The Gift of Grace
“Oh, God, give me grace for this day.
Not for a lifetime, nor for next week, nor
for tomorrow, just for this day….” Marjorie Holmes
I awoke at 4:45 this morning worrying about what to bring to my writing group which will meet for the first time tomorrow. I need to work on the third draft of my book, but some internal force has its heels dug in and is staying my hands and mind. One side of my brain says, ‘fight that, just write’, and the other side tells me to let it lay until the way is clear. At times of internal resistance, I ask for grace.
My church is struggling as are many mainstream churches. A shift in consciousness is occurring and views are changing in all religions. Old institutions and ways of believing are giving way to new faster than our human structures can accommodate. There is a push for those who remain to do ever more; to take on extra tasks and responsibilities. In times of physical challenge, I ask for grace.
Political turmoil is raging across the planet. Even in America, we are well into the throes of the presidential campaign and accusations and counter accusations are flying like bullets. Hyperbole and outright fabrication are the order of the day and no one knows where the truth lies. In these days of political unrest, I ask for grace.
Never in my life have I asked for grace and not received it. In simply asking, a shift occurs within. Knots unwind in the gut, and tight shoulders drop into comfort. The sun is not yet up, but grace has set the day on a different course. Marjorie Holmes’s prayer continues:
“Direct my thoughts and bless them.
Direct my work and bless it.
Direct the things I say and give them blessing, too.
Direct everything that I think and speak
and do. So that for this one day, just this one
day, I have the gift of grace that comes from
your presence…”
Amen,
Jane
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Gaining Perspective
Giving from Our Fullness
“The present moment is always full of infinite treasures, it contains far more than you have the capacity to hold…”
J.P. de Caussade
As a retired person, I am learning to live on a fixed income. I have studied my expenses, and determined how much I can spend on frivolous pursuits each month. It easily fits into the ‘not much’ category. From time to time, when I receive a larger-than-expected bill, I panic. I start dithering and making plans to put my house on the market. I entertain thoughts of begging friends for space in their basements. I picture myself in a homeless shelter. I have to go through these periodic fits of terror before I can bring myself around to clear-headedness—that I have ‘enough’ to pay my bills, and will simply spend less on something else this month. I take stock: roof over my head, bed to sleep in, food in the kitchen, clothes to wear, shoes for my feet. Check, check, check.
De Caussade’s quote goes on to say, “Faith is the measure; what you find in the present moment will be according to the measure of your faith.” I find that statement to be a bit insensitive. While it may be true for me, much of the world goes to bed hungry and lack of faith has nothing to do with it. Even in this bounteous country, some people do not have enough to eat or a safe place to sleep. The cure for someone like me is to stop dwelling on myself, and instead, direct my attention toward people who are hurting. I can claim the sentiment that ‘poverty is a matter of perspective’ for my self, but many others can not.
I don’t have a lot of money to give away, but I can provide other things. Part of the purpose of simplifying life during Lent, is to give away what you don’t need, to share the wealth you do possess with others. It is in giving away that we realize how much we have above and beyond what we truly need.
Keeping the faith,
Jane
“The present moment is always full of infinite treasures, it contains far more than you have the capacity to hold…”
J.P. de Caussade
As a retired person, I am learning to live on a fixed income. I have studied my expenses, and determined how much I can spend on frivolous pursuits each month. It easily fits into the ‘not much’ category. From time to time, when I receive a larger-than-expected bill, I panic. I start dithering and making plans to put my house on the market. I entertain thoughts of begging friends for space in their basements. I picture myself in a homeless shelter. I have to go through these periodic fits of terror before I can bring myself around to clear-headedness—that I have ‘enough’ to pay my bills, and will simply spend less on something else this month. I take stock: roof over my head, bed to sleep in, food in the kitchen, clothes to wear, shoes for my feet. Check, check, check.
De Caussade’s quote goes on to say, “Faith is the measure; what you find in the present moment will be according to the measure of your faith.” I find that statement to be a bit insensitive. While it may be true for me, much of the world goes to bed hungry and lack of faith has nothing to do with it. Even in this bounteous country, some people do not have enough to eat or a safe place to sleep. The cure for someone like me is to stop dwelling on myself, and instead, direct my attention toward people who are hurting. I can claim the sentiment that ‘poverty is a matter of perspective’ for my self, but many others can not.
I don’t have a lot of money to give away, but I can provide other things. Part of the purpose of simplifying life during Lent, is to give away what you don’t need, to share the wealth you do possess with others. It is in giving away that we realize how much we have above and beyond what we truly need.
Keeping the faith,
Jane
Monday, February 27, 2012
What is your role?
Being the Real You
“Maybe being oneself is always an acquired taste.” Patricia Hampl
I watched the Oscars last night. All the beautiful, gifted actors and their equally fabulous spouses and lovers walked the red carpet and told whose clothing designs they were wearing. The spectacle reminded me of the painted and sequined people who live in the Capital in The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins. I don’t mean to be critical because I love movies and go every chance I get, but seeing them off script, so to speak, reminds me that acting is just their job and that off screen, they are ordinary people like you and me. They fumble and say inane things. They blubber and carry-on and make bad jokes. I sometimes wonder how a really great actor separates him or her self from the Hollywood persona that their roles require. Do they lose track of the ‘real me’?
Some of the actors said during interviews that with every role they play, they learn something about themselves and about life. We may find it strange that in taking on a made-up role one would discover oneself, but truly, we all have made-up roles—mother, wife, scholar, father, business man, farmer—and none of them tell the whole story. We have to excavate deeper than our various roles to find who is at the bottom of things. The more we learn about our true selves, the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the more solid we become in our own skins, and the better we are at making smart choices and decisions.
A good question to ask oneself is, ‘Who am I now?’ In whatever roles you play today, there will be a piece of the authentic you. Patching all the pieces together creates the unique tapestry that is your life. It’s worth the work.
In the spirit,
Jane
“Maybe being oneself is always an acquired taste.” Patricia Hampl
I watched the Oscars last night. All the beautiful, gifted actors and their equally fabulous spouses and lovers walked the red carpet and told whose clothing designs they were wearing. The spectacle reminded me of the painted and sequined people who live in the Capital in The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins. I don’t mean to be critical because I love movies and go every chance I get, but seeing them off script, so to speak, reminds me that acting is just their job and that off screen, they are ordinary people like you and me. They fumble and say inane things. They blubber and carry-on and make bad jokes. I sometimes wonder how a really great actor separates him or her self from the Hollywood persona that their roles require. Do they lose track of the ‘real me’?
Some of the actors said during interviews that with every role they play, they learn something about themselves and about life. We may find it strange that in taking on a made-up role one would discover oneself, but truly, we all have made-up roles—mother, wife, scholar, father, business man, farmer—and none of them tell the whole story. We have to excavate deeper than our various roles to find who is at the bottom of things. The more we learn about our true selves, the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the more solid we become in our own skins, and the better we are at making smart choices and decisions.
A good question to ask oneself is, ‘Who am I now?’ In whatever roles you play today, there will be a piece of the authentic you. Patching all the pieces together creates the unique tapestry that is your life. It’s worth the work.
In the spirit,
Jane
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Rainbow: sign of the covenant.
Rise and Shine!
“Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life. Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and creatures of every living kind on the earth.”
Genesis 9: 16
Many years ago, when my children were young, I was hired as Director of Christian Education at my church. We were small church and had perhaps a dozen children in the Sunday school program. I well remember teaching the story of Noah’s Ark and along with that Genesis story, my friend Libba and I taught them the song, ‘Rise and Shine’, better known as ‘Arky-Arky’. We marched around the fellowship hall, hands waving in the air, and singing at the top of our lungs:
“The sun came out and dried up the landy, landy.
The sun came out and dried up the landy, landy.
Everything was fine and dandy, dandy.
Children of the Lord.
“So rise and shine, and give God the glory, glory.
Rise and shine, and give God the glory, glory.
Rise--and shine—and--give God the glory, glory,
Children of the Lord!”
Such a sweet memory, for such a terrible story! In the New Testament, I Peter 3, says that God waited ‘patiently’ while Noah built the Ark, so that He could destroy every living thing at one fell-swoop. I can not imagine how we softened the blow of this story for small children—perhaps by concentrating on saving the animals and not on drowning everything else. The God of the Old Testament was a warrior God who did not acknowledge the rules of fair-play.
Yet, who doesn’t love seeing a rainbow, the sign of God’s covenant with Noah never to destroy the earth by flood again. And who hasn’t stopped the car just to observe the beautiful phenomenon of a double rainbow. Even though we know the scientific basis of the rainbow, we still feel good about the sign; still see it as a gift from God. And it is. It is one of the more beautiful natural occurrences, along with the Northern lights, and sunrise over the ocean. We are blessed here on the Blue Planet by the sheer beauty of our sphere. I hope you are able to go outside today to ‘rise and shine, and give God the glory, glory!’
One child of a kinder, gentler God,
Jane
“Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life. Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and creatures of every living kind on the earth.”
Genesis 9: 16
Many years ago, when my children were young, I was hired as Director of Christian Education at my church. We were small church and had perhaps a dozen children in the Sunday school program. I well remember teaching the story of Noah’s Ark and along with that Genesis story, my friend Libba and I taught them the song, ‘Rise and Shine’, better known as ‘Arky-Arky’. We marched around the fellowship hall, hands waving in the air, and singing at the top of our lungs:
“The sun came out and dried up the landy, landy.
The sun came out and dried up the landy, landy.
Everything was fine and dandy, dandy.
Children of the Lord.
“So rise and shine, and give God the glory, glory.
Rise and shine, and give God the glory, glory.
Rise--and shine—and--give God the glory, glory,
Children of the Lord!”
Such a sweet memory, for such a terrible story! In the New Testament, I Peter 3, says that God waited ‘patiently’ while Noah built the Ark, so that He could destroy every living thing at one fell-swoop. I can not imagine how we softened the blow of this story for small children—perhaps by concentrating on saving the animals and not on drowning everything else. The God of the Old Testament was a warrior God who did not acknowledge the rules of fair-play.
Yet, who doesn’t love seeing a rainbow, the sign of God’s covenant with Noah never to destroy the earth by flood again. And who hasn’t stopped the car just to observe the beautiful phenomenon of a double rainbow. Even though we know the scientific basis of the rainbow, we still feel good about the sign; still see it as a gift from God. And it is. It is one of the more beautiful natural occurrences, along with the Northern lights, and sunrise over the ocean. We are blessed here on the Blue Planet by the sheer beauty of our sphere. I hope you are able to go outside today to ‘rise and shine, and give God the glory, glory!’
One child of a kinder, gentler God,
Jane
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Encountering the Holy
The Unnamable
“The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named is not the eternal name.
The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth.
The named is the mother of ten thousand things.
Ever desireless, one can see the mystery.
Ever desiring, one sees the manifestations…”
Lao Tsu (Tao Te Ching)
Once, when I was in the Arizona desert at a place called Cielo En La Tierra (heaven on earth), I saw a sunset that made me stop in my tracks. Never had I seen such beauty: red, orange, pink, shades of lavender, green and blue. It spread across the sky from horizon to horizon and took my breath away. I watched, weeping, until darkness overtook it. I can see it now in my minds eye, but words do not do it justice. In fact, words cannot express adequately any sublime spiritual experience. By their very nature, words box in and short change any experience of the holy. One can only be in the moment and carry that moment ever forward in one’s heart and mind, understanding it, yet unable to describe it to another.
Mystics have always understood the inadequacy of words, as you can see in the lines above from the Tao Te Ching. Perhaps this lack of spiritual vocabulary is why the God of the Old Testament was never named except as ‘I AM.’ We want to describe that which is divine in human terms, but the terms that fit most closely are ones that we can’t even wrap our heads around—like eternal, limitless, timeless, omni-present, transforming.
Most people encounter that which they call ‘holy’, not in a church or a synagogue or a mosque, but in the natural world, in everyday experiences right here on ‘terra-firma’. In fact, one can find the mystery in almost any naturally occurring thing. Today, take a walk if you can, and choose something you encounter; it could be a pinecone, or a flower, a cloud pattern, ice crystals, sunlight through winter branches. Spend some time with it, long enough to look closely, study it carefully, let it speak to you. You may find that which is holy right in the palm of your hand.
Shalom,
Jane
“The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named is not the eternal name.
The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth.
The named is the mother of ten thousand things.
Ever desireless, one can see the mystery.
Ever desiring, one sees the manifestations…”
Lao Tsu (Tao Te Ching)
Once, when I was in the Arizona desert at a place called Cielo En La Tierra (heaven on earth), I saw a sunset that made me stop in my tracks. Never had I seen such beauty: red, orange, pink, shades of lavender, green and blue. It spread across the sky from horizon to horizon and took my breath away. I watched, weeping, until darkness overtook it. I can see it now in my minds eye, but words do not do it justice. In fact, words cannot express adequately any sublime spiritual experience. By their very nature, words box in and short change any experience of the holy. One can only be in the moment and carry that moment ever forward in one’s heart and mind, understanding it, yet unable to describe it to another.
Mystics have always understood the inadequacy of words, as you can see in the lines above from the Tao Te Ching. Perhaps this lack of spiritual vocabulary is why the God of the Old Testament was never named except as ‘I AM.’ We want to describe that which is divine in human terms, but the terms that fit most closely are ones that we can’t even wrap our heads around—like eternal, limitless, timeless, omni-present, transforming.
Most people encounter that which they call ‘holy’, not in a church or a synagogue or a mosque, but in the natural world, in everyday experiences right here on ‘terra-firma’. In fact, one can find the mystery in almost any naturally occurring thing. Today, take a walk if you can, and choose something you encounter; it could be a pinecone, or a flower, a cloud pattern, ice crystals, sunlight through winter branches. Spend some time with it, long enough to look closely, study it carefully, let it speak to you. You may find that which is holy right in the palm of your hand.
Shalom,
Jane
Friday, February 24, 2012
Give it away.
Lighten the Load
“The Desert Fathers and Mothers understood that clinging to possessions, no matter how precious or beautiful, is a form of servitude. We cannot easily move when we are burdened by the things, however lovely, we carry on our backs.”
Paula Houston (Simplifying the Soul)
Native Americans tribes once had a tradition called the ‘give away’. If the tribe grew too large there was danger of over-hunting the territory. Part of the tribe would then move sufficiently far away to provide new hunting grounds. The families who moved to new territory gave away all but the bare essentials. This practice served two purposes: it lightened the load of the travelers, and it provided the beginnings of a household for new couples and young adults just starting out.
While visiting an art museum in Fairhope, Alabama, I saw the wood sculptures of Craig Turner Sheldon. He had lived in a handmade castle-house and created whimsical creatures with names like, ‘The Resentful Two-Footed Tortoise’ and ‘Twistroufus Hysterious’. The docent at the museum told me that they had received the collection quite by accident when an Arizona couple wrote to ask if the museum would like to have them. Mr. Sheldon had kept no records of his sales, so no one knew where his work had gone. I was told, “He might sell one sculpture for $20,000.00, and then just give another one away to someone who liked it.” The gift from the Arizona couple had provided almost the entire collection of “Lost Critters.”
Another Native American belief was that when you gave something dear to you away, you accrued the positive energy of that gift. One was increased, rather than diminished, by giving away. The rest of us might take a lesson from this. Today, give something away; preferably, something that you are not using but feel an emotional attachment to. Give it to someone who really needs it. You may find that the simple act of giving away a precious possession feels a lot like liberation.
In the spirit,
Jane
“The Desert Fathers and Mothers understood that clinging to possessions, no matter how precious or beautiful, is a form of servitude. We cannot easily move when we are burdened by the things, however lovely, we carry on our backs.”
Paula Houston (Simplifying the Soul)
Native Americans tribes once had a tradition called the ‘give away’. If the tribe grew too large there was danger of over-hunting the territory. Part of the tribe would then move sufficiently far away to provide new hunting grounds. The families who moved to new territory gave away all but the bare essentials. This practice served two purposes: it lightened the load of the travelers, and it provided the beginnings of a household for new couples and young adults just starting out.
While visiting an art museum in Fairhope, Alabama, I saw the wood sculptures of Craig Turner Sheldon. He had lived in a handmade castle-house and created whimsical creatures with names like, ‘The Resentful Two-Footed Tortoise’ and ‘Twistroufus Hysterious’. The docent at the museum told me that they had received the collection quite by accident when an Arizona couple wrote to ask if the museum would like to have them. Mr. Sheldon had kept no records of his sales, so no one knew where his work had gone. I was told, “He might sell one sculpture for $20,000.00, and then just give another one away to someone who liked it.” The gift from the Arizona couple had provided almost the entire collection of “Lost Critters.”
Another Native American belief was that when you gave something dear to you away, you accrued the positive energy of that gift. One was increased, rather than diminished, by giving away. The rest of us might take a lesson from this. Today, give something away; preferably, something that you are not using but feel an emotional attachment to. Give it to someone who really needs it. You may find that the simple act of giving away a precious possession feels a lot like liberation.
In the spirit,
Jane
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Life in the not-so-fast lane.
Hesitation
“…I have discovered, again and again, that I usually know what I need to do but just deny it, and it is this small hesitation, this small resistance to enter what is real, that makes life feel neutral or out of reach.”
Mark Nepo
An old friend of mine died last week. He was in his eighties, had been in relatively good health until recently, then sickened and quickly died. He and his wife have been living in a retirement community for years and many times I have thought that I should visit them; just go, sit down and chat a while. But I didn’t. Now he is dead, and his wife has Alzheimer’s and most likely would not know me. I regret that I didn’t take the trouble to visit. I lost something in that small hesitation; something that would have enriched my life.
So often, I put things off because they are inconvenient or get in the way of something else I want to do. My cousin, Sandy, is not like that. She has a spontaneous spirit. At Valentine’s, for instance, she took gifts to the nursing staff at the Lutheran Home, and to neighbors and friends. She carts boatloads of clothes to various folks because she knows ‘this will fit her style’. She donates her time and energy to a shelter for battered women. She does these things because it is simply her nature to do it. I envy her natural generosity. She doesn’t equivocate—she just does it.
I am not a spur-of-the-moment type, which also means I’m not impulsive. I am thoughtful. Some would call it ‘dull’ and perhaps ‘sluggish’. Most of the time, my unadventurous nature serves me well; I’m not reckless, I don’t often find myself in difficult situations. But, there are times when one should not hesitate. There are times when one should just get up and go full throttle, and not worry about the ‘what-ifs’. Life is juicier when you live without the brakes on.
If you know there is something you need to do today, just do it. Acting without hesitation will sometimes feel like careening around sharp turns, but it will also feel more alive and real. I’m going to try it my self...maybe.
Slow moving in Birmingham,
Jane
“…I have discovered, again and again, that I usually know what I need to do but just deny it, and it is this small hesitation, this small resistance to enter what is real, that makes life feel neutral or out of reach.”
Mark Nepo
An old friend of mine died last week. He was in his eighties, had been in relatively good health until recently, then sickened and quickly died. He and his wife have been living in a retirement community for years and many times I have thought that I should visit them; just go, sit down and chat a while. But I didn’t. Now he is dead, and his wife has Alzheimer’s and most likely would not know me. I regret that I didn’t take the trouble to visit. I lost something in that small hesitation; something that would have enriched my life.
So often, I put things off because they are inconvenient or get in the way of something else I want to do. My cousin, Sandy, is not like that. She has a spontaneous spirit. At Valentine’s, for instance, she took gifts to the nursing staff at the Lutheran Home, and to neighbors and friends. She carts boatloads of clothes to various folks because she knows ‘this will fit her style’. She donates her time and energy to a shelter for battered women. She does these things because it is simply her nature to do it. I envy her natural generosity. She doesn’t equivocate—she just does it.
I am not a spur-of-the-moment type, which also means I’m not impulsive. I am thoughtful. Some would call it ‘dull’ and perhaps ‘sluggish’. Most of the time, my unadventurous nature serves me well; I’m not reckless, I don’t often find myself in difficult situations. But, there are times when one should not hesitate. There are times when one should just get up and go full throttle, and not worry about the ‘what-ifs’. Life is juicier when you live without the brakes on.
If you know there is something you need to do today, just do it. Acting without hesitation will sometimes feel like careening around sharp turns, but it will also feel more alive and real. I’m going to try it my self...maybe.
Slow moving in Birmingham,
Jane
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
New Day
Ash Wednesday
“At start of spring I open a trench
in the ground and I put into it
the winter’s accumulation of paper, pages I do not want to read
again, useless words, fragments,
errors…To the sky, to the wind, then,
and to the faithful trees, I confess
my sins: that I have not been happy
enough, considering my good luck;
have listened to too much noise;
have been inattentive to wonders;
have lusted after praise.
And then upon the gathered refuse
of mind and body, I close the trench…
Beneath that seal, the old escapes into the new.”
Wendell Berry
Today is Ash Wednesday in the liturgical calendar. It marks the beginning of the season of Lent; forty days before Easter. Lent is supposed to be a time of atonement for the sins and excesses of the past year. Having just returned home from the Coast where Mardi Gras has been in full swing for a week, I can tell you that atonement is going to be necessary for some. I honestly don’t pay too much attention to such things, not being Catholic, but this Lent, I will be leading a study called Simplifying the Soul, based on the book of the same name by Paula Huston. Each day during Lent, we will read a meditation and complete an exercise designed to clear out our living spaces and our lives of excess ‘junk’.
I met a woman over the weekend who told me about her cherished collection of Mardi Gras beads. She has been going to Mardi Gras for years and each year collects as many of the colorful, plastic beads as possible. Her collection has grown so huge that she has had to box up and store the accumulated stash in her attic. As I listened to her speak of this, I couldn’t help wondering what on earth that was all about. Mardi Gras beads are cheap, valueless, and don’t really change much from year to year. She wouldn’t be able to say, ‘I got these beads in New Orleans, and these in Mobile’, because they would be indistinguishable. When I asked her the question, she just shrugged, ‘I just like them.’ I imagined her children finding the boxes of crumbling beads after her death, and feeling mystified as to why Mother would store boxes and boxes of beads in her attic. I could see them tossing those carefully saved and stored boxes into a dumpster with a muffled curse.
Today, I will go into my own basement, figuratively and literally, and drag out boxes of saved nonsense. I will unpack and say goodbye to all the outgrown clothes, charity greeting cards, excess kitchen utensils, candle-dripped bottles from the 70’s, empty green vases from florists and other detritus from my past and take them to the thrift store. I will also say goodbye to all the drama and foolishness that has been bottled up in my heart and soul; all the little grudges, all the small indignities and unkind thoughts and words. I will bury them in the past and look forward to the future without baggage and without bondage.
Clear out a junk drawer today. Give away everything you haven’t used in a year. Wipe away the accumulated dust and start anew.
In the spirit,
Jane
“At start of spring I open a trench
in the ground and I put into it
the winter’s accumulation of paper, pages I do not want to read
again, useless words, fragments,
errors…To the sky, to the wind, then,
and to the faithful trees, I confess
my sins: that I have not been happy
enough, considering my good luck;
have listened to too much noise;
have been inattentive to wonders;
have lusted after praise.
And then upon the gathered refuse
of mind and body, I close the trench…
Beneath that seal, the old escapes into the new.”
Wendell Berry
Today is Ash Wednesday in the liturgical calendar. It marks the beginning of the season of Lent; forty days before Easter. Lent is supposed to be a time of atonement for the sins and excesses of the past year. Having just returned home from the Coast where Mardi Gras has been in full swing for a week, I can tell you that atonement is going to be necessary for some. I honestly don’t pay too much attention to such things, not being Catholic, but this Lent, I will be leading a study called Simplifying the Soul, based on the book of the same name by Paula Huston. Each day during Lent, we will read a meditation and complete an exercise designed to clear out our living spaces and our lives of excess ‘junk’.
I met a woman over the weekend who told me about her cherished collection of Mardi Gras beads. She has been going to Mardi Gras for years and each year collects as many of the colorful, plastic beads as possible. Her collection has grown so huge that she has had to box up and store the accumulated stash in her attic. As I listened to her speak of this, I couldn’t help wondering what on earth that was all about. Mardi Gras beads are cheap, valueless, and don’t really change much from year to year. She wouldn’t be able to say, ‘I got these beads in New Orleans, and these in Mobile’, because they would be indistinguishable. When I asked her the question, she just shrugged, ‘I just like them.’ I imagined her children finding the boxes of crumbling beads after her death, and feeling mystified as to why Mother would store boxes and boxes of beads in her attic. I could see them tossing those carefully saved and stored boxes into a dumpster with a muffled curse.
Today, I will go into my own basement, figuratively and literally, and drag out boxes of saved nonsense. I will unpack and say goodbye to all the outgrown clothes, charity greeting cards, excess kitchen utensils, candle-dripped bottles from the 70’s, empty green vases from florists and other detritus from my past and take them to the thrift store. I will also say goodbye to all the drama and foolishness that has been bottled up in my heart and soul; all the little grudges, all the small indignities and unkind thoughts and words. I will bury them in the past and look forward to the future without baggage and without bondage.
Clear out a junk drawer today. Give away everything you haven’t used in a year. Wipe away the accumulated dust and start anew.
In the spirit,
Jane
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
The Hermit's Hut
The Poet of Tolstoy Park
“You have noticed that everything an Indian does is in a circle. And that is because the Power of the World always works in a circle and everything tries to be round…The life of a man is a circle from childhood to childhood, and so it is in everything where power moves…
Black Elk, Holy Man of the Oglala Sioux
Here in Fairhope, Alabama, there is a round, stone hut built in the 1920’s by a man named Henry Stuart, a widower and retired professor from Idaho. He came to this area at the age of sixty-seven, sick with tuberculosis, to ‘perfect his soul’ before he died. He chose Fairhope because it was a colony established by free thinkers and non-conformists who lived outside the normal strictures of American society. He bought ten acres of piney-woods just outside the main village and built on it the small, round structure you see above. Instead of dying, he lived for twenty years there, where he wrote and discussed his ideas about an idealized society where capitalism is benevolent and people share the land and its by-products. Leo Tolstoy was his inspiration and people like Clarence Darrow visited regularly to discuss their ideas. He became known as the Poet of Tolstoy Park and his little hermitage stands, preserved, today in the parking lot of an office complex. After twenty years in Alabama, Henry Stuart returned to Idaho and lived and died close to his two sons and his many grandchildren.
Sandy and I visited his Hermitage yesterday and saw the bricks that Henry Stuart made by hand while living in a small barn on the property. There are heavy hooks in the ceiling where his sleeping hammock hung and a small, pot-bellied stove where he cooked his food and warmed his always-bare feet. One wonders whether it was the power of the circle that healed him, or the years of concentrated work and deep thinking. Perhaps it was the hope that the ideas of his beloved Tolstoy, as well as those of Chief Seattle and Henry David Thoreau, would someday find fertile ground and grow into a viable movement in America.
Henry Stuart’s story reminds me again of what a potent place America is, and what she stands for in the world—freedom of thought and lifestyle and the gracious hospitality of an open door. I pray we never lose our way.
In Fair-hope,
Jane
Monday, February 20, 2012
A Southern Education
Being a Non-Belle in the Deep South
“Polishing silver is the Southern lady’s version of grief therapy.”
Gayen Metcalfe & Charlotte Hays
I found a little book in the ‘sitting’ room of the Bay Breeze bed and breakfast titled: Being Dead Is No Excuse. It claims to be the official Southern ladies guide to hosting the perfect funeral, and includes recipes for such things as Aunt Hebe’s Coconut Cake and Mason-Dixon Curried Chicken Salad, and of course, Ham Mouse, because what else can you do with the 3-5 hams every Southern household receives when someone dies. It also gives helpful tips about how to make stuffed eggs that will be the envy of even Episcopal ladies.
You may laugh, but this is serious business in certain quarters of the South. When my friend Libba’s mother died a couple of years ago, she used her last breaths not to say goodbye to her three children, but to make a list of what wine and spirits they should buy so as to be prepared for Dothan’s intelligentsia when they came to her wake. Southern ladies (of which I am unequivocally not included, let me just say) are always prepared to give their very best no matter what the occasion.
Another small gem found here is A Southern Belle Primer, titled: Why Princess Margaret will never be a Kappa Kappa Gamma. It is quite informative and even lists the top ten burial casseroles and other accompaniments along with the zodiac of acceptable silver patterns. Also included are certain words that are the ‘heart and soul of any Southern belle’s vocabulary’, such as ‘lovely’ and ‘precious’ and ‘darlin’. Anyone who spends five minutes here knows that a Southern belle can ‘sing your praises to the sky or slash you completely apart with the nicest sounding words you could ever hope to hear.’ I can vouch for this, truly and surely. To say someone is NICE is the kiss of death—as in ‘well, she seems perfectly NICE, but I don’t know her family’, which translates to ‘you do know she’s white trash, don’t you?’
Hope y'all have a NICE day, darlin’. Stay as precious as always.
Who did you say stuffed these eggs, honey?
Your non-belle,
Jane
“Polishing silver is the Southern lady’s version of grief therapy.”
Gayen Metcalfe & Charlotte Hays
I found a little book in the ‘sitting’ room of the Bay Breeze bed and breakfast titled: Being Dead Is No Excuse. It claims to be the official Southern ladies guide to hosting the perfect funeral, and includes recipes for such things as Aunt Hebe’s Coconut Cake and Mason-Dixon Curried Chicken Salad, and of course, Ham Mouse, because what else can you do with the 3-5 hams every Southern household receives when someone dies. It also gives helpful tips about how to make stuffed eggs that will be the envy of even Episcopal ladies.
You may laugh, but this is serious business in certain quarters of the South. When my friend Libba’s mother died a couple of years ago, she used her last breaths not to say goodbye to her three children, but to make a list of what wine and spirits they should buy so as to be prepared for Dothan’s intelligentsia when they came to her wake. Southern ladies (of which I am unequivocally not included, let me just say) are always prepared to give their very best no matter what the occasion.
Another small gem found here is A Southern Belle Primer, titled: Why Princess Margaret will never be a Kappa Kappa Gamma. It is quite informative and even lists the top ten burial casseroles and other accompaniments along with the zodiac of acceptable silver patterns. Also included are certain words that are the ‘heart and soul of any Southern belle’s vocabulary’, such as ‘lovely’ and ‘precious’ and ‘darlin’. Anyone who spends five minutes here knows that a Southern belle can ‘sing your praises to the sky or slash you completely apart with the nicest sounding words you could ever hope to hear.’ I can vouch for this, truly and surely. To say someone is NICE is the kiss of death—as in ‘well, she seems perfectly NICE, but I don’t know her family’, which translates to ‘you do know she’s white trash, don’t you?’
Hope y'all have a NICE day, darlin’. Stay as precious as always.
Who did you say stuffed these eggs, honey?
Your non-belle,
Jane
Sunday, February 19, 2012
On the Road
Meandering in Mississippi
“On the road again
Just can’t wait to get on the road again.
Seein’ things I may never see again.
And I just can’t wait to get on the road again.” Willie Nelson
We arrived in Biloxi in a driving storm yesterday, and rain continued to gush down throughout the evening. We visited the Walter Anderson museum in Ocean Springs, and spent the entire afternoon viewing his incredible paintings of sea birds and aquatic animals as well as huge murals he painted on the walls of his cottage and on the walls of the local community center. Walter Anderson, like Vincent Van Gough, was schizophrenic and lived as an eccentric recluse, hardly able to feed himself, while he painted relentlessly. As long as he was free to gamble about the shore and draw everything he found, he was content. Once when he was hospitalized, he tied bed sheets together and even as he scaled down the institution wall, drew with chalk on the side of the building. He left behind a wife, four children, and thousands of drawings and paintings that are now housed in the museum that bears his name.
Looking at his body of work yesterday reminded me of two things: first, how even a mind that is hopelessly broken by the world’s standards can produce a bounty of riches of immeasurable value; and, secondly, how little we as a culture, cherish and support those gifts. With the news last week that services to people with mental illness and developmental disabilities will be cut due to funding shortages, I realized once again, that our most vulnerable citizens have little or no voice in how they will live. Walter Anderson and Vincent Van Gough were able to do what they did because their families realized their amazing gifts and provided for them. Most people with mental illness don’t have that luxury. How sad it would be if the world never has another gift such as theirs.
If you ever come to the Mississippi coast, besides going to the casinos, take an afternoon to gamble about the Walter Anderson museum. You’ll be glad you did.
On the road,
Jane
“On the road again
Just can’t wait to get on the road again.
Seein’ things I may never see again.
And I just can’t wait to get on the road again.” Willie Nelson
We arrived in Biloxi in a driving storm yesterday, and rain continued to gush down throughout the evening. We visited the Walter Anderson museum in Ocean Springs, and spent the entire afternoon viewing his incredible paintings of sea birds and aquatic animals as well as huge murals he painted on the walls of his cottage and on the walls of the local community center. Walter Anderson, like Vincent Van Gough, was schizophrenic and lived as an eccentric recluse, hardly able to feed himself, while he painted relentlessly. As long as he was free to gamble about the shore and draw everything he found, he was content. Once when he was hospitalized, he tied bed sheets together and even as he scaled down the institution wall, drew with chalk on the side of the building. He left behind a wife, four children, and thousands of drawings and paintings that are now housed in the museum that bears his name.
Looking at his body of work yesterday reminded me of two things: first, how even a mind that is hopelessly broken by the world’s standards can produce a bounty of riches of immeasurable value; and, secondly, how little we as a culture, cherish and support those gifts. With the news last week that services to people with mental illness and developmental disabilities will be cut due to funding shortages, I realized once again, that our most vulnerable citizens have little or no voice in how they will live. Walter Anderson and Vincent Van Gough were able to do what they did because their families realized their amazing gifts and provided for them. Most people with mental illness don’t have that luxury. How sad it would be if the world never has another gift such as theirs.
If you ever come to the Mississippi coast, besides going to the casinos, take an afternoon to gamble about the Walter Anderson museum. You’ll be glad you did.
On the road,
Jane
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Making Moments
Milestones
“Life isn’t a matter of milestones, but of moments.” Rose Kennedy
Yesterday was a milestone for me. It marked the 365th day of writing this blog. One year. My original idea was to create a reading for each day and eventually turn it into a book, but the blog, as writing always does, has taken on a life of its own. I will continue to log in every day, not because I have some great wisdom to share with the world, but because it has become my spiritual discipline, my way of checking in with my self each morning before the events of the day carry me away. If you are a reader, and have received some kind of benefit from it, then so much the better. I want to continue to make the blog more interactive and to encourage you to give me feedback; not only encouragement, but if you have topics or questions you would like me to consider, I would love to have them. You can send them to me via email (jmp8465@gmail.com) or leave them in the comment section at the bottom of each posting.
Today, I am traveling with my girl-cousin, Sandy, down to Biloxi, Mississippi. We have never been there, so it will be an adventure. The Gulf Coast is in the midst of Mardi Gras, so we will no doubt see some revelry and devilment. We will partake of a little of both and I will share with you those parts that seem most “spirit-filled.” Amen, sister.
I can’t thank you enough for the support I have received for my writing. When I look at the stats and see that even one person in Singapore or Ukraine, or somewhere else I never imagined has logged on, I am humbled and inspired to continue. So, here’s to another year…and to Fat Tuesday!
In gratitude,
Jane
“Life isn’t a matter of milestones, but of moments.” Rose Kennedy
Yesterday was a milestone for me. It marked the 365th day of writing this blog. One year. My original idea was to create a reading for each day and eventually turn it into a book, but the blog, as writing always does, has taken on a life of its own. I will continue to log in every day, not because I have some great wisdom to share with the world, but because it has become my spiritual discipline, my way of checking in with my self each morning before the events of the day carry me away. If you are a reader, and have received some kind of benefit from it, then so much the better. I want to continue to make the blog more interactive and to encourage you to give me feedback; not only encouragement, but if you have topics or questions you would like me to consider, I would love to have them. You can send them to me via email (jmp8465@gmail.com) or leave them in the comment section at the bottom of each posting.
Today, I am traveling with my girl-cousin, Sandy, down to Biloxi, Mississippi. We have never been there, so it will be an adventure. The Gulf Coast is in the midst of Mardi Gras, so we will no doubt see some revelry and devilment. We will partake of a little of both and I will share with you those parts that seem most “spirit-filled.” Amen, sister.
I can’t thank you enough for the support I have received for my writing. When I look at the stats and see that even one person in Singapore or Ukraine, or somewhere else I never imagined has logged on, I am humbled and inspired to continue. So, here’s to another year…and to Fat Tuesday!
In gratitude,
Jane
Friday, February 17, 2012
A Common Language
Lyrics of Connection
“You who are on the road
Must have a code that you can live by
And so become yourself
Because the past is just a good bye.”
Cosby, Stills, Nash and Young (Teach Your Children Well)
I heard an interview yesterday with George Clinton, funk music legend of the 1960’s and 70’s. He was receiving an honorary doctorate from Berkley School of Music in Boston. When asked what kind of music excites him, he answered, “Any time I hear parents say to their children, ‘that’s not music’, that’s what I want to listen to.” Amen to that. Do you remember your parents telling you to ‘cut that noise off, that’s not music’! I do—about Elvis, and Jerry Lee Lewis and the Beatles. Anything that was not ‘big-band’ or gospel was not music to their ears. I am forever asking my sons to create CD’s (yes, I’m still in the dark ages) for me of the music they’re listening to. I want to know what is moving young people now; what speaks to them and why.
Music is like a dream. It emerges from the collective psyche of a generation and speaks their language in melody and rhythm. When Lady Gaga belts out, “There’s nothing wrong with lovin’ who you are, she said, cause He made you perfect, babe,” she’s singing the gospel of little girls everywhere who don’t feel good enough or pretty enough to measure up. George Clinton said that the harsh lyrics of rap music come out of the taunting and disparagement that children of color live with every day, and is a way to ‘say it first’ and ease the pain. I had never thought of that.
I remember the music that reflected the collective angst during the Viet Nam war, and how it kept body and soul together here while our fellow children were fighting and dying there. And no one can forget the anthem of the Civil Rights movement of the 1960’s, “We Shall Overcome.” Parents would do well to listen to the music that their children are plugged into; listen to understand and not to criticize. Better yet, let them to tell you what is means to them. Music is a bridge connecting the generations.
In the spirit,
Jane
“You who are on the road
Must have a code that you can live by
And so become yourself
Because the past is just a good bye.”
Cosby, Stills, Nash and Young (Teach Your Children Well)
I heard an interview yesterday with George Clinton, funk music legend of the 1960’s and 70’s. He was receiving an honorary doctorate from Berkley School of Music in Boston. When asked what kind of music excites him, he answered, “Any time I hear parents say to their children, ‘that’s not music’, that’s what I want to listen to.” Amen to that. Do you remember your parents telling you to ‘cut that noise off, that’s not music’! I do—about Elvis, and Jerry Lee Lewis and the Beatles. Anything that was not ‘big-band’ or gospel was not music to their ears. I am forever asking my sons to create CD’s (yes, I’m still in the dark ages) for me of the music they’re listening to. I want to know what is moving young people now; what speaks to them and why.
Music is like a dream. It emerges from the collective psyche of a generation and speaks their language in melody and rhythm. When Lady Gaga belts out, “There’s nothing wrong with lovin’ who you are, she said, cause He made you perfect, babe,” she’s singing the gospel of little girls everywhere who don’t feel good enough or pretty enough to measure up. George Clinton said that the harsh lyrics of rap music come out of the taunting and disparagement that children of color live with every day, and is a way to ‘say it first’ and ease the pain. I had never thought of that.
I remember the music that reflected the collective angst during the Viet Nam war, and how it kept body and soul together here while our fellow children were fighting and dying there. And no one can forget the anthem of the Civil Rights movement of the 1960’s, “We Shall Overcome.” Parents would do well to listen to the music that their children are plugged into; listen to understand and not to criticize. Better yet, let them to tell you what is means to them. Music is a bridge connecting the generations.
In the spirit,
Jane
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Natural Gifts
Giving the Gift
“So when we seek our own birthright gifts, it is important not to equate them with the techniques our society names as skills. Our gifts may be as simple as a real interest in other people, a quiet and caring manner, an eye for beauty, a love of rhythm and sound.”
Parker Palmer (The Active Life)
One of my sons is a gifted artist. He paints and draws and sees the world in a different way than most. He was born with the gift. I remember giving him a white board and markers for his third birthday so that he wouldn’t create crayon murals on the walls of our house. When he was about five, he went through six rolls of colored tape to create a spider web on a wrought-iron banister going down the stairs to the family room. I left it up until we put the house on the market because it was beautiful. Every birthday and Christmas, each family member is given an original piece of art—my house is filled with his paintings. Today, he is a business executive. His gift and his vocation are not the same thing.
I have a friend who is retired now, but made her living as an educational psychologist. She worked almost exclusively with adults with disabilities and established one of the first Americorps programs to train personal assistants for people with cognitive and physical challenges. Her gift is a caring and compassionate heart. She has published one book about Americans with disabilities and another about the women who live in one of Birmingham’s homeless shelters.
Gifts are meant to be shared. They may or may not be parlayed into vocations, but they are always the clearest expression of soul that we have to offer the world. One of the most important jobs of any parent is to see the gifts of each child and provide support and encouragement for them. Long after a career is over our gifts will feed our hearts and spirits and serve the world. What is your gift? How are you sharing it?
In the spirit,
Jane
“So when we seek our own birthright gifts, it is important not to equate them with the techniques our society names as skills. Our gifts may be as simple as a real interest in other people, a quiet and caring manner, an eye for beauty, a love of rhythm and sound.”
Parker Palmer (The Active Life)
One of my sons is a gifted artist. He paints and draws and sees the world in a different way than most. He was born with the gift. I remember giving him a white board and markers for his third birthday so that he wouldn’t create crayon murals on the walls of our house. When he was about five, he went through six rolls of colored tape to create a spider web on a wrought-iron banister going down the stairs to the family room. I left it up until we put the house on the market because it was beautiful. Every birthday and Christmas, each family member is given an original piece of art—my house is filled with his paintings. Today, he is a business executive. His gift and his vocation are not the same thing.
I have a friend who is retired now, but made her living as an educational psychologist. She worked almost exclusively with adults with disabilities and established one of the first Americorps programs to train personal assistants for people with cognitive and physical challenges. Her gift is a caring and compassionate heart. She has published one book about Americans with disabilities and another about the women who live in one of Birmingham’s homeless shelters.
Gifts are meant to be shared. They may or may not be parlayed into vocations, but they are always the clearest expression of soul that we have to offer the world. One of the most important jobs of any parent is to see the gifts of each child and provide support and encouragement for them. Long after a career is over our gifts will feed our hearts and spirits and serve the world. What is your gift? How are you sharing it?
In the spirit,
Jane
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
What's that sound?
Slamming Doors
“As often happens on the spiritual journey, we have arrived at the heart of a paradox: each time a door closes, the rest of the world opens up. All we need to do is stop pounding on the door that just closed, turn around—which puts the door behind us—and welcome the largeness of life that now lies open to our souls.”
Parker Palmer (Let Your Life Speak)
When I read the quote above, I am reminded of the story from Ezekiel 37, about the valley of the dry bones. In that story, the prophet is called by spirit into the wilderness to a valley filled with the bones of a once great army. Ezekiel is instructed to prophesy to the bones about God’s power to call them back to life. They respond by rejoining and re-fleshing. He calls to the wind to fill them and they breathe and stand on their feet. This is the story of all of us who’ve heard a door slam and had no idea that another would open up.
Whether the circumstance is being laid off from a job we love, or having our spouse leave, or losing a loved one to death, or receiving a life-threatening diagnosis, the noise of that slamming is deafening and for a moment we aren’t able to turn around and see what the future holds. Sometimes, we’re even afraid that there is no future for us; that life as we know it is truly over. And it is. That life is over.
Often, when we’re lying wasted in the valley of dry bones some singing Ezekiel comes along and prophesies to us about a new future, a different way—a new job, a new partner, a new life that we could not have envisioned for ourselves. That revelation enlivens us; we feel our breath return and once again are on our feet and moving forward.
Over the course of a lifetime, we will find ourselves in the valley of dry bones many times. After a while, we begin to recognize it as fertile ground, a place of transformation and renewal. We will listen excitedly for the call of the prophet. What’s in store for me now? What’s God calling me to this time? Kind of gets the juices flowing just thinking about it, doesn’t it?
In the flow,
Jane
“As often happens on the spiritual journey, we have arrived at the heart of a paradox: each time a door closes, the rest of the world opens up. All we need to do is stop pounding on the door that just closed, turn around—which puts the door behind us—and welcome the largeness of life that now lies open to our souls.”
Parker Palmer (Let Your Life Speak)
When I read the quote above, I am reminded of the story from Ezekiel 37, about the valley of the dry bones. In that story, the prophet is called by spirit into the wilderness to a valley filled with the bones of a once great army. Ezekiel is instructed to prophesy to the bones about God’s power to call them back to life. They respond by rejoining and re-fleshing. He calls to the wind to fill them and they breathe and stand on their feet. This is the story of all of us who’ve heard a door slam and had no idea that another would open up.
Whether the circumstance is being laid off from a job we love, or having our spouse leave, or losing a loved one to death, or receiving a life-threatening diagnosis, the noise of that slamming is deafening and for a moment we aren’t able to turn around and see what the future holds. Sometimes, we’re even afraid that there is no future for us; that life as we know it is truly over. And it is. That life is over.
Often, when we’re lying wasted in the valley of dry bones some singing Ezekiel comes along and prophesies to us about a new future, a different way—a new job, a new partner, a new life that we could not have envisioned for ourselves. That revelation enlivens us; we feel our breath return and once again are on our feet and moving forward.
Over the course of a lifetime, we will find ourselves in the valley of dry bones many times. After a while, we begin to recognize it as fertile ground, a place of transformation and renewal. We will listen excitedly for the call of the prophet. What’s in store for me now? What’s God calling me to this time? Kind of gets the juices flowing just thinking about it, doesn’t it?
In the flow,
Jane
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Keeping track.
Write It Down!
“A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days…A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being.” Annie Dillard
I’m one of those weird people who, even though I have a fancy cell phone with a handy-dandy calendar, prefer to write my schedule into a day book. When I was a working woman, it was the zip-up kind that holds all your addresses and phone numbers, notes to self, lists of to-dos, and such. Now it’s just a little week-at-a glance thing that fits into a pocket of my purse. I am so forgetful, and always have been, that if I don’t write it down, it’s gone.
Keeping a calendar is not the only thing I have to do to stay on track. I make lists and sometimes, leave them at home. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stood in the middle of the cereal aisle, looking up to the rafters, trying to remember what was on my list. I know people think I’m hearing voices. Never the less, if I have made the list, even when I leave it at home, I’m more likely to remember than when I haven’t.
Any effort to simplify life should include keeping a calendar and making lists. We have far too many distractions now to leave our time to chance, and gazing at the rafters is a waste of time. Even retired people, whom everyone thinks have nothing to do, need to be organized about that ‘nothingness’. I have a friend who has twice retired and now is busier than ever. Fitting all her projects, meetings and grandkid-outings into a week is a true juggling act. Used to be, she went to work and, at the end of the day, went home—piece of cake. Now, if I can schedule to walk with her once a week, I feel privileged.
Making lists and keeping a calendar may seem to be the opposite of simplifying life, but in reality, they save time and effort. Once you have written it down, whether ‘it’ is a board meeting, or eggs and coffee, you don’t have to give it another thought. Your mind is freed up for more important things—like creative ideas and dreams.
Keeping it simple,
Jane
“A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days…A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being.” Annie Dillard
I’m one of those weird people who, even though I have a fancy cell phone with a handy-dandy calendar, prefer to write my schedule into a day book. When I was a working woman, it was the zip-up kind that holds all your addresses and phone numbers, notes to self, lists of to-dos, and such. Now it’s just a little week-at-a glance thing that fits into a pocket of my purse. I am so forgetful, and always have been, that if I don’t write it down, it’s gone.
Keeping a calendar is not the only thing I have to do to stay on track. I make lists and sometimes, leave them at home. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stood in the middle of the cereal aisle, looking up to the rafters, trying to remember what was on my list. I know people think I’m hearing voices. Never the less, if I have made the list, even when I leave it at home, I’m more likely to remember than when I haven’t.
Any effort to simplify life should include keeping a calendar and making lists. We have far too many distractions now to leave our time to chance, and gazing at the rafters is a waste of time. Even retired people, whom everyone thinks have nothing to do, need to be organized about that ‘nothingness’. I have a friend who has twice retired and now is busier than ever. Fitting all her projects, meetings and grandkid-outings into a week is a true juggling act. Used to be, she went to work and, at the end of the day, went home—piece of cake. Now, if I can schedule to walk with her once a week, I feel privileged.
Making lists and keeping a calendar may seem to be the opposite of simplifying life, but in reality, they save time and effort. Once you have written it down, whether ‘it’ is a board meeting, or eggs and coffee, you don’t have to give it another thought. Your mind is freed up for more important things—like creative ideas and dreams.
Keeping it simple,
Jane
Monday, February 13, 2012
Life is so difficult...Woe is me.
Get Over It!
“The assignment is to get over your self. The assignment is to love the God you did not make up with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind, and the second is like unto it: to love the neighbor you also did not make up as if that person were your own strange and particular self. Do this, and the doing will teach you everything you need to know. Do this, and you will live.”
Barbara Brown Taylor (An Altar in the World)
I had tickets Saturday night to see the Alabama Symphony Orchestra backing up a rock band that covered The Eagles greatest hits. The night was the first freezing cold one we’ve had this winter. I was tempted to beg off; I had a little bit of a scratchy throat from the sudden cold snap and could have parlayed it into a good excuse. Instead, I found myself in the balcony of the Alabama Theater, a restored, turn of the century, ornate, red-velvet opera house, belting out Eagles songs at the top of my lungs. One of my favorites is ‘Get Over It’. The last stanza goes:
“You drag it around like a ball and chain
You wallow in the guilt, you wallow in the pain
You wave it like a flag, you wear it like a crown
Got your mind in the gutter, bringin’ everybody down
Complain about the present, blame it on the past
I’d like to find your inner child and kick its little ass..”
Perhaps it’s a bit harsh; there certainly are injustices in this world, difficult circumstances of growing up, difficult families, poverty, dark stuff, but we Westerners have made our suffering into a religion. We have blamed our current miserable state on our past miserable state for too long. It’s time to ‘get over it.’ We’re still using our misfortune as a reason we should be allowed to succeed regardless of our own efforts and if you don’t believe that, just watch one of the TV talent shows, in which contestants recount the pitiful circumstances of their childhoods and end by saying, ‘This is my ONLY chance…I HAVE to win.’ Please.
I have to say, in all honesty, that I have been one of those unhappy people at points in my life—I didn’t like her then, and I don’t like her when she rears her ugly head now. The problem with whining is that it that it keeps me stuck like a hog in mud. As long as my energy is going into nursing my wounds, real or imagined, I will have none to forge a new life and a new way of being in the world. So, here’s what I suggest—wallow for a while—five minutes, maybe ten, and then get up and get on with life. Just outside that pity-parlor is a world waiting to be discovered.
Getting over my self,
Jane
“The assignment is to get over your self. The assignment is to love the God you did not make up with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind, and the second is like unto it: to love the neighbor you also did not make up as if that person were your own strange and particular self. Do this, and the doing will teach you everything you need to know. Do this, and you will live.”
Barbara Brown Taylor (An Altar in the World)
I had tickets Saturday night to see the Alabama Symphony Orchestra backing up a rock band that covered The Eagles greatest hits. The night was the first freezing cold one we’ve had this winter. I was tempted to beg off; I had a little bit of a scratchy throat from the sudden cold snap and could have parlayed it into a good excuse. Instead, I found myself in the balcony of the Alabama Theater, a restored, turn of the century, ornate, red-velvet opera house, belting out Eagles songs at the top of my lungs. One of my favorites is ‘Get Over It’. The last stanza goes:
“You drag it around like a ball and chain
You wallow in the guilt, you wallow in the pain
You wave it like a flag, you wear it like a crown
Got your mind in the gutter, bringin’ everybody down
Complain about the present, blame it on the past
I’d like to find your inner child and kick its little ass..”
Perhaps it’s a bit harsh; there certainly are injustices in this world, difficult circumstances of growing up, difficult families, poverty, dark stuff, but we Westerners have made our suffering into a religion. We have blamed our current miserable state on our past miserable state for too long. It’s time to ‘get over it.’ We’re still using our misfortune as a reason we should be allowed to succeed regardless of our own efforts and if you don’t believe that, just watch one of the TV talent shows, in which contestants recount the pitiful circumstances of their childhoods and end by saying, ‘This is my ONLY chance…I HAVE to win.’ Please.
I have to say, in all honesty, that I have been one of those unhappy people at points in my life—I didn’t like her then, and I don’t like her when she rears her ugly head now. The problem with whining is that it that it keeps me stuck like a hog in mud. As long as my energy is going into nursing my wounds, real or imagined, I will have none to forge a new life and a new way of being in the world. So, here’s what I suggest—wallow for a while—five minutes, maybe ten, and then get up and get on with life. Just outside that pity-parlor is a world waiting to be discovered.
Getting over my self,
Jane
Sunday, February 12, 2012
What if...
Changing Places
“…the sinner and the saint are just the masks you put on’, Merlin replied. ‘The saint in this life may be the sinner in another life, and the sinner today may be learning to become a saint tomorrow. All these roles are illusions in God's eyes. I am not saying you must force this perspective on yourself. You asked me for guidance, however, and I must show you what lies ahead on the path.”
Deepak Chopra (The Way of the Wizard)
My son, Ian, is taking a class in graduate school on sensitivity to cultural differences. He is learning what it is like to be from a minority culture in America. Even when we don’t mean to be insensitive, as members of the privileged majority, we say and do things that are simply tactless for no other reason than ignorance and habit. I would say that we in the South are especially guilty, except for the fact that I have lived in California and New York City, and as a Southerner, experienced blatant discrimination in both those places. I think it is sufficient to say that majority populations everywhere have a lot to learn about racism and prejudice.
I like to think that there is an outside possibility that we get to go around more than once on this earth plane. In my next lifetime, I may be a black woman in sub-Saharan Africa, or an Icelandic fisherman. Suppose all our souls get a turn at being in the minority. If we knew this to be true, would we act differently? If I, as a white, middle-class American, expected to spend a lifetime as a black person, or a Hispanic person in my culture, might I be less likely to be callous toward them now? Might I try a little harder to be conscious of my present insensitivity and not simply take for granted that the way I see life is the ‘right’ way?
There are important lessons to be learned about ourselves in any incarnation. To learn those lessons, we must first be self-aware; conscious of our thoughts and words. Whether we are, at any given moment, saint or sinner, majority or minority, black or white or tan, we can learn those lessons and carry our expanded consciousness forward. We will bequeath that expansion to the next generation, whether that is our children or us in new skins.
In the spirit,
Jane
“…the sinner and the saint are just the masks you put on’, Merlin replied. ‘The saint in this life may be the sinner in another life, and the sinner today may be learning to become a saint tomorrow. All these roles are illusions in God's eyes. I am not saying you must force this perspective on yourself. You asked me for guidance, however, and I must show you what lies ahead on the path.”
Deepak Chopra (The Way of the Wizard)
My son, Ian, is taking a class in graduate school on sensitivity to cultural differences. He is learning what it is like to be from a minority culture in America. Even when we don’t mean to be insensitive, as members of the privileged majority, we say and do things that are simply tactless for no other reason than ignorance and habit. I would say that we in the South are especially guilty, except for the fact that I have lived in California and New York City, and as a Southerner, experienced blatant discrimination in both those places. I think it is sufficient to say that majority populations everywhere have a lot to learn about racism and prejudice.
I like to think that there is an outside possibility that we get to go around more than once on this earth plane. In my next lifetime, I may be a black woman in sub-Saharan Africa, or an Icelandic fisherman. Suppose all our souls get a turn at being in the minority. If we knew this to be true, would we act differently? If I, as a white, middle-class American, expected to spend a lifetime as a black person, or a Hispanic person in my culture, might I be less likely to be callous toward them now? Might I try a little harder to be conscious of my present insensitivity and not simply take for granted that the way I see life is the ‘right’ way?
There are important lessons to be learned about ourselves in any incarnation. To learn those lessons, we must first be self-aware; conscious of our thoughts and words. Whether we are, at any given moment, saint or sinner, majority or minority, black or white or tan, we can learn those lessons and carry our expanded consciousness forward. We will bequeath that expansion to the next generation, whether that is our children or us in new skins.
In the spirit,
Jane
Saturday, February 11, 2012
What's Love Got To Do With It?
Love Stuff
“The shelves of bookstores are groaning with self-help strategies, five-point plans to improve our relationships or to make ourselves more attractive to the opposite sex. But love is more like an electrical storm than a pension plan…When it comes, almost always unbidden, love will upset our comfortable routines.”
Roger Housden
I’ve tried to avoid writing about love because it is a subject in which I have no expertise. Twice divorced, I obviously don’t have a degree in compatibility. But here it is—February—and we’re inching toward Hallmark’s favorite holiday, so avoiding the subject would be well, hateful.
Rumi, that thirteenth-century Sufi-Dervish, wrote, in my scant experience, the most descriptive and flagrantly inflammatory love poems ever. In his poem, Buoyancy, he wrote:
“Love has taken away all my practices
And filled me with poetry…
…A mountain keeps an echo deep inside itself.
That’s how I hold your voice…
…I am scrap-wood thrown in your fire,
and quickly reduced to smoke…”
See what I mean? He was transported to some other place, his brain reduced to gibbering nonsense. Now, supposedly his love poems were written to God, but really, does this sound like a prayer to you? “We’re groggy, but let the guilt go,” he wrote; “Feel the motions of tenderness around you, the buoyancy.” I’m just saying…
Perhaps the reason one should avoid this sort of raving passion is that it takes your nicely ordered, stale-but-predictable life and throws it to the wind. Your days will fall around you like down from a broken-open pillow, and you’ll never, ever be able to gather the pieces back into a neat bundle. Love reduces and fills at the same time, like a fickle wind in untrimmed sails. Love makes us do really dumb things and feel like we’re geniuses while we’re doing them. Love is dangerous. I think you should run like a scalded dog when you feel that throbbing in your heart that signals your inevitable downfall.
That being said, though…Happy Valentines, everyone,
Jane
“The shelves of bookstores are groaning with self-help strategies, five-point plans to improve our relationships or to make ourselves more attractive to the opposite sex. But love is more like an electrical storm than a pension plan…When it comes, almost always unbidden, love will upset our comfortable routines.”
Roger Housden
I’ve tried to avoid writing about love because it is a subject in which I have no expertise. Twice divorced, I obviously don’t have a degree in compatibility. But here it is—February—and we’re inching toward Hallmark’s favorite holiday, so avoiding the subject would be well, hateful.
Rumi, that thirteenth-century Sufi-Dervish, wrote, in my scant experience, the most descriptive and flagrantly inflammatory love poems ever. In his poem, Buoyancy, he wrote:
“Love has taken away all my practices
And filled me with poetry…
…A mountain keeps an echo deep inside itself.
That’s how I hold your voice…
…I am scrap-wood thrown in your fire,
and quickly reduced to smoke…”
See what I mean? He was transported to some other place, his brain reduced to gibbering nonsense. Now, supposedly his love poems were written to God, but really, does this sound like a prayer to you? “We’re groggy, but let the guilt go,” he wrote; “Feel the motions of tenderness around you, the buoyancy.” I’m just saying…
Perhaps the reason one should avoid this sort of raving passion is that it takes your nicely ordered, stale-but-predictable life and throws it to the wind. Your days will fall around you like down from a broken-open pillow, and you’ll never, ever be able to gather the pieces back into a neat bundle. Love reduces and fills at the same time, like a fickle wind in untrimmed sails. Love makes us do really dumb things and feel like we’re geniuses while we’re doing them. Love is dangerous. I think you should run like a scalded dog when you feel that throbbing in your heart that signals your inevitable downfall.
That being said, though…Happy Valentines, everyone,
Jane
Friday, February 10, 2012
Finding Contentment
Clean Slate
“As you start your program to reduce clutter, the guideline is easy: If you haven’t used it in a year or more, get rid of it.”
Elaine St. James
Americans have gone from an average household of two bedrooms, one bath, approximately 1000 square feet in the 1950’s to an average household of more than 2000 square feet, three bedrooms, three bathrooms, eat-in kitchen, formal dinning room, living room, TV room, 2-3 car garage, and office or library in 2000. And that’s not enough—most of us also pay for off-site storage units.
I remember when my former mother-in-law began giving me dishes, clothes and knick-knacks from her house. She was in her early 60’s and I was half her age. I happily accepted everything she handed out, wondering why on earth she would get rid of such great stuff. Now, when I run across her ‘gifts’ in my own house, I think, ‘oh, yeah, now I understand.’
There is an acquisition phase in life when everything is on the rise—our job responsibilities, our families, our expendable income. We think we need more ‘stuff’ and we do. But what we think we need is way over the top. Have you noticed what young people buy to accommodate a new baby? Besides the crib and car seat, they ‘need’ a jogging stroller that accommodates more than one child and a diaper bag the size of a suitcase, a pop-up play pen complete with musical mobile, a sanitary changing pad, a jumping/swinging child seat, a collapsible bath tub, and the list goes on and on.
Thankfully, we come to our senses. At some point we look at the fact that we have to keep buying ever larger houses to accommodate all our ‘stuff’ and see what a crazy game we’re playing. That’s when the disposition phase kicks in and we start hauling the cumulative ‘must haves’ of a lifetime to the thrift store or the Dumpster. It’s time to get rid of all this stuff I never use, we say, handing a box of grandmother’s china to our daughter-in-law.
There is a great sense of freedom in getting rid of all the things that clutter up our lives. Once the closets are cleared out, we can start on the basement and then the garage, and eventually, all those outside commitments that take up time and resources. We pare down our list of ‘friends’ to only those whom we actually love and enjoy. We begin to understand that we don’t need so very much to be contented.
Getting clear,
Jane
“As you start your program to reduce clutter, the guideline is easy: If you haven’t used it in a year or more, get rid of it.”
Elaine St. James
Americans have gone from an average household of two bedrooms, one bath, approximately 1000 square feet in the 1950’s to an average household of more than 2000 square feet, three bedrooms, three bathrooms, eat-in kitchen, formal dinning room, living room, TV room, 2-3 car garage, and office or library in 2000. And that’s not enough—most of us also pay for off-site storage units.
I remember when my former mother-in-law began giving me dishes, clothes and knick-knacks from her house. She was in her early 60’s and I was half her age. I happily accepted everything she handed out, wondering why on earth she would get rid of such great stuff. Now, when I run across her ‘gifts’ in my own house, I think, ‘oh, yeah, now I understand.’
There is an acquisition phase in life when everything is on the rise—our job responsibilities, our families, our expendable income. We think we need more ‘stuff’ and we do. But what we think we need is way over the top. Have you noticed what young people buy to accommodate a new baby? Besides the crib and car seat, they ‘need’ a jogging stroller that accommodates more than one child and a diaper bag the size of a suitcase, a pop-up play pen complete with musical mobile, a sanitary changing pad, a jumping/swinging child seat, a collapsible bath tub, and the list goes on and on.
Thankfully, we come to our senses. At some point we look at the fact that we have to keep buying ever larger houses to accommodate all our ‘stuff’ and see what a crazy game we’re playing. That’s when the disposition phase kicks in and we start hauling the cumulative ‘must haves’ of a lifetime to the thrift store or the Dumpster. It’s time to get rid of all this stuff I never use, we say, handing a box of grandmother’s china to our daughter-in-law.
There is a great sense of freedom in getting rid of all the things that clutter up our lives. Once the closets are cleared out, we can start on the basement and then the garage, and eventually, all those outside commitments that take up time and resources. We pare down our list of ‘friends’ to only those whom we actually love and enjoy. We begin to understand that we don’t need so very much to be contented.
Getting clear,
Jane
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Staying Awake
Preparatory Steps
“Preparatory steps are necessary in all the arts. They are also necessary in life if we want to live authentically. Every twenty-four hours we are given a new canvas to prime, to make ready for the vision.” Sarah Ban Breathnach
My sewing room is in the basement of my house. I have arranged work tables in the middle of the room and around the walls, shelving for fabrics. I organize the cotton fabrics by color, so that when I begin a new project, I can pull down the complimentary and contrasting colors without digging through bins or drawers. I have intentionally placed my sewing machine on one side of the room and the ironing board on another, so that I have to get up and walk around. Exercise is still necessary and once I get into a project, I can work all day long, for days. By the end of a project, the room is a total disaster, with thread and fabric everywhere. The creative process is messy, but the room still needs to be organized for ease and efficiency. I hate being way-laid by a buried pair of scissors or lost pin cushion. When the creation is finished, I spend a day cleaning up and reorganizing the fabrics to make the work space ready for the next project.
All of us know how to organize our workspace for maximum convenience and efficiency. We are careful and thoughtful about where things go so that we can put our hands on them easily. A friend of mine has stacks and stacks of papers and manuals and prospectuses lining the walls of his office. He won’t allow anyone else to clean up because he knows exactly where everything is located. It may look like one big mess to other eyes, but he knows his system and it works for him.
Our lives outside the office could benefit from the same conscious attention and unwavering focus we give to our work environment. Yesterday, I locked my keys in my car, motor running! It was the second time in six months. I was distracted by conversation with a friend and some guys raising a huge white tent in the street ahead. My focus was not on what I was doing. Luckily I have roadside assistance for such screw-ups, but all of life can’t be part of my AAA contract. Staying in the present moment, being aware, being solidly in my body-mind are preparatory steps for a conscious life.
Waking up in Birmingham,
Jane
“Preparatory steps are necessary in all the arts. They are also necessary in life if we want to live authentically. Every twenty-four hours we are given a new canvas to prime, to make ready for the vision.” Sarah Ban Breathnach
My sewing room is in the basement of my house. I have arranged work tables in the middle of the room and around the walls, shelving for fabrics. I organize the cotton fabrics by color, so that when I begin a new project, I can pull down the complimentary and contrasting colors without digging through bins or drawers. I have intentionally placed my sewing machine on one side of the room and the ironing board on another, so that I have to get up and walk around. Exercise is still necessary and once I get into a project, I can work all day long, for days. By the end of a project, the room is a total disaster, with thread and fabric everywhere. The creative process is messy, but the room still needs to be organized for ease and efficiency. I hate being way-laid by a buried pair of scissors or lost pin cushion. When the creation is finished, I spend a day cleaning up and reorganizing the fabrics to make the work space ready for the next project.
All of us know how to organize our workspace for maximum convenience and efficiency. We are careful and thoughtful about where things go so that we can put our hands on them easily. A friend of mine has stacks and stacks of papers and manuals and prospectuses lining the walls of his office. He won’t allow anyone else to clean up because he knows exactly where everything is located. It may look like one big mess to other eyes, but he knows his system and it works for him.
Our lives outside the office could benefit from the same conscious attention and unwavering focus we give to our work environment. Yesterday, I locked my keys in my car, motor running! It was the second time in six months. I was distracted by conversation with a friend and some guys raising a huge white tent in the street ahead. My focus was not on what I was doing. Luckily I have roadside assistance for such screw-ups, but all of life can’t be part of my AAA contract. Staying in the present moment, being aware, being solidly in my body-mind are preparatory steps for a conscious life.
Waking up in Birmingham,
Jane
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Simplify Your Life
Living Simply
“Year by year the complexities of this spinning world grow more bewildering and so each year we need all the more to seek peace and comfort in the joyful simplicities.” Woman’s Home Companion, December, 1935
I have been reading books on simplicity in preparation for the Lenten study I’ve agreed to lead. One of my favorites is Simple Abundance, by Sarah Ban Breathnach, which contains a daily reading with suggestions for simplifying life. The quote above struck me as something we can all relate to right now.
At the time the Women’s Home Companion published the suggestion that we all ‘seek peace in the joyful simplicities’, they had no idea that the world was about to come apart. It would be four more years before Germany invaded Poland. Americans were digging our way out of the worst depression our young nation had faced. The Companion encouraged women to rekindle the home fires and learn how to live simply and with soul. Times were hard and giving up was not an option. We have seen similar times for the last five years. It is no small thing that people are rediscovering the home garden and shopping at thrift stores; self-sufficiency is making a comeback. The economists fret that Americans are not spending enough money, but those of us out here in the hinterlands know that we are storing up, shoring up the home-front, and learning how to make-do with what we have. We are saving instead of spending, and I believe that’s a good thing.
Even in times of plenty, living well within one’s means is the better part of wisdom. We’ve seen what happens when we create a make-believe society based on the shifting sands of easy credit and sleight of hands swaps and deals. The time has come to rediscover the peace of mind and soulful abundance of living simply. Suggestion for today: clean off your desk top; give away or recycle as much as you can. Give yourself a fresh start by organizing and dusting whatever is left.
In the spirit,
Jane
“Year by year the complexities of this spinning world grow more bewildering and so each year we need all the more to seek peace and comfort in the joyful simplicities.” Woman’s Home Companion, December, 1935
I have been reading books on simplicity in preparation for the Lenten study I’ve agreed to lead. One of my favorites is Simple Abundance, by Sarah Ban Breathnach, which contains a daily reading with suggestions for simplifying life. The quote above struck me as something we can all relate to right now.
At the time the Women’s Home Companion published the suggestion that we all ‘seek peace in the joyful simplicities’, they had no idea that the world was about to come apart. It would be four more years before Germany invaded Poland. Americans were digging our way out of the worst depression our young nation had faced. The Companion encouraged women to rekindle the home fires and learn how to live simply and with soul. Times were hard and giving up was not an option. We have seen similar times for the last five years. It is no small thing that people are rediscovering the home garden and shopping at thrift stores; self-sufficiency is making a comeback. The economists fret that Americans are not spending enough money, but those of us out here in the hinterlands know that we are storing up, shoring up the home-front, and learning how to make-do with what we have. We are saving instead of spending, and I believe that’s a good thing.
Even in times of plenty, living well within one’s means is the better part of wisdom. We’ve seen what happens when we create a make-believe society based on the shifting sands of easy credit and sleight of hands swaps and deals. The time has come to rediscover the peace of mind and soulful abundance of living simply. Suggestion for today: clean off your desk top; give away or recycle as much as you can. Give yourself a fresh start by organizing and dusting whatever is left.
In the spirit,
Jane
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
The Artist Inside
The Artist in You
“Inside you there’s an artist you don’t know about. Say yes quickly, if you know, if you’ve known it from before the beginning of the universe.” Jalai Ud-Din Rumi
There’s a homeless man who lives somewhere nearby—by the train tracks, or under an overpass. He’s the kind of homeless person one never sees at the shelter, even when the weather is cold. He pushes a shopping cart filled with stuff he’s found. Everything about him is charcoal gray; his hair, his clothing, his skin, the contents of the shopping cart. I watch him as I drive by in my car, always walking at the same slow pace, sometimes feeding the pigeons on the corner by the Piggly Wiggly. Winter or summer, he’s wearing the same gray rags. There are countless other people on the street; joggers, dog-walkers, the Altamont track team loping along. I see them, but they don’t hold my attention the way that silent, gray presence does. He’s made an impression in my brain, so much so that when I see that color in another context, I think ‘there he is.’
There is an artist in every one of us. In the way that we dress each day, in the little personal tweaks we give to our appearance, in the sweep of hair, color of eyes. The ‘gray man’ is no exception. He casts a one-of-a-kind shadow on the landscape, instantly recognizable as himself alone. Most of us have a hard time thinking of ourselves as artists—that’s a title reserved for folks who create symphonies, have paintings in the Louvre, or act on Broadway. We think of ourselves as ordinary. And yet, we get up each day, make choices that speak to our uniqueness, and go out into the day as the only ‘me’ there is. We leave our own indelible mark on the world.
Today, as you are bathing, dressing, brushing, think, ‘the artist in me is painting a picture of my oneness, my singularity, and that painting is distinctive and beautiful.’ Give yourself a little touch of class that others will recognize as your perfect expression of you. You are an artist—claim it.
Uniquely yours,
Jane
“Inside you there’s an artist you don’t know about. Say yes quickly, if you know, if you’ve known it from before the beginning of the universe.” Jalai Ud-Din Rumi
There’s a homeless man who lives somewhere nearby—by the train tracks, or under an overpass. He’s the kind of homeless person one never sees at the shelter, even when the weather is cold. He pushes a shopping cart filled with stuff he’s found. Everything about him is charcoal gray; his hair, his clothing, his skin, the contents of the shopping cart. I watch him as I drive by in my car, always walking at the same slow pace, sometimes feeding the pigeons on the corner by the Piggly Wiggly. Winter or summer, he’s wearing the same gray rags. There are countless other people on the street; joggers, dog-walkers, the Altamont track team loping along. I see them, but they don’t hold my attention the way that silent, gray presence does. He’s made an impression in my brain, so much so that when I see that color in another context, I think ‘there he is.’
There is an artist in every one of us. In the way that we dress each day, in the little personal tweaks we give to our appearance, in the sweep of hair, color of eyes. The ‘gray man’ is no exception. He casts a one-of-a-kind shadow on the landscape, instantly recognizable as himself alone. Most of us have a hard time thinking of ourselves as artists—that’s a title reserved for folks who create symphonies, have paintings in the Louvre, or act on Broadway. We think of ourselves as ordinary. And yet, we get up each day, make choices that speak to our uniqueness, and go out into the day as the only ‘me’ there is. We leave our own indelible mark on the world.
Today, as you are bathing, dressing, brushing, think, ‘the artist in me is painting a picture of my oneness, my singularity, and that painting is distinctive and beautiful.’ Give yourself a little touch of class that others will recognize as your perfect expression of you. You are an artist—claim it.
Uniquely yours,
Jane
Monday, February 6, 2012
Balancing Act
Bringing Harmony Back to Life
“Happiness is not a mater of intensity but of balance, order, rhythm and harmony.” Thomas Merton
When my children were small, I put them to bed at , no exceptions. We would read for twenty or thirty minutes and then, lights out. Both of them needed long hours of sleep and I needed a couple of hours of quiet before bed. Staying in balance requires that we have rhythm and regularity to our lives.
In thinking about simplifying life, this is the first and best way to begin—by brining a predictable rhythm to our days. I know it sounds boring, and I’m not suggesting that we never have a late night, or respond spontaneously to an urge. But for most of us, most of the time, a predictable rhythm is necessary to staying healthy. The need for balance is not just a human need; it’s built into the natural world. Day to night, season to season, month to month, regularity is the order of the day. Excess over time causes problems. Think of the consequences of this warmer-than-normal winter—in the south it will mean that fruit trees bloom too early and risk a snap freeze, bugs will be rampant in our summer gardens; in the north, lack of snow melt may result in water shortages and summer drought.
Part of bringing order to our lives is learning to say ‘no’. No, I will not plan late night outings during the work week; no, I will not volunteer for that project that will eliminate my weekend; no, I will not watch one more hour of TV. No. It’s a hard word for busy, frazzled Americans. No wonder we’re so, well, busy and frazzled. Saying ‘no’ is a second step toward a happy and harmonious life.
Today would be a good day to look at the rhythm of your life. Is it out of kilter? Is it bringing you into balance and harmony? How would you like to tweak your days to allow for adequate rest and the perfect amount of stimulation? In the words of Maya Angelou, “everything has rhythm, everything dances.” Find you perfect rhythm today and start stepping to it. You’ll be glad you did.
In the flow,
Jane
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Claiming Personal Space
Techno-Crazy
“The world is too much with us. Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.”
William Wordsworth
I had a conversation with some friends recently in which one said, ‘I can waste the whole afternoon playing cards on my computer.’ The other said, ‘Oh, me too, have you seen the new Solitaire?’ I’ve heard numerous interviews in the last week about the devious tricks Facebook employs to keep us glued to our profile page while they collect information about us and about anyone that we post to or ‘like’. Facebook is prying into our personal lives to assess our interests in order to send targeted advertisements our way. One man actually sued to get all the information the site had gathered on him; all 2200 pages of it!
Today’s technology is wonderful; don’t get me wrong. I love posting this blog, emailing just about everybody I know and texting with my sons. I am not saying we should get rid of any of it. What I am wondering is whether we are allowing it to replace real relationships. When we can interact with literally millions of people on-line, why bother to nurture flesh and blood relationships. How much does technology simply ‘occupy’ us and interfere with real interaction and productivity.
I know I sound like the Chinese government, but I do think it is worth our consideration as to whether we spend too much of our precious time clicking away with our mouse or tapping a keyboard. One of the things I notice about myself is how lost I feel without my cell phone. I come very close to ‘panic mode’ when I realize I’ve left my phone at home, or don’t know where it is. I am so distracted by that little gong-sound that I will interrupt a conversation or leave a meeting in order to check incoming messages. When I really think about it, I realize how completely nutty this behavior is.
For the next few weeks, I will conduct a self-experiment in weaning myself off my addiction to technology. I will spend less time checking messages and more speaking directly to friends and loved ones. I will turn my cell phone off during human interactions and when I am working. I will allow myself privacy and uninterrupted access to…myself! I will write the blog as always, but then I will shut my laptop down until I have finished my work for the day. So…please, leave me a message…I’ll get back to you.
Hooked in Alabama
Jane
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Clearing the Clutter
Simplifying Life
“…what we cling to says a lot about the state of our souls.” Paula Houston
My girl-cousin, Sandy Sandy
As a quilter, I’m a hoarder of fabric. My son, Ian, brings old clothes to me from estates he’s clearing out—things that have been stored in other people’s attics, basements and closets for decades. Most of it is unusable. Fabric, like almost everything else, rots with time, especially when exposed to moisture and temperature extremes. I always feel a little sad when I see precious children’s clothes and shoes, which have been lovingly and carefully packed away, fall apart when I take them out of the box.
It’s a good idea to make time to clear the clutter. I tend to stack anything that I’m not ready to use, recycle or throw away. After a while, I have stacks of stuff everywhere I look. I find that when my house is cluttered, so is my mind. I have difficulty concentrating. Not only that, but I can’t finding things I need because they are buried in the mess. Then I waste time sorting through ‘stuff’, while feeling frustrated and irritable. It’s not a pretty picture.
The liturgical season of Lent, which stretches from Ash Wednesday (Feb. 22) until Easter (April 8), is an excellent season for clearing out the clutter—both in our surroundings and in our minds. I have found that if I do one small task each day—something as simple as cleaning out a junk drawer—I can make a significant dent in my mess by Easter. So this year, I will undertake a ‘Lenten Simplification’ project. I will no doubt be writing about it, so I invite you to join me. My motto: “Less is more!”
Staying on track,
Jane
Friday, February 3, 2012
Setting the Sails
Any Way the Wind Blows
“It is the set of the sails, not the direction of the wind that determines which way we go.” Jim Rohn
A strong wind is blowing from the south-east this morning. The wind-chimes on my porch sound more like a metalwork shop than music. Until the ‘year of the tornadoes’, I loved the wind—loved to stand in it and feel its strength and power. I remember my grandmother telling me, ‘when the leaves on the trees turn upside down, expect rain’. This morning, the sky is an eerie white and that stiff wind is blowing from the wrong direction; can’t be a good sign.
Like everything else, wind is a metaphor for many other things in our lives. A soft, sweet zephyr is welcome, dreamy and romantic; adversity is portrayed as a strong wind, and a good, stiff breeze will fill our sails and take us quickly to our destination. I well remember the winds that blew down the channels of skyscrapers in New York
Sailors will tell you that a stiff wind is best of all; it means you have to pay attention, manage the sails and the rudder, and be prepared to hang your butt off the side to keep the boat upright, but the speed is pure joy. I don’t know about that butt-hanging part, but I get the speed delight. The lesson here is in managing the sails and the rudder. Once at Block Island , a family cousin took a small sailboat out alone—always a bad idea. We watched from a cliff above the Atlantic as a squall line formed in the north-east. The wind came up quickly, tangled the rigging and capsized the boat. Detachable parts floated up and thankfully, so did the cousin, but then she had to be rescued in a flailing sea in the midst of a squall. There’s a clue in there somewhere.
Strong winds will blow through our lives, no doubt about it. Keeping a clear head, managing the sails and the rudder, and having a good friend close by will help us to weather the storm. Any sea-change can be managed when we know we’re not in it alone.
Keeping it real,
Jane
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Slipping the Net
The Voyage of Discovery
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” Marcel Proust
Many years ago, I was on retreat at a desert oasis in the Mojave. The retreat site was a ranch high up on the side of a mountain, at about 9,000 feet, so you could see for miles and miles. A natural spring further up the mountain allowed the resourceful people at the center to give the plants in their orchard precisely the right amount of water to keep them thriving in the desert. The whole idea of an orchard in the desert was astounding for a green-mountain girl from Carolina
We humans are not so different. We will almost always choose the devil we know rather than taking a risk on the one we don’t. Sometimes we will stay in a relationship, or a job, or a place that is confining and death-dealing rather than risking life on our own. Change is hard, and as much as we champion freedom, freedom can also be terrifying. Out there, I would have to fend for myself; I would not have the safety-net of the known. It is too risky. Sometimes we engage in magical thinking. If I could just get out of this job, or this relationship, or this place, everything would be perfect, the sky would be the limit. Both positions are equally misleading.
Life is risky. We can choose to play it safe and limit ourselves, or we can choose to slip the net and fly out into the unknown. Either choice involves risk. Embracing the fact that life is a great mystery is the only path that leads to freedom. Trust in yourself is the key that opens the door.
In the spirit,
Jane
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Finding our Truth
High Expectations
“We may pass violets looking for roses. We may pass contentment looking for victory.”
When I was a little girl, my mother wanted me to behave like the kind of girl she was—pretty and prissy and feminine. My father, a man’s man and engineer, thought I should make high grades in math and aspire to law school. Needless to say, I didn’t live up to the expectations of either. I was a tom-boy who flunked algebra. Their disappointment weighed on me as grew up; I felt ‘less-than’, somehow slow and gawky. The real abilities that I did have, in literature, in art, were tolerated, but not deemed especially valuable assets. My parents were not bad people. They were doing what all parents do; pushing their child to achieve. They had high expectations of me; particular expectations based on their own world view, and were disappointed when I didn’t live up to them.
It is natural and normal to have high aspirations for ourselves, our children, and others. But it is a good idea to examine our expectations now and then. Becoming aware of your child’s innate gifts and talents and supporting those is critical to their adult success. Typically, children will show their unique proclivities early in life, as toddlers. I remember my son, Jake, drawing murals on his bedroom wall at two. He couldn’t get enough of coloring and creating. The other son, Ian, was a people-person from birth. He never knew a stranger and had no idea that children were supposed to be seen and not heard. Children come here whole. It is our duty as parents, teachers and coaches to preserve and encourage that wholeness.
Likewise, we should encourage our own wholeness by examining our expectations of ourselves. Are they realistic? Are they in line with our true abilities and our heart-sense? If not, how would they need to change? Having high expectations of ourselves is one thing, having unrealistic expectations is quite another. One is life giving, and the other harms our sense of self. The 'good life' is all about balance and living our truth.
Blessings,
Jane
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