Sharing Gratitude in Adversity

Although it’s been two weeks since Hurricane Sandy blew ashore, there are still people without electricity, water and other life necessities. Others have lost their homes or summer homes; many more have lost the place where they spent happy weeks as children and adults, now that the boardwalks and beaches have washed away. I usually use November as a time to talk about gratitude, but in the wake of Sandy and her snowy cousin Athena, there are some who are not ready to be grateful.

So what do we do with this? How does one spend Thanksgiving Day when a home has been lost, feelings of resentment towards utility companies and governments abound, and kids are running around wearing other peoples’ cast off, though lovingly donated, clothing? How does one summon gratitude once the relief that your family made it out alive fades and you are faced with a dark, muddy mess?

I have no idea. I am sitting in front of my computer in my warm house, having taken a hot shower, and sipping fresh coffee – my imagination comes to a screeching halt when I go too far into thoughts of having lost everything. I can't even log onto my favorite websites without my cheat sheet of passwords; what would I do without anything I rely on daily?

Here’s my thought: Those of us who are warm and snug, well lit when the short day comes to an end, and thinking about Christmas trees and candles lit for beauty, not utility -- we need to step our gratefulness up a notch.

Gratitude is like prayer; it is a thought sent into the universe and spread over the Earth. Thank You doesn’t only land on the one who roasted the turkey; when the chef is thanked she is uplifted and in turn uplifts those around her. Thank You expands and grows and spreads like an aura and when we let the gratitude migrate from our brains to our hearts, it burgeons into a force that carries out into the world. We need to pinch-hit for those who are unable to internalize gratitude this season. And hope they never need to return that favor!

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The Tortoise and the Hare

Face it. Even though the moral of Aesop’s fable is “Slow and steady wins the race,” we all secretly relate more to the hare. It’s all very well for the tortoise to plod along steadily, reaching his goals in an unassuming manner, but where’s the fun, where is the excitement, where is the rush of wind against his face? Must one be slow, serious, and steady (read: boring) in order to succeed? Was it mere frivolity that cost Hare the race?

Tortoise is content with his methods. He puts one foot down at a time, finishing one step before starting another. Meanwhile, Hare has been running in circles, taking side trips, and gleefully expending more energy than necessary to complete the footrace. The outcome of the competition hinged on an error in judgment by Mr. Hare. He judges the tortoise to be so very, very slow that there will be plenty of time for a snooze.

Hare was faster, the obvious winner. He was no fool; he knew what was needed to win, and he did that and more. We blame the nap, the overweening confidence that made Hare think he could snooze and still not lose. We blame the extravagant expenditure of energy, that he gave more than the task required. But brazen confidence has won many a race, and extra effort needn't be detrimental. So what happened here?

Judgment happened. The hare made a judgment about the tortoise that cost him the race. He scoffed and decided he, Hare, was the better of the two and that better wins out. Tortoise, on the other hand, let Hare be Hare. He took Eckhart Tolle’s advice to live in the Now. He kept his mind on what he was doing and didn’t get swept up in the maelstrom around him. It was attitude, not method, which succeeded.

Look at the tortoise’s gentle smile. He’s a Buddha.

(Photo from woondu.com)

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Riddle Me This

What’s the answer?

That depends on the question, doesn’t it? Let’s try this one: What is good for me?

There is so much information out there, and we all want someone to say, do this and do that and all will be well. There are plenty of folk willing to do so, but really, they will be telling you what is best for them, not necessarily for you. Others can guide you, but ultimately you have to decide for yourself.

Pay attention to how you feel after you eat something. Did it energize or enervate? Did it satisfy or did it make you want more? When it comes to food, we are all tangled up in webs of family, habit, comfort, denial and reward, so it is hard to find the real answer. But there is a way to find it: Pay attention.

Notice. Be aware. When you treated yourself to that plate of crispy calamari, did it end up being a treat, or a trick? Do you sleep better at night when you’ve had your daily walk? While you were taking that meditation class and sitting quietly every day, how did that affect your mind and spirit?

Talk to yourself. You do it anyway; might as well talk about something useful instead of muttering about where the heck you left your keys. Ask yourself. You have all the answers.

Tovie's answer is to cuddle up and get his homework done before watching the Discovery Channel.

Fishes from Heaven

After graduating college with a B.A. in English, I spent a few months living at home, enjoying the luxury of life with Mom, working at an upscale children’s clothing store. I think of it as my la-di-da period, when I had no idea what I wanted to be or what I should be doing. Mom was happy to have me around, I was making money, and life was pretty stress-free. But I was bored.

So, I phoned an employment agency in Manhattan, spent a day taking typing tests and getting wardrobe advice, and was set up for a few interviews.

The morning of my first interview I rose early, put on the suit Mom and I had carefully chosen from the sale rack at Bamberger’s, and took the short-cut across the park to the bus stop. As I passed the swing sets, there was a rustling in the oak tree above me, then a fish plopped to the ground at my feet.

Yes, a fish plopped from the tree to the ground at my feet. I was startled, but couldn’t dally in case I missed the bus. In a bit of a daze, from nerves and the fish, I made it to the bus, then to my appointment. When I entered the shiny, black, semi-skyscraper, I didn’t stop to look at the Company Directory for fear of appearing lost and unsure. I boldly stepped into the first elevator that opened its doors, stuck my index finger out, and pressed a button. I chose the 14^th floor, possibly attracted by the fact that the numbers went from 12 to 14 with no bad luck number in between.

The bell dinged, the lighted number 14 blinked out, and the doors slid open. Technical Publishing, read the brass letters on the wall opposite. I stepped out of the elevator, miraculously on the correct floor!

I left the interview certain that I would be offered the position. Between the fish and the fourteenth floor, there could be no doubt. Three days later, I was a research assistant for a publishing company, commuting daily to New York City.

What’s your sign?

A Little Family Story

My grandmother used to tell the story of how her fourth child, who later became my mom, was “born in butter”. This buttery birth occurred on a farm on the Gaspay Peninsula, a fairly remote area of Quebec. When Jeannette (yes, I’m her namesake!) awoke with the familiar signs of labor, she waited until the morning milking was done, then sent her husband across the street to his parent’s house to call the doctor on the only telephone for miles around. He was then to take the horse and sleigh (it was always cold and snowy in November, and not a snowplow around) and fetch her own mother. The ten-mile round trip would take him almost four hours.

So, she had four hours to fill. In labor. No man in the house; kids sent across to Grandma’s. Hmm. Well, Jeannette decided to do a few chores so her mom wouldn’t be overly burdened with work when she arrived. Churning the butter seemed like a good idea. Her husband had separated the cream from the morning’s milking, and carried it into the side room. Jeannette poured the thick, yellow cream into the butter churn, an elongated barrel-shaped thing that she tilted from side to side by pulling a metal bar. Slosh, slosh, slosh. With, I imagine, a few breaks for some Lamaze-type breathing at regular intervals. After a while, she decided to check on the butter’s progress, and unscrewed the wooden lid. Almost done, whew. Lid back on. Hee hee hoooo (that’s supposed to be Lamaze breathing). She took hold of the handle, pulled, and the lid flew off! Butter and buttermilk spewed out, splattering the ceiling and walls, and covering the floor. Shortly afterward came my mom.

When I was born, my mom went to a hospital in Illinois, got medicated to sleep, and woke a few hours later to be told she had another girl.

When my daughter was born, I was wide awake, being cheered on by my husband (Him: Oh my God, look at that, look at that! Me: Are you kidding, I can’t look, I’m busy here!)

Since I am FAR too young to be a grandma myself, I won’t even speculate about the birth of my future grandkids, but I bet no story will match the one of my mom being born in butter. 

Tick Tock

What time is it? That depends on whom you ask! If someone's hungry, it's dinnertime; if someone is on a deadline, it's crunch time.

Have too much to do? Not enough time. Bored? Time drags. Need a beer? Miller Time! You know what they say: It's five o'clock somewhere! 

Time to go. Time on your hands. Time after time. It's about time! Time's up. No time like the present. Do you have the time? What time is it, anyway? 

Sand through an hourglass. Shadows on a sundial. Analog. Digital. Wristwatch, grandfather clock, alarm clock. Roman calendar, Chinese calendar, Runic calendar. Does the Mayan calendar signal the end of all time, or the beginning of a new time?

Minutes, seconds, days, years. Decades, centuries, millennia. Some thought the turn of the millennium would cause computers to crash, but we had no time for that!

Springtime, wintertime, the good ol’ summertime. Ages past, look to the future, reside in the Now.

Me time. Private time. Go time. Happy hour, the hour of our discontent, these are the times that try men’s souls.

I’m so glad we had this time together.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Change is hard. We resist it with everything we have. We like the old ways! If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it! Who needs all these new-fangled thoughts and gadgets, anyway?

Ah, but change is inevitable. It is constant. It is wonderful! Think of the big, exciting change that happened 43 years ago when we went from simply dreaming about the moon, to actually standing on it! Ponder how life improved when we changed from being helpless witnesses of devastating epidemics, to being able to prevent many illnesses.  

These are big changes; maybe it’s the small ones that are more difficult to swallow. Have you resisted learning how to text-message? Do you bemoan the advent of eReaders? Technology aside, we hate it when our favorite deli closes, or our hair starts to grey, or our children grow up. We want our parents to stay young and our backs to stay strong and our favorite jeans to still fit.

It could be argued that not all change is for the better; but in general, accepting and rolling with the changes in our lives makes us stronger and more balanced. Learning new tasks and new ways of performing old tasks encourages your brain to connect new synapses, slowing – stopping?! – the expected, age-related degeneration of the mind. So get someone to teach you how to send a text, and send one every day. Try an eReader. Don’t worry, the story will be exactly the same. Give the new deli a chance, and for heaven’s sake, the waistline on those old jeans are so yesterday; buy a new pair! Take a different route to work, walk backwards up the stairs, and eat dessert first. (Well, that last one may not improve your brain, but it will make you smile!) Fire up the ol’ synapses! Use more of that grey matter!

See change as a way to grow.

My changes: eReader, non-fiction, reading glasses, laptop
Same old-same-old: "real" books, fiction, spiral notebooks, messiness