will lick my wounds in private.
between the lines,
me
BETWEEN THE LINES
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
Life is full of them - bright moments of unexpected joy, and hours of sadness and pain.
Maybe I needed to be reminded that both exist for a reason. They force us to grow, to learn about compassion, and to find the endurance to stay the course no matter how complicated the journey.
It was a stormy afternoon and I had taken shelter in a coffee shop. Steaming pumpkin latte in front of me, I watched a blind man and his beautiful, yellow labrador arrive. Just as I was about to go to him to assist with the condiments for his coffee, I noticed he held the items close to his face, and chose the ones he needed. Fate must have left him with a little sight and I was grateful I noticed before I offered my help.
Perhaps fate also sensed I could use a friend at the moment because she chose to make the seat across from mine the only one available and I offered it to him as he passed by. He removed his sunglasses as he sat down and thanked me for the invitation. Under the table, his dog laid close enough to me that I could have reached down and touched him, but I knew the rules - no touching a working dog.
The following thirty minutes flew as we exchanged casual pleasantries - I, asking him about his life with a seeing-eye dog and he graciously answering the questions I had always wanted to ask of someone in his circumstance.
He was a handsome, middle-aged man with hair the color of a white, puffy cloud and dressed impeccably like a mannequin you might see in the men's department at Macys. He was intelligent, joyful, and gracious. And oh, how he loved that dog! Her name was Jolly. He periodically reached down and stroked her as we talked. His eyes filled with tears when he mentioned his previous companion dog who had retired due to age. He mentioned that most strangers were very kind, helpful and accommodating to him. I was touched by his enthusiastic spirit and gratitude for what he called, "his abundance of blessings."
When the time arrived for us both to depart, I tried to express how much our chat had meant to me. I left realizing I would probably never see him again, but encouraged with absolutely certainty that I was a better person for having met him.
As for my encounter with sadness - well, I read a post yesterday that suggested family matters should probably not be aired on social media. In accordance with that sentiment, I will lick my wounds in private.
between the lines,
me
Maybe I needed to be reminded that both exist for a reason. They force us to grow, to learn about compassion, and to find the endurance to stay the course no matter how complicated the journey.
It was a stormy afternoon and I had taken shelter in a coffee shop. Steaming pumpkin latte in front of me, I watched a blind man and his beautiful, yellow labrador arrive. Just as I was about to go to him to assist with the condiments for his coffee, I noticed he held the items close to his face, and chose the ones he needed. Fate must have left him with a little sight and I was grateful I noticed before I offered my help.
Perhaps fate also sensed I could use a friend at the moment because she chose to make the seat across from mine the only one available and I offered it to him as he passed by. He removed his sunglasses as he sat down and thanked me for the invitation. Under the table, his dog laid close enough to me that I could have reached down and touched him, but I knew the rules - no touching a working dog.
The following thirty minutes flew as we exchanged casual pleasantries - I, asking him about his life with a seeing-eye dog and he graciously answering the questions I had always wanted to ask of someone in his circumstance.
He was a handsome, middle-aged man with hair the color of a white, puffy cloud and dressed impeccably like a mannequin you might see in the men's department at Macys. He was intelligent, joyful, and gracious. And oh, how he loved that dog! Her name was Jolly. He periodically reached down and stroked her as we talked. His eyes filled with tears when he mentioned his previous companion dog who had retired due to age. He mentioned that most strangers were very kind, helpful and accommodating to him. I was touched by his enthusiastic spirit and gratitude for what he called, "his abundance of blessings."
When the time arrived for us both to depart, I tried to express how much our chat had meant to me. I left realizing I would probably never see him again, but encouraged with absolutely certainty that I was a better person for having met him.
As for my encounter with sadness - well, I read a post yesterday that suggested family matters should probably not be aired on social media. In accordance with that sentiment, I will lick my wounds in private.
between the lines,
me
Monday, July 2, 2012
Meditation
My youngest daughter and I have made a pact to encourage one another to spend a few moments each morning in meditation. The deal is we will call or text each morning to hold ourselves accountable.
My daughter has proven much better than me at compliance and I welcomed her call this morning. "I promise I will do my meditation as soon as I hang up," I told her.
With timer in hand, I walked to the patio and took a seat facing the water. I set the timer for 10 minutes.The second I closed my eyes, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. I began to hear birds chattering from every direction and a slight breeze coming from the north, blew a sweet smell of gardenias my way.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Oops. What is it that has stuck its head through the chair and come to rest on my leg? Ahh. It's a small black nose attached to a furry body. The tail is wagging enthusiastically with hopes of a treat or a car-ride.
Oh well. My meditation has been interrupted, but with an example of unconditional love. I am reminded of the saying my dad loved so much - "If only I could be the person my dog thinks I am."
Today that saying will be my goal.
Have a good one! Between the lines...
My daughter has proven much better than me at compliance and I welcomed her call this morning. "I promise I will do my meditation as soon as I hang up," I told her.
With timer in hand, I walked to the patio and took a seat facing the water. I set the timer for 10 minutes.The second I closed my eyes, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. I began to hear birds chattering from every direction and a slight breeze coming from the north, blew a sweet smell of gardenias my way.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Oops. What is it that has stuck its head through the chair and come to rest on my leg? Ahh. It's a small black nose attached to a furry body. The tail is wagging enthusiastically with hopes of a treat or a car-ride.
Oh well. My meditation has been interrupted, but with an example of unconditional love. I am reminded of the saying my dad loved so much - "If only I could be the person my dog thinks I am."
Today that saying will be my goal.
Have a good one! Between the lines...
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Face to Face with Prejudice
A Hoodie doesn't make one a hoodlum. Or does it?
As the Trayvon Martin case slowly fades from the news, I have to ask myself, "Was this a teaching moment for all of us or just another one of those 'wardrobe malfunctions' that usually afflict Hollywood stars?"
First let me say, with the information we've been afforded by the news, I find there to be little doubt that Mr. Zimmerman acted carelessly, probably with malice, and certainly should not have been on the neighborhood watch and most definitely, not carrying a weapon.
That being said, and at the risk of being too honest, which has never stopped me before, the whole incident has given me pause to think about my reactions to black males, young and old. I believe I have always made a sincere attempt to transform the bias and profiling that seemed so in-grained in my parents' generation. I heard the slurs, the name calling, the jokes based on the color of other peoples' skin. The comments made me cringe as a child and they still do today. But prejudice is hard to eradicate from the head even when the heart says it's baseless and wrong.
Am I more cautious about locking my car doors when I drive through a black neighborhood? Walking alone in a parking lot, do I feel a tinge of fear just a little more if there is a black man rather than a white man walking toward me? Do I automatically assume the black man that pulls up next to me driving the new Mercedes has to be a professional athlete?
You've probably figured out my answer to all these questions. I have been shocked and saddened the last few weeks to become aware, and painfully acknowledge that I have not done a stellar job at removing the prejudices of those before me.
I hope for myself, and maybe for you too, that Trayvon's death, regardless of the circumstances, will prompt all of us to look a little deeper inside, to grow a little more in humanity, to make a personal vow that this young man's death is not overlooked as an opportunity to better ourselves and the world we share with every religion and race.
This was not a wardrobe malfunction. Dark skin and a Hoodie do not make one a criminal, but thinking that it does is a malfunction of the human spirit.
As Ellen Degeneres says at the end of each show...Let's be kind to each other.
Between the lines,
LA
As the Trayvon Martin case slowly fades from the news, I have to ask myself, "Was this a teaching moment for all of us or just another one of those 'wardrobe malfunctions' that usually afflict Hollywood stars?"
First let me say, with the information we've been afforded by the news, I find there to be little doubt that Mr. Zimmerman acted carelessly, probably with malice, and certainly should not have been on the neighborhood watch and most definitely, not carrying a weapon.
That being said, and at the risk of being too honest, which has never stopped me before, the whole incident has given me pause to think about my reactions to black males, young and old. I believe I have always made a sincere attempt to transform the bias and profiling that seemed so in-grained in my parents' generation. I heard the slurs, the name calling, the jokes based on the color of other peoples' skin. The comments made me cringe as a child and they still do today. But prejudice is hard to eradicate from the head even when the heart says it's baseless and wrong.
Am I more cautious about locking my car doors when I drive through a black neighborhood? Walking alone in a parking lot, do I feel a tinge of fear just a little more if there is a black man rather than a white man walking toward me? Do I automatically assume the black man that pulls up next to me driving the new Mercedes has to be a professional athlete?
You've probably figured out my answer to all these questions. I have been shocked and saddened the last few weeks to become aware, and painfully acknowledge that I have not done a stellar job at removing the prejudices of those before me.
I hope for myself, and maybe for you too, that Trayvon's death, regardless of the circumstances, will prompt all of us to look a little deeper inside, to grow a little more in humanity, to make a personal vow that this young man's death is not overlooked as an opportunity to better ourselves and the world we share with every religion and race.
This was not a wardrobe malfunction. Dark skin and a Hoodie do not make one a criminal, but thinking that it does is a malfunction of the human spirit.
As Ellen Degeneres says at the end of each show...Let's be kind to each other.
Between the lines,
LA
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
First of all - a Disclaimer. This is NOT a blog to be read before or during mealtime.
I ask you - How many names can one room possibly have? It's called the toilet, the water closet, the outhouse, the bathroom, the restroom, the head, the loo, the library and sometimes by those of us a little rough around the edges - the crapper. I only know 3 words in Spanish and one of them happens to be Bano. I've found out the hard way that you should know how to say 'bathroom' in every language if you're going to drink beer.
When out in public I never know which is politcially correct. Do you ask for the location of the bathroom or the restroom? It would be easy to discern if I planned on taking a bath or a rest, but usually this is not my intent.
If you're like me, you'd rather address the porcelain throne in your own home, but we all know that this is not always possible. When you gotta, you gotta. For times when I predict my stay will be longer than a 'drive-thru', I always seek out the multi-stall locations. Nothing causes more anxiety than knowing the meter is running and other users are lining up outside the door waiting for the single stall that you are occupying. Barnes and Noble Bookstores and Starbucks are one-stall locations to be avoided for extended stays.
And there's the issue of accomodations. I've found it's best to look for a supply of TP before assuming the position. (In the airline we used 'the position' to prepare for emergency landings. We called it, Grab Ankles!)Nothing worse than embarking on the procedure and finding the bathroom lacking supplies because the attendant apparently went home early with dysentary and no one is picking up the slack of bathroom duty.
When there is a delay in completion of the job, I listen and look under intently to see if other occupants remain. I prefer the listening part - breathing sounds and the rustle of TP, rather than the visual because I have a problem with other people's feet. Toenails really gross me out, especially the dirty and untamed ones. I have to make myself look away when I spot them, like when you pass roadkill and are drawn, against your will and better judgement, to staring and moaning. If you wait long enough, the stall turnover will allow you to exit without anyone knowing you've been in there long enough to request a forwarding address for your mail.
Do you sit or stand? And where do you put your purse if some male was responsible for the stall design and forgot to put in a hook? Thoughts of what is and what has been on the floor can be nauseating.
And, do you exit leaving the appliance in the condition you found it? Dry, wet or fully stocked?
And lastly, a really personal question. Do you always wash your hands afterwards or only when someone else might see you bolt, sans humming the Happy Birthday song twice as you soap up? Just wondering...sometimes it's tempting because the faucets and sink look dirtier than any germ you might have picked up behind the stall door.
And lastly, do you continue conversations once you and the toilet have become one, or answer cell phone calls over the sound of the new turbo-charged hand dryers that have caused me to exit so fast I forget to check the bottom of my shoes for the "you're dragging toilet paper on your shoe' look?
Whatever you call it, it's always an adventure in there. I'm sure we'll not meet someday sitting side by side, only separated by a graffited wall and a toilet paper holder that needs written instructions for its operation. I have only two requests. Please don't judge me if I stay too long and please wear closed-toed shoes. ;-)
between the lines (at the ladie's room),
Thanks for reading!
I ask you - How many names can one room possibly have? It's called the toilet, the water closet, the outhouse, the bathroom, the restroom, the head, the loo, the library and sometimes by those of us a little rough around the edges - the crapper. I only know 3 words in Spanish and one of them happens to be Bano. I've found out the hard way that you should know how to say 'bathroom' in every language if you're going to drink beer.
When out in public I never know which is politcially correct. Do you ask for the location of the bathroom or the restroom? It would be easy to discern if I planned on taking a bath or a rest, but usually this is not my intent.
If you're like me, you'd rather address the porcelain throne in your own home, but we all know that this is not always possible. When you gotta, you gotta. For times when I predict my stay will be longer than a 'drive-thru', I always seek out the multi-stall locations. Nothing causes more anxiety than knowing the meter is running and other users are lining up outside the door waiting for the single stall that you are occupying. Barnes and Noble Bookstores and Starbucks are one-stall locations to be avoided for extended stays.
And there's the issue of accomodations. I've found it's best to look for a supply of TP before assuming the position. (In the airline we used 'the position' to prepare for emergency landings. We called it, Grab Ankles!)Nothing worse than embarking on the procedure and finding the bathroom lacking supplies because the attendant apparently went home early with dysentary and no one is picking up the slack of bathroom duty.
When there is a delay in completion of the job, I listen and look under intently to see if other occupants remain. I prefer the listening part - breathing sounds and the rustle of TP, rather than the visual because I have a problem with other people's feet. Toenails really gross me out, especially the dirty and untamed ones. I have to make myself look away when I spot them, like when you pass roadkill and are drawn, against your will and better judgement, to staring and moaning. If you wait long enough, the stall turnover will allow you to exit without anyone knowing you've been in there long enough to request a forwarding address for your mail.
Do you sit or stand? And where do you put your purse if some male was responsible for the stall design and forgot to put in a hook? Thoughts of what is and what has been on the floor can be nauseating.
And, do you exit leaving the appliance in the condition you found it? Dry, wet or fully stocked?
And lastly, a really personal question. Do you always wash your hands afterwards or only when someone else might see you bolt, sans humming the Happy Birthday song twice as you soap up? Just wondering...sometimes it's tempting because the faucets and sink look dirtier than any germ you might have picked up behind the stall door.
And lastly, do you continue conversations once you and the toilet have become one, or answer cell phone calls over the sound of the new turbo-charged hand dryers that have caused me to exit so fast I forget to check the bottom of my shoes for the "you're dragging toilet paper on your shoe' look?
Whatever you call it, it's always an adventure in there. I'm sure we'll not meet someday sitting side by side, only separated by a graffited wall and a toilet paper holder that needs written instructions for its operation. I have only two requests. Please don't judge me if I stay too long and please wear closed-toed shoes. ;-)
between the lines (at the ladie's room),
Thanks for reading!
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Near the cutting edge...but carrying a dull knife.
A day late and a dollar short. Yeah. Yeah. I can hear my dad saying it now. Little did I know how prophetic his words were.
It's happened over and over. I get just within reach of the cutting edge, and it moves. I master old math, the week before new math is introduced. I can't wait to be 18 to booze it up, and the week before my birthday they change the age to 21. I take my last college semester of photography with film and darkrooms, as film gives way to computer imaging.
And now here I am with my buttocks bleeding because I'm perched on the wrong side of the cutting edge once again. This time it's the literary publishing world that's waiting to pull the plug on my plans.
I've spent the last 6 years plodding along on a manuscript, knowing someday an agent and publisher would be clamoring for it and that I would see my work in hardcover - beautifully bound, eye-catching cover gracing the windows of Barnes and Noble. I never pictured it to be self-published or read on a Kindle. In my dreams I've been able to smell the ink on the pages as it came off the press, to touch the glossy outside, and turn to the first page to read - by Lee Ann Ropes .
Ah, you say. That could still happen. Maybe, if I had the damn thing completed and ready for press, which I don't. No. By the time I write THE END, cutting edge in the writer's world will undoubtedly be paperless.
Maybe those of us who are always a day late and a dollar short of the cutting edge were put here just to make the rest of you over-achievers look good. Maybe we pave the road to make it smoother for your progress.
But for now I sense I'm foiled again. I'm at least two steps behind the cutting edge. It's like the time I decided to finally go back to work after an extended maternity leave...the Company filed bankruptcy and shut down. Oooh. That dull knife hurt.
By the way, I'm finally ready to cash in the thousands of S&H Green Stamps I've been saving up for years. I hope I'm not too late. They do still redeem those, right?
between the lines,
thanks for reading. :-)
It's happened over and over. I get just within reach of the cutting edge, and it moves. I master old math, the week before new math is introduced. I can't wait to be 18 to booze it up, and the week before my birthday they change the age to 21. I take my last college semester of photography with film and darkrooms, as film gives way to computer imaging.
And now here I am with my buttocks bleeding because I'm perched on the wrong side of the cutting edge once again. This time it's the literary publishing world that's waiting to pull the plug on my plans.
I've spent the last 6 years plodding along on a manuscript, knowing someday an agent and publisher would be clamoring for it and that I would see my work in hardcover - beautifully bound, eye-catching cover gracing the windows of Barnes and Noble. I never pictured it to be self-published or read on a Kindle. In my dreams I've been able to smell the ink on the pages as it came off the press, to touch the glossy outside, and turn to the first page to read - by Lee Ann Ropes .
Ah, you say. That could still happen. Maybe, if I had the damn thing completed and ready for press, which I don't. No. By the time I write THE END, cutting edge in the writer's world will undoubtedly be paperless.
Maybe those of us who are always a day late and a dollar short of the cutting edge were put here just to make the rest of you over-achievers look good. Maybe we pave the road to make it smoother for your progress.
But for now I sense I'm foiled again. I'm at least two steps behind the cutting edge. It's like the time I decided to finally go back to work after an extended maternity leave...the Company filed bankruptcy and shut down. Oooh. That dull knife hurt.
By the way, I'm finally ready to cash in the thousands of S&H Green Stamps I've been saving up for years. I hope I'm not too late. They do still redeem those, right?
between the lines,
thanks for reading. :-)
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Just one more...Addiction.
I am still reeling over the loss of Robin Williams. Not a day passes where I don't see his image - those sweet eyes - or think of the pain he must have been enduring those last few days. I want to forget about it, but in order to make sense of his death, we must remember. I think he would want us to find a silver lining - to save or at least recognize some other human being that is in pain. Maybe that's what we are supposed to learn from Robin's life and his untimely death. Actually is there such a thing as a 'timely' death?
Anyway, this pondering reminded me of an entry I made some time ago...about addiction and another celebrity. Thought I would share it with you again.
No one grows up dreaming of becoming an alcoholic or addict. It's just not a hit on the Top Ten Parade, for those of you who remember Dick Clark and the show Bandstand. Instead we dream of wealth, happiness, stardom, success, and maybe a long life.
Recently I read an obituary about a man I met many years ago while I was in treatment. My first sight of him was as he shuffled down the hallway like an elderly person, in his slippers, with a distant and glazed look in his eyes. I recognized him. He was a celebrity type. Known for his television career and his wild escapades with celebrities of the opposite sex, in this place he was just a regular guy. He was like me and I just like him. Sick, and sick and tired of being sick and tired.
We became comrades.I watched him struggle as he described several treatment centers he had been in before this one. He finished his 28 day program before me and as we said goodbye, I prayed that he had gotten 'it' this time. I was sad when I heard some years later that he was back in treatment again.
Addiction sneaks up on its victims. Cunning, baffling, and powerful, the menacing disease exercises no discretion at choosing between the poor and the wealthy, the black and the white, the young and the old, blue collar or white collar. It strikes where and when it can, and consumes not only the user, but the entire family and surrounding community. It kills if given the opportunity.
I will probably never know if my friend died sober. The newspaper didn't say. But his legacy to me will be a reminder that recovery from addiction, whatever kind it is - alcohol, drugs, gambling, overeating - all these recoveries are a gift.
Today I am very grateful for my gift. Thank you, James, for sharing part of my journey. May you rest in peace.
Between the lines...
Anyway, this pondering reminded me of an entry I made some time ago...about addiction and another celebrity. Thought I would share it with you again.
No one grows up dreaming of becoming an alcoholic or addict. It's just not a hit on the Top Ten Parade, for those of you who remember Dick Clark and the show Bandstand. Instead we dream of wealth, happiness, stardom, success, and maybe a long life.
Recently I read an obituary about a man I met many years ago while I was in treatment. My first sight of him was as he shuffled down the hallway like an elderly person, in his slippers, with a distant and glazed look in his eyes. I recognized him. He was a celebrity type. Known for his television career and his wild escapades with celebrities of the opposite sex, in this place he was just a regular guy. He was like me and I just like him. Sick, and sick and tired of being sick and tired.
We became comrades.I watched him struggle as he described several treatment centers he had been in before this one. He finished his 28 day program before me and as we said goodbye, I prayed that he had gotten 'it' this time. I was sad when I heard some years later that he was back in treatment again.
Addiction sneaks up on its victims. Cunning, baffling, and powerful, the menacing disease exercises no discretion at choosing between the poor and the wealthy, the black and the white, the young and the old, blue collar or white collar. It strikes where and when it can, and consumes not only the user, but the entire family and surrounding community. It kills if given the opportunity.
I will probably never know if my friend died sober. The newspaper didn't say. But his legacy to me will be a reminder that recovery from addiction, whatever kind it is - alcohol, drugs, gambling, overeating - all these recoveries are a gift.
Today I am very grateful for my gift. Thank you, James, for sharing part of my journey. May you rest in peace.
Between the lines...
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Desiderata - Latin for 'Desired Things"
I'm proud to be a Hoosier. (whatever that word means) Among many things, we're famous for our basketball, our tomatoes, and our love of the card game of Euchre. But I've never been more proud to be from Indiana than when I read the famous words below that were written by one of our own. Thank you, Max Ehrmann.
The Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be critical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy.
© Max Ehrmann 1927
The Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be critical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy.
© Max Ehrmann 1927
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
CAN you teach an old dog new tricks?
I'm in the process of taking a workshop - advice on relationships, healing old wounds, and being independent vs codependent. Heady topics that are painfully reminding me of how long it's been since I practiced the skill of taking notes.
A searing question is battling for my attention during the lectures. Can you teach an old dog new tricks? Actually, the correct syntax would be, "Can you teach new tricks to an old dog?" But old idioms are slow to change, perhaps just like us mature adults.
I grew up thinking the learning process was pretty much completed once you left high school. An occasional news story might contain a nugget of knowledge, but other than that, you didn't know what you didn't know, and you didn't know that either.
I once had the pleasure of giving my Dad a second-hand computer. I watched as he placed his arthritic fingers on a keyboard for the first time. He was awkward but receptive. However, during the days that followed he kept calling the mouse, 'the rat' and I realized with a little frustration that we had a long learning curve ahead of us. Unfortunately he didn't live long enough to complete the curve but I truly believe the old dog could have done it with a few more months of breathe in him.
Yahoo states, "Senior dogs are happy to learn, as long as they have a consistent teacher who hands out plenty of treats." I get that, even though this old dog has lost a few brain cells over the years. So, I'll finish my workshop with the hope that a few tricks will lodge in my brain somewhere between the lobes of "I don't know where I parked my car," and "I'm sorry but I can't quite remember your name."
Does this make me an old dog trying to learn new tricks? Woof. Where are my treats?
later...
Between the lines
A searing question is battling for my attention during the lectures. Can you teach an old dog new tricks? Actually, the correct syntax would be, "Can you teach new tricks to an old dog?" But old idioms are slow to change, perhaps just like us mature adults.
I grew up thinking the learning process was pretty much completed once you left high school. An occasional news story might contain a nugget of knowledge, but other than that, you didn't know what you didn't know, and you didn't know that either.
I once had the pleasure of giving my Dad a second-hand computer. I watched as he placed his arthritic fingers on a keyboard for the first time. He was awkward but receptive. However, during the days that followed he kept calling the mouse, 'the rat' and I realized with a little frustration that we had a long learning curve ahead of us. Unfortunately he didn't live long enough to complete the curve but I truly believe the old dog could have done it with a few more months of breathe in him.
Yahoo states, "Senior dogs are happy to learn, as long as they have a consistent teacher who hands out plenty of treats." I get that, even though this old dog has lost a few brain cells over the years. So, I'll finish my workshop with the hope that a few tricks will lodge in my brain somewhere between the lobes of "I don't know where I parked my car," and "I'm sorry but I can't quite remember your name."
Does this make me an old dog trying to learn new tricks? Woof. Where are my treats?
later...
Between the lines
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Don't buy cheap dishes
Have you heard that God will never give you more than you can handle? Or a reference to how much is on one's plate?
Well, some of us need bigger plates than others. A friend of mine lost her father some months ago and then herself, was diagnosed with stage four cancer. Now her holidays were shattered with the news that her mother has stage four, terminal cancer.
Hello, God. Couldn't we like evenly distribute the bad stuff instead of overloading one family? Not that I wish poor health on others, but how much misfortune can one family take. If there's an annual quota on the diagnosis of this monster disease, couldn't we spread the misery around equivalently?
I am grateful. I have very little on my plate right now and I'm knocking on wood as I type that last line. My plates are inexpensive, though. Whomever's in charge of the big stuff, please keep this in mind should you decide to load me up from life's buffet.
May the new year be a healthier, happier one for the families who've gotten more than their piece of crap pie.
Between the lines,
See ya later.
Well, some of us need bigger plates than others. A friend of mine lost her father some months ago and then herself, was diagnosed with stage four cancer. Now her holidays were shattered with the news that her mother has stage four, terminal cancer.
Hello, God. Couldn't we like evenly distribute the bad stuff instead of overloading one family? Not that I wish poor health on others, but how much misfortune can one family take. If there's an annual quota on the diagnosis of this monster disease, couldn't we spread the misery around equivalently?
I am grateful. I have very little on my plate right now and I'm knocking on wood as I type that last line. My plates are inexpensive, though. Whomever's in charge of the big stuff, please keep this in mind should you decide to load me up from life's buffet.
May the new year be a healthier, happier one for the families who've gotten more than their piece of crap pie.
Between the lines,
See ya later.
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