I walk a tightrope over the valley of tears. Some times, I look down and feel panic. Other times I look up and see a beautiful blue sky and I remember why I am on this journey. After spending a wonderful, stimulating weekend, I found that I was searching for a way to process all I had learned, a way to understand what my true purpose is.
I waited for inspiration. No bill board lit up my mind with a simple summary sentence of wisdom. No words played across the inner screen telling me what my life was all about. I was disappointed. What happened to all that inspiration, my desire to discern my direction, my attempts to be open to what the universe/God had to teach me?
Disappointed, I turned to a familiar distraction and logged on to my computer to check my random e-mails. There buried in all the recipes and daily updates was a simple posting in a blog (Kind Over Matter). It was a clip of Steve Jobs giving a commencement speech at Stanford.
Had he not recently died, I may not have been as impressed as I was with his words. I had to write some of them down as if the writing of them would some how make them more real, more easily grasped.
"Remembering I'll be dead soon is the most important tool, I ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life because almost everything, all external expectation, all pride, all fear of embarrassment and failure, all these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart." Steve Jobs
Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. I could see clearly the lesson that the weekend held for me. In a single moment, I saw the point of my life. I didn't have to work hard to figure it out. I simply had to get out of my own way long enough to acknowledge what I have always known.
As for what I discovered about my purpose. . . well, some things are best kept to one's self. Tomorrow, I may have a new purpose. Just for today, I am at peace. Peace is a beautiful thing.
It will pass but the memory will remain. We all live life one moment at a time. We string the moments together and look back at what we've created. We often fail to realize that we've lost so many moments by not living in them. This is something I know well. I needed Steve Jobs, a house full of women, a son having a meltdown, conversations with new friends and a hug from my daughter, to help me realize how precious each moment is. I am already naked. There is no reason not to follow my heart.
Showing posts with label Soothing Sunday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Soothing Sunday. Show all posts
Monday, October 10, 2011
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Life in Six Words
Yesterday's library trip yielded a wonderful find, a small book filled with six word memoirs called, I Can't Keep My Own Secrets:Six Word Memoirs edited by Smith Magazine. The intro of the book mentions a story told about Ernest Hemingway. Hemingway was said to be challenged to write a novel in six words. He returned with "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."
After reading a few of the memoirs in this tiny book with over 600 authors contributions, I wanted to write my own six word memoir. It was much harder than I expected. I was also a lot of fun. I dare you to try it. Let me know what you come up with.
I came. I saw. I died.
It was a five dog life.
A Swanson brownie disguised as poo.
A drink of water was everything.
Tightrope walking over the hidden valley.
Slowly, Sister Mary Nobody rides again.
Quiet midnight moon watches me sleep.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Awakening
This morning, I lie awake beside my husband. Suddenly, words spring into my mouth and demand to be said.
"Do you ever think that some times we love each other for all the wrong reasons?"
"Yes. Some times. Sometimes I think we're way too co-dependent. It's not good for us."
"What should we do about it?" he says back in a sleepy voice.
"I don't know. The words just fell out of my head. I'm not sure what they mean, yet", I say.
The Sunday morning is lazy and so am I. I don't want to think about the words. Understanding them would create a need to act. Some needs feel too heavy to pick up. I leave them in a pile on the floor while I take a shower.
After breakfast, I plug myself into music and lose myself in writing. At least, I try to. It doesn't take long for the words to find me. I start to see me, see us, peeking out from between the words.
"Do you ever think that some times we love each other for all the wrong reasons?"
The meaning demands to be found. The words blink back at me from the heart of a white screen. I stand before them. They are an altar of sacrifice. We are its religion. It needs reformation. So do we. Some where along the way, we've lost ourselves. Lacking so much we each blame ourselves for what the other lacks. We are less than we want to be. We see this in the others' eyes. We've lost ourselves in a chasm of all that we are not, individually and together. We have lost the best part of us.
"Do you ever think that some times we love each other for all the wrong reasons?"
As the morning ends, this question opens into another. It is the more important question.
"Do you think that we can learn to love each other for all the right reasons?"
For a moment, I hesitate to answer, afraid what I might say to myself. The answer forces itself to the surface.
"Yes", it whispers, "but it won't be easy."
I whisper back, "The best things in life rarely are."
The music that I hoped would "take me away" pulls me back to earth with a vengeance. I hear the Indigo Girls sing "A Moment of Forgiveness".
" In a moment of forgiveness, you reach out and take my hand."
Forgiveness. . . of the self. . . of the other. . .it is the place to start. I'm fully awake now. I know where I'm headed. Loving for all the right reasons waves from the distance.
"Come and get me," it says.
I start walking.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
A Few Good Women
It's been over a week since I attended a "cousin reunion." It is limited to the female cousins on my father's side of the family. It gives us a chance to really talk.
I've wanted to write about this event but haven't quite known how.
I love my cousins. While, they probably know more about me than I do about them, thanks to my blabbing in this blog, they still always feel familiar in a good way.
Those of us born in the 50's and 60's were very lucky. Our parents got together often for picnics, potlucks, birthday celebrations. We saw our aunts, uncles and cousins frequently. Most of us lived in the same area. Many of us went to the same school, same church. Our lives crisscrossed in so many ways that sometimes we'd long for anonymity. We wanted to be defined by something more than the clan to which we belonged.
People several towns away could tell what family most of us came from simply by our facial features and body type. We were as easily identified as a Holstein or a Guernsey or a Black Angus. Most of the time they could even accurately guess who my father was. If they guessed incorrectly, they were always very close. "No, Uncle Herman isn't my Dad".
But it was close enough.
Growing up, I used to hate standing there waiting while they played this guessing game. I felt I could never win. I didn't want to be labeled so easily. I didn't want the gossip circuit in town to refer to me as a "typical Hendricks." I would imagine them shaking their heads and saying, "That's a Hendricks for ya."
I longed not to be so well known by the people I'd meet.
In time, I got my wish. Almost every stranger's face I'd see was exactly that, a stranger. And, I was a stranger to them. I had learned to see people without looking at them.
And, eventually, I learned just how lucky I am to come from a big family, one that celebrated so many things with cousins and kin folk. Baptisms, First Communions, birthdays, 4th of Julys, holidays, weddings, and funerals took on an added meaning when shared with family.
Without a doubt, our family suffered the typical family dysfunction. Descendants of German immigrants we were never hugged or loved openly enough. Criticism was the norm, negativity a defining characteristic. Yet, for all these shortcomings, after all the years, all the personal neurosis, we cousins, still make an effort to come together once in a while. We reminisce, share stories of our parents, who as siblings are/were remarkably alike. It's the best kind of therapy, sitting in a lawn chair under Kim's patio, sharing food. Yes, all of us are pretty good cooks and love to eat. We get that from our parents.
When I leave and return to my life, where so many people are absolute strangers, I carry the memory within my heart. I have a big, flawed family who provides an anchor in a world with so few anchors in it. My family helps define who I am. Despite our individual differences, our unique talents and abilities, they remind me that on the face of this huge planet, there is a special group of people who belong to my special clan. I belong. It is my birthright. I am very grateful and extremely honored by my relationship with them.
So, heres to my cousins. I love you. Always have. Always will. But in my typical, stoic, repressed German way you may not always have been sure. "Die Katze" is out of the bag now.
I've wanted to write about this event but haven't quite known how.
I love my cousins. While, they probably know more about me than I do about them, thanks to my blabbing in this blog, they still always feel familiar in a good way.
Those of us born in the 50's and 60's were very lucky. Our parents got together often for picnics, potlucks, birthday celebrations. We saw our aunts, uncles and cousins frequently. Most of us lived in the same area. Many of us went to the same school, same church. Our lives crisscrossed in so many ways that sometimes we'd long for anonymity. We wanted to be defined by something more than the clan to which we belonged.
People several towns away could tell what family most of us came from simply by our facial features and body type. We were as easily identified as a Holstein or a Guernsey or a Black Angus. Most of the time they could even accurately guess who my father was. If they guessed incorrectly, they were always very close. "No, Uncle Herman isn't my Dad".
But it was close enough.
Growing up, I used to hate standing there waiting while they played this guessing game. I felt I could never win. I didn't want to be labeled so easily. I didn't want the gossip circuit in town to refer to me as a "typical Hendricks." I would imagine them shaking their heads and saying, "That's a Hendricks for ya."
I longed not to be so well known by the people I'd meet.
In time, I got my wish. Almost every stranger's face I'd see was exactly that, a stranger. And, I was a stranger to them. I had learned to see people without looking at them.
And, eventually, I learned just how lucky I am to come from a big family, one that celebrated so many things with cousins and kin folk. Baptisms, First Communions, birthdays, 4th of Julys, holidays, weddings, and funerals took on an added meaning when shared with family.
Without a doubt, our family suffered the typical family dysfunction. Descendants of German immigrants we were never hugged or loved openly enough. Criticism was the norm, negativity a defining characteristic. Yet, for all these shortcomings, after all the years, all the personal neurosis, we cousins, still make an effort to come together once in a while. We reminisce, share stories of our parents, who as siblings are/were remarkably alike. It's the best kind of therapy, sitting in a lawn chair under Kim's patio, sharing food. Yes, all of us are pretty good cooks and love to eat. We get that from our parents.
When I leave and return to my life, where so many people are absolute strangers, I carry the memory within my heart. I have a big, flawed family who provides an anchor in a world with so few anchors in it. My family helps define who I am. Despite our individual differences, our unique talents and abilities, they remind me that on the face of this huge planet, there is a special group of people who belong to my special clan. I belong. It is my birthright. I am very grateful and extremely honored by my relationship with them.
So, heres to my cousins. I love you. Always have. Always will. But in my typical, stoic, repressed German way you may not always have been sure. "Die Katze" is out of the bag now.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Sunday Drive
Sometimes, I miss my ignorance.
Ignorant no longer, we drove less than an extra five miles. We took in as much scenery as we could. We pointed at houses we wished we had and agreed that we'd like to live in the country but still be very close to a larger city. Our dreams are so much more expansive than our lives. In our dreams, we have options. Anything is possible. Nurturing the capacity to dream is very important. So is working toward them.
Our mini-drive ended quickly. On the way home we made up crazy get-rich-quick ideas. Maybe one of them might pay off and we can afford a beautiful place in a country.
Today's List of Ideas
1.) A rock that has painted on it the words "of ages".
(It appeals to the older Christian crowd. "Rock of Ages" Yes, I can hear the collective sigh! Hey, if the Clapper, the Bullet and Pet Rocks can sell why not this? Especially, if advertised on Sunday Morning during with all the preacher shows.)
2.) An small electric, thrift-store lamp with a card that reads,
"Comes with Invisible Genie. Rub and Wish."
3.) A slightly-used, live Christmas elf in a cage with 6 interchangeable outfits.
(Picture not actual size. Accessories sold separately.) This idea was my daughters. She giggled all the way home after coming up with it.
(I didn't say they were good ideas did I?)
4.) One slightly-used squirrel.
5.) Invisible House Fairy. It/her/him bestows blessing on whomever possesses it/her/him. This one is my personal favorites. I blamed a lot of things on an invisible House Fairy when the kids were small. I also gave the House Fairy the job of watching over the kids. It/He/She was very dual purpose and more like the very flawed gods and goddesses of Greek Mythology.
My Invisible House Fairy comes complete with invisible condo and invisible interchangeable wardrobe. (We've very fond of interchangeable wardrobes today.)
Other Invisible House Fairy action figures sold separately.
We squeezed a lot of fun out of a mini-Sunday drive despite my guilt over burning up precious resources.
On the way, home both children spontaneously said, "I love you, Mom."
Those words are priceless.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
The Betrayal of Hope
I want to feel hopeful, energetic, strong. I don't feel any of those things.
Instead of fighting this morass of negativity, I'm simply going to let it be. I'll let it wash over me like an angry tide and watch it roll back into the ocean. Tomorrow will be a better day.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
The Scathing
Soothing Sunday
It's hard to have a soothing Sunday when one feels as if the "bastards are winning". Once in a while, I collapse upon myself in a ball of self-pity. I get tired of being positive, of keeping a "stiff upper lip" of doing my damnedest to make the best out of a bad situation. On the trail of life, I'm laying face down on the asphalt and throwing myself a mighty tantrum. But, even that feels exhausting.
Maybe it's OK to have a soothing Sunday after all. Maybe relaxing and letting the feelings wash over me like a hot flash isn't so bad. Maybe it's just a natural part of life when you're in a less than good situation. I've got to admit that asphalt is pretty uncomfortable.
I sit up and look around me. The sky is still where it should be. The birds are still flying over head. (A few have been watching me from the safety of their leafy perches.) The ground beneath me is still solid. . . even though at any moment the big earthquake might happen. How few guarantees there are.
Life will not let me go unscathed. This trial is all a part of the scathing (I'm taking the liberty of using an adjective as a noun. Who's going to stop me?) Fighting it only seems to make everything hurt worse.
The hard rocks trapped in the asphalt hurt my "sittin' down". There has got to be a better way to find soothing on this fine Sunday. I rise. Sore, stiff, I begin to walk into the comfort of the familiar. "Scathing, be damned. You haven't won yet. I'm back in the game."
It's hard to have a soothing Sunday when one feels as if the "bastards are winning". Once in a while, I collapse upon myself in a ball of self-pity. I get tired of being positive, of keeping a "stiff upper lip" of doing my damnedest to make the best out of a bad situation. On the trail of life, I'm laying face down on the asphalt and throwing myself a mighty tantrum. But, even that feels exhausting.
Maybe it's OK to have a soothing Sunday after all. Maybe relaxing and letting the feelings wash over me like a hot flash isn't so bad. Maybe it's just a natural part of life when you're in a less than good situation. I've got to admit that asphalt is pretty uncomfortable.
I sit up and look around me. The sky is still where it should be. The birds are still flying over head. (A few have been watching me from the safety of their leafy perches.) The ground beneath me is still solid. . . even though at any moment the big earthquake might happen. How few guarantees there are.
Life will not let me go unscathed. This trial is all a part of the scathing (I'm taking the liberty of using an adjective as a noun. Who's going to stop me?) Fighting it only seems to make everything hurt worse.
The hard rocks trapped in the asphalt hurt my "sittin' down". There has got to be a better way to find soothing on this fine Sunday. I rise. Sore, stiff, I begin to walk into the comfort of the familiar. "Scathing, be damned. You haven't won yet. I'm back in the game."
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Star Trek and the Vision Book
Soothing Sunday
Making this a soothing Sunday was a bit of a challenge. I kept reminding myself of all the things I "should" be doing. After some resistance, I decided to work on a "Vision Board." At first the idea sounded a little but stupid even to me but I decided to get with the spirit of it. I turned it into a "Vision Scrap Book". The idea is to assemble pictures from magazines, etc. that speak to who you are, what you want from life, etc.
I made no attempt to be artistic and paid no attention to detail. I just had fun. This is one of my favorite pages. Even in photographing the page, I paid no attention to art. It was all about the spirit of the thing.
Making this a soothing Sunday was a bit of a challenge. I kept reminding myself of all the things I "should" be doing. After some resistance, I decided to work on a "Vision Board." At first the idea sounded a little but stupid even to me but I decided to get with the spirit of it. I turned it into a "Vision Scrap Book". The idea is to assemble pictures from magazines, etc. that speak to who you are, what you want from life, etc.
I made no attempt to be artistic and paid no attention to detail. I just had fun. This is one of my favorite pages. Even in photographing the page, I paid no attention to art. It was all about the spirit of the thing.
Working on a Vision Book was soothing. By afternoon I was ready for fun and joined my friend, Emily for Star Trek in the Park. How awesome is that! Thanks, Emily! I had a wonderful time. Star date: Summer 2012! Beam me up NOW!
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Sunday or Sinday?
Soothing Sunday
When I started typing Sunday, it came out "sinday". What a difference one little letter can make. I look down. Two of the buttons on my blouse have come undone. Looks like I've been getting into the spirit of "sinday" It's a good thing I'm just sitting at the computer.
The idea of sinday is making me smile. If I could have a day to do anything I wanted, what would it be? Would there be any sinning involved if all consequences of such actions were wiped away? If there is "no piper to pay" would I choose to do anything differently than I am right this instant?
Of all the seven deadly sins, the one that grasps my soul the most tightly is gluttony, or is it? I decide to check out the "magnificient seven" and discover that there is a web site devoted to them. http://www.deadlysins.com/sins/index.htm.
Here's what the site says about gluttony.
Gluttony
My punishment in Hell is starting to scare me. I'd better pick another sin to indulge on sinday.
Anger, will see me dismembered alive in Hell. (Since I assume that I've had to die to go to hell, this might be difficult to pull off.)
For envy, I'll be put in freezing water. (This too would be difficult since Hell is supposed to be full of the flames of eternal perdition. How would you keep things cold?
For pride, I'll be broken on the wheel. Not exactly sure what this form of torture is but I'm betting I'm not going to like it.
Let's tackle the juiciest of the seven deadly sins, lust. This will result in my being smothered by fire and brimstone, not kisses. This seems to undermine the freezing water hypothesis even further. Who is in charge of this place any way?
Let me try greed. Ah, greed will result in being boiled alive in oil. Once again I face the dilemma of being alive after I'm dead.
Finally, I've got to look at the reward in Hell for the sin of sloth. That will find me thrown into a pit of snakes. I bet they picked snakes because it starts with the same letter as sloth. Snakes are also pretty creepy and sometimes associated with the devil but I'm not exactly sure of the arbitrator of this system of supernatural justice. The theology seems a little iffy.
There is a gallery of images and several pages listed here and the warning: "Please drop me a line before ripping anything off. Email seven at deadlysins dot com."
I'm not going to rip off anything. The site and the author of the site is getting all the credit he deserves. Do you think his name is really, Seven? I wonder if the number, Three is taken.
After reading this list of possibilities, I'd like to align my aura with the idea of trinity, trifecta, tribunal, triple and triple sec. I'm no longer interested in exploring sinday or even the idea of sinning on this soothing Sunday. A little bit of reading has me scared straight, well at least for the next few minutes.
When I started typing Sunday, it came out "sinday". What a difference one little letter can make. I look down. Two of the buttons on my blouse have come undone. Looks like I've been getting into the spirit of "sinday" It's a good thing I'm just sitting at the computer.
The idea of sinday is making me smile. If I could have a day to do anything I wanted, what would it be? Would there be any sinning involved if all consequences of such actions were wiped away? If there is "no piper to pay" would I choose to do anything differently than I am right this instant?
Of all the seven deadly sins, the one that grasps my soul the most tightly is gluttony, or is it? I decide to check out the "magnificient seven" and discover that there is a web site devoted to them. http://www.deadlysins.com/sins/index.htm.
Here's what the site says about gluttony.
Gluttony
Sinopsis (sic) What it is: Gluttony is an inordinate desire to consume more than that which one requires.Why you do it: Because you were weaned improperly as an infant. Your punishment in Hell will be: You'll be force-fed rats, toads, and snakes. Associated symbols & suchlike: Gluttony is linked with the pig and the color orange. |
My punishment in Hell is starting to scare me. I'd better pick another sin to indulge on sinday.
Anger, will see me dismembered alive in Hell. (Since I assume that I've had to die to go to hell, this might be difficult to pull off.)
For envy, I'll be put in freezing water. (This too would be difficult since Hell is supposed to be full of the flames of eternal perdition. How would you keep things cold?
For pride, I'll be broken on the wheel. Not exactly sure what this form of torture is but I'm betting I'm not going to like it.
Let's tackle the juiciest of the seven deadly sins, lust. This will result in my being smothered by fire and brimstone, not kisses. This seems to undermine the freezing water hypothesis even further. Who is in charge of this place any way?
Let me try greed. Ah, greed will result in being boiled alive in oil. Once again I face the dilemma of being alive after I'm dead.
Finally, I've got to look at the reward in Hell for the sin of sloth. That will find me thrown into a pit of snakes. I bet they picked snakes because it starts with the same letter as sloth. Snakes are also pretty creepy and sometimes associated with the devil but I'm not exactly sure of the arbitrator of this system of supernatural justice. The theology seems a little iffy.
There is a gallery of images and several pages listed here and the warning: "Please drop me a line before ripping anything off. Email seven at deadlysins dot com."
I'm not going to rip off anything. The site and the author of the site is getting all the credit he deserves. Do you think his name is really, Seven? I wonder if the number, Three is taken.
After reading this list of possibilities, I'd like to align my aura with the idea of trinity, trifecta, tribunal, triple and triple sec. I'm no longer interested in exploring sinday or even the idea of sinning on this soothing Sunday. A little bit of reading has me scared straight, well at least for the next few minutes.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Soothing Sunday Pics
My daughter is a great photographer. Her pictures are worth a thousand words. She spent a weekend with her aunt in Bend recently and came back with some great pictures. Here are just a few. Just looking at them relaxes me on this soothing Sunday.
Maddie, the nature dog.
The Deschutes
Wildflower
Deschutes in Bend
Monday, July 11, 2011
Serenity NOW
Soothing Sunday.
Initially, I thought that dedicating Sunday as a day of rest would require a lot of hard work and fortitude on my part. Yesterday, Sunday surprised me by coming in gently and serenely. I watched Rick Steves on PBS visit the tiniest countries in Europe. I discovered there really is a Lichtenstein.
Then one of my favorite shows replayed. I love Art Wolfe's "Travels to the Edge." Yesterday, he journeyed to the northern islands of Japan. He visited a monastery where the monks practice a "homemade" religion combining Shintoism and Buddhism. I loved their creativity in devising a religious system that worked for them. Wolfe mentions the Japanese art of mixing simplicity with serenity. Those two concepts framed my day. Sunday was one of the most relaxing Sunday's I've enjoyed in years.
Initially, I thought that dedicating Sunday as a day of rest would require a lot of hard work and fortitude on my part. Yesterday, Sunday surprised me by coming in gently and serenely. I watched Rick Steves on PBS visit the tiniest countries in Europe. I discovered there really is a Lichtenstein.
Then one of my favorite shows replayed. I love Art Wolfe's "Travels to the Edge." Yesterday, he journeyed to the northern islands of Japan. He visited a monastery where the monks practice a "homemade" religion combining Shintoism and Buddhism. I loved their creativity in devising a religious system that worked for them. Wolfe mentions the Japanese art of mixing simplicity with serenity. Those two concepts framed my day. Sunday was one of the most relaxing Sunday's I've enjoyed in years.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Sunday
As much as I wanted to keep the spirit of soothing Sundays alive and well, I found it very difficult to keep with the theme. A psychologist once said that parents should never cry in front of their children. This Sunday I violated that should and cried in front of my kids.
I didn't want them to see me a teary-eyed mess. I'm sure that it is unsettling to see a parent cry, especially one that is usually rather stoic. My tears had a life of their own. I couldn't stop them so I was forced to make the best out of a less than ideal situation.
I tried to model emotional honesty. I told them I was upset and why. I told them that I would be fine but that I needed to cry and get my feelings out. Tears return as I remember their reaction. They showed me a tenderness and a strength, I don't often get to see. They balanced my sorrow with their love. In the midst of a great disappointment, they showed me how lucky I am.
As much as I'd like to protect them from the sorrows and disappointments in life, I can't. If I protect them too much, they will never learn resilence or how recognize their own strength. I hated falling apart in front of them. At first, they tried to cheer me up with reassurances of their love.
Then my son tried to make me laugh. He reminded me how I laughed at a skit on TV. One of the characters called himself, "Turd Ferguson." I smile through the tears and tell them, "I just need a little time to pull myself together."
Leaving the freeway for the backroads helped. Gliding over the old road home with the windows rolled down, my head began to clear. A new respect for my children was born. They comforted me and then let the van fill with an easy silence as I worked through my feelings. We stopped and I splurged on Frappicinos. "Are you feeling better, Mom?"
"Yes," I reply.
"I'm going to be alright."
Today, I showed them how human I was. They had the opportunity to soothe and comfort me and I had the opportunity to let them for just a little while.
I didn't want them to see me a teary-eyed mess. I'm sure that it is unsettling to see a parent cry, especially one that is usually rather stoic. My tears had a life of their own. I couldn't stop them so I was forced to make the best out of a less than ideal situation.
I tried to model emotional honesty. I told them I was upset and why. I told them that I would be fine but that I needed to cry and get my feelings out. Tears return as I remember their reaction. They showed me a tenderness and a strength, I don't often get to see. They balanced my sorrow with their love. In the midst of a great disappointment, they showed me how lucky I am.
As much as I'd like to protect them from the sorrows and disappointments in life, I can't. If I protect them too much, they will never learn resilence or how recognize their own strength. I hated falling apart in front of them. At first, they tried to cheer me up with reassurances of their love.
Then my son tried to make me laugh. He reminded me how I laughed at a skit on TV. One of the characters called himself, "Turd Ferguson." I smile through the tears and tell them, "I just need a little time to pull myself together."
Leaving the freeway for the backroads helped. Gliding over the old road home with the windows rolled down, my head began to clear. A new respect for my children was born. They comforted me and then let the van fill with an easy silence as I worked through my feelings. We stopped and I splurged on Frappicinos. "Are you feeling better, Mom?"
"Yes," I reply.
"I'm going to be alright."
Today, I showed them how human I was. They had the opportunity to soothe and comfort me and I had the opportunity to let them for just a little while.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Soothing Sunday
In a hectic world, it's nice to reserve at least one day a week for things that soothe the soul.When I was young, Saturday was the busy, "get-everything-done" day. While Sunday was the day to relax. We took lots of family drives on those childhood Sundays and explored lots of the backroads around home.
Soothing Sundays are about regrouping and spending time with family and loved ones. That's exactly what we did today. We took a leisurely Sunday drive and enjoyed the scenery and each other's company. We drove up the Washington side of the Columbia Gorge and crossed the river at Cascade Locks. There we patiently stood in line for a huge, small ice cream cone with "frosty swirl" flavoring at the Eastwind Drive-In. It was worth the wait.
http://www.cascadelocks.net/index.html
Soothing Sundays are about regrouping and spending time with family and loved ones. That's exactly what we did today. We took a leisurely Sunday drive and enjoyed the scenery and each other's company. We drove up the Washington side of the Columbia Gorge and crossed the river at Cascade Locks. There we patiently stood in line for a huge, small ice cream cone with "frosty swirl" flavoring at the Eastwind Drive-In. It was worth the wait.
http://www.cascadelocks.net/index.html
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