#2233 . . . is that a whimper?

Christmas has come and gone. jade page press is officially 10 years old. This is my two-thousand-two-hundred and thirty-third post. I was thinking yesterday that I seem to have lost my blogging mojo, and maybe for good. If this is true, I am going out with a whimper, it seems, because I still like coming back to the keyboard and typing away when the fancy strikes.

I have tried not to be formulaic here. Certainly I have done different things with the blog, keeping some tags going from start until now and letting a few go the way of history. Most posts have kept with the promise of "a writing space . . . nan's musings on the mundane, music & more" - with a few possibly deep or silly thoughts here and there. I have recorded several chapter-lives of my life in these 10 years and it is sort of interesting to see shades of past-mini-lifetimes within this lifetime.

One thing I miss is the time when more people were blogging and reading blogs. There was much more communication and more of a sense of community. This was before there were so many social media outlets (or shall we say, brain-sucks). Even I tend to turn more toward a few quick plays with Words With Friends than to a read a more thoughtful or pithy blog post. These days, when I come here, I tend to just write for myself. I have a few friends who use blog feeds and they see when I have a new post. They will sometimes comment or email. Thanks, for that, you know who you are. Otherwise, my Google Analytics has registered more by-way traffic through Russian servers, likely meaning nothing more than spam traffic or trying to get me to "Vote Trump!" as my Analytics counter has instructed me on the Russian referring traffic URLs since September. Dear God, this world.

I still have my blog reader feed, and do not seem to visit my favorite blogs often  - a big change from my daily reading. My life has taken on some changes this past year. And the changes are not necessarily those things one blogs about. So the blog becomes the place where I can settle in and relax a bit. To place a marker on a song as the internet DJ from WJPP or to talk about a movie. I don't tend to post many family photos anymore (the kids are all growing up and I am keeping those pictures for myself.) I am happy to report that there have continued to be family gatherings, Nutcrackers, times with good friends. Instagram is the quicker place to observe, appreciate and share those images from daily life.

Poetry continues to be a great love, even if I read more than I write. (It's probably better that way, ha ha ha.) Music, and now playing my flute again, is a great love, and joining the concert band is probably the thing that has taken me away from blogging the most as I need to and want to practice whenever I get a spare 30 minutes.

2016 has been a really interesting and difficult year on many levels. Just thinking of the influential people who have died this year and now today the news brings us the death of Carrie Fisher and Richard Adams -- two people who brought me some pleasure with their entertaining gifts. I am finding it hard to have enthusiasm for 2017 in terms of the state of the world and the dawn of a difficult and threatening political era. I feel disappointment with a tinge of fear when I swallow.

And then I take a deep breath and remember to have strength of spirit to move forward. One step. Another step. And another. Smile. Even if you don't feel happiness at first or organically, that smile will create happiness or at least peace. It's true.

So, this isn't goodbye to the blog. On the other hand, I am not making any commitment to continue - or at least continue with any specific frequency or regularity. I have had blog friends who have quit for good (I miss them) and some who quit for a time and came back (I am glad). I may just go out with a whimper - blogging here and there - with gratitude for the space, but letting go of my former disciplined and enthusiastic self. As life's changes cycle through, I may come back here more often again. And who knows? I am going to a movie this afternoon (The Eagle Huntress) that I have been excited to see, so I may be back here tomorrow or the next day. (I am thankfully on vacation this week.)  For now, let's hum that sentimental favorite and keep it in mind:

for auld lang syne, my dear,

for auld lang syne,

we'll take a cup of kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

And surely you'll buy your pint cup!

and surely I'll buy mine!

And we'll take a cup o kindness yet,

for auld lang syne

a different kind of thanksgiving

Bad weather sidelined our plans to travel today. This is the first Thanksgiving in my adult life I have been in my own home - not traveling, toting contributions to meals and sometimes early Christmas gift's for my sister-in-law and brother-in-law. Sometimes I have cooked a Thanksgiving meal on Christmas Eve because I am a pretty decent cook if I do say so, and I enjoy cooking this meal. So, we quickly gathered what we needed to whip up a nice small Thanksgiving meal today at home. While the turkey breast is roasting, and nearly all the side dishes done and ready to heat, I thought I would do a quick post here to share one of my favorite Eddie Izzard bits on the topic of Thanksgiving, and a few more thoughts below.

I am truly grateful for many blessings. I am grateful even for enough worry and difficult times to recognize joy when I feel it. I am watching it all - aiming for equanimity.

Wherever you are, if you are reading this, good wishes for peace, love, and safety on this holiday of the very best intentions. I have many fond memories of this day growing up. In recent years, since blogging here at JPP, I have put to keyboard quite a few Thanksgiving thoughts and quotes. For fun sometimes, I search the blog on a word, and scan through my past thoughts. If you want to do the same, here is the search on "thanksgiving." Cheers.

thoughts on the sirens

The Writer's Almanac poem yesterday was one of my favorites. Read this through slowly and then again. It brought me to a few reflections, below.

Sirens 

by Billy Collins 

Not those women who lure sailors
onto a reef with their singing and their tresses,
but the screams of an ambulance
bearing the sick, the injured, and the dying
across the rational grid of the city.
We get so used to the sound
it’s just another sharp in the city’s tune.
Yet it’s one thing to stop on a sidewalk
with other pedestrians to watch one
flashing and speeding down an avenue
while a child on a corner covers her ears
and a shopkeeper appears in a doorway,
but another thing when one gets stuck
in traffic and seems to be crying for its mother
who has fled to another country.
Everyone keeps walking along then,
eyes cast down—for after all,
there’s nothing we can do,
and today we are not the one peering
up at the face of an angel dressed in scrubs.
Some of us are late for appointments
a few blocks away, while others
have the day off and take their time
angling across a broad, leafy avenue
before being engulfed by the green of a park. 

“Sirens” by Billy Collins from The Rain in Portugal. © Random House, 2016. Reprinted at The Writer's Almanac with permission.  

At what point(s) in life did I tune out the sirens? Growing up three and a half blocks from a hospital, I would hear the sirens, especially at night, of ambulances rushing to get to it. This was not every night mind you. I didn't grow up in a large city. But it was often enough.

I would pause and say a silent prayer, "go with God" to that person or persons in the ambulance and to the driver and paramedic. This exercise went on for about 10 years from that childhood bed before I headed off to college. I wasn't a particularly religious kid. Like most kids, I was just "me." I imagined that maybe other people did this too and together, we helped send some comfort, some hope. No one taught me to do that. It was instinctive. I guess you could say it was automatic, momentary spirituality. I would send a brief moment of imaginary light toward the ambulance. It was all in my head. (I played a lot with light there...)

During my first two years in college, I don't recall hearing the sirens. I was in a busy, happy place, (immature place) and it definitely wasn't the real world. Then, some friends and I moved into the small city nearby our university. When college students move off campus, they move into city neighborhoods, and the homesteads I had over the next couple of years into my grad school years could be described as student slums. I started to hear the sirens again, and my old habit returned.

As an adult in a small college town, I hear the sirens now and then. I mostly pay attention and say my little prayer. Sometimes my imagination gets the better of me and prayer turns to worry and empathy as I have an 18 year old who drives. And sometimes I hear the sirens and I am just too busy to say a prayer, to engage in other people's pain, to recognize what those sounds I am tuning out signify. They mean emergency, urgency, frailty of life. And I head to my meeting? Write a report? Get a cup of tea?

After this election, I hear the sirens. I say a prayer for the ones who need the life saving as well as for myself to keep listening. Keep engaging. I may have the privilege to go on with my ordinary life due to my skin color, educational level, decent job and socioeconomic status. (Then again, I may not . . . ) Please, let me keep hearing the sirens and let me not just get used to them as something ordinary and expected in this world.

bottle

Last night I drifted off to sleep streaming YouTube videos made by Kirsten Lepore (instead of watching the debates). These videos have made the rounds back when they came out, but they are new to me. Just amazing. This is my favorite. Comical, mesmerizing whimsy, thought-provoking and deep. Enjoy "Bottle".

green

Green. It's many shades comprise my longest-time favorite color. (Okay, there have been others, but green always makes a comeback and right now it's going strong.) Green is the title of two of my favorite songs. The first is by Joni Mitchell and is absolutely brilliant for many reasons. This one, featured below, by Edie Brickell is also brilliant in its own way. The lyrics are clever and the theme, universal. Edie sings a smooth enjambment over the lines that convey appreciation and jealousy as two sides of a green coin.

The grass is greener for others, right? And sometimes, we are more than certain that our grass is way greener than someone else's. Sometimes we can even envy different points in our own lives. When we wish away the present, we think the grass of our past was, or future will most certainly be, greener. Whenever I remember the wisdom and beauty of this song, I try to kick it back to the old "we'll see" parable. At least for this morning, I am trying to tune into this present moment.

Yesterday afternoon and evening we celebrated the life of a friend who recently lost her battle with cancer. She touched many people's lives. Today we are off to a wedding held at a church service followed by a reception. Sorrows and joys on a cloudy weekend. Trying to appreciate all of life's offerings. WJPP out, wishing you a good day.

flute-tastic and a few reflections

This morning was made for coffee and listening to Emma Resmini. While Emma isn't yet on the Wikipedia list of child prodigies, she should be. For whatever reason, wind instruments get a stingy side glance from those that deem who is prodigious and who is not. She debuted at the age of 10 (well actually at age 7, but at age 10 back in 2010, she started getting major attention). She is now 16 and studying at the Curtis Institute (the conservatory that recruited my grandfather, who declined the opportunity in order to stay home to work and raise his family.) I have been following Emma on YouTube for nearly six years now and she has developed further. What an incredibly fine musician she is! I am posting a couple of pieces for you here. The first, above, is a beautiful piece by Ian Clarke called Hypnosis. This was recorded two years ago when Emma was 14. The other, below, is a briefer piece by a composer I really like that shows Emma's incredible technical ability. Estländler by Arvo Pärt is a piece designed for unaccompanied flute. This was recorded last year when Emma was 15. 

I started playing the flute at the age of 9 and in some ways, grew up with flute players. There really is a diva thing that goes on with many flutists who have decent abilities. I couldn't stand it, actually, as much as I loved to play. When I would go to solo competitions, I would go off by myself to stay away from the "head game" girls and the "nervous nellies." I just wanted to play, do my best, and then have some fun. I mostly succeeded. Except for the part where others would be jealous of my good marks when the scores came out. I disliked and was hurt by the jealousy the most. For whatever reason, I was consistently first flute and I just wanted to have fun and have people like me. Again, I think I mostly succeeded. Walking away from all the flute stuff mid-college was  freeing and a bit sad at the same time.

Now that I am back to playing again, I am really happy to be playing second flute. I look forward to getting back (hopefully mostly) all my technique and tone. My new flute is a joy to play. I am even doing some duets with a woman who works on my campus for an event in a couple of weeks. Having a musical outlet, for me, is a way to pause other life stresses, be in the moment, and breathe.

Off to the day. WJPP here, signing out.

harvest moon lingering

Last night the moon was full and bright. At 2 a.m. I wandered out to the kitchen to get a glass of water and visible, shining ambient light through window glass of the dark house lit my otherwise dark path. It brought me that familiar comfort of the peace I feel when I see that harvest moon. I stared out the window for a few minutes before heading back to sleep that was at times peaceful and at times filled with odd, realistic dreams of other realities.

The full moon reminds us of cycles. Another cycle comes to completion only to begin its slow fade out to black again. I snapped a photo on my iPhone before I went to bed last night. The moon was only half-way up the sky then, and it just couldn't be captured by that camera. Better to just remember it in my mind's eye. Today is a beautiful, autumn day... not too cool, warming up to nearly 80 degrees later, and then cooling down again. The day is as clear as last night was in mirror image. Savor-time.

Enjoy the best song that comes to mind when I think of the Harvest Moon. Here's Neil Young on WJPP - accompanied by some nice images. Thanks, YouTube.

saturday skips

silent chimes before dusk - 8.26.2016

Skipping yoga, here I sit sipping a second cuppa with sunshine out the window. I have to work this afternoon and tomorrow evening for the opening of school, making for not a whole lot of weekend, so am savoring a little time at home this morning.

Summer isn't officially over, but it has felt over for me starting this past week. Faculty are back on my campus, buzzing around and getting ready, and I've been working all summer except for a week here and a couple of days there. I try not to sigh too much thinking about what is ahead. Keep smiling and contentment fills in. Summer always goes too quickly for my liking. Even the very hot, humid, drought-filled summer that we had was a needed, needed season after the long winter and minuscule spring. My mother tells me that when I get older and am retired, I will love autumn.

Some of my favorite ways to savor the end of summer include sitting in an anti-gravity chair under the oak tree, or looking at the sky from the deck, listening to the gentle wind chimes and the leaves rustling gently. I've been writing small stone poems over at tiny river splash daily, and that has been fun.

My birthday is around the corner and I am going to treat myself to something I have dreamed about for a long time... not sure when it will happen, but I have started the process. I will be buying a new flute. The one I have had since 1977 was a great flute at that time. Had I gone on to music school, I would have upgraded then, but since I didn't, it didn't make sense to make that investment. As it is, my current flute stayed in its case mostly dormant for 30 years. Now, I am enjoying playing again with the concert band I joined last year and it's time. The musicians around me have some fine instruments, and I know my playing will be enhanced with a better instrument. That high A-flat? Well, that is partly me and partly my flute. I will keep working on it.

I write here so sporadically these days I kind of wonder if anyone reads these posts at all. Yet, I keep coming back to check in as if it is my connection with the unknown reader. Yes, I know I have a few blog friends who check in on me as I do on them. Thanks! Even without readers, this is as much of a diary as I have ever kept. It is interesting to observe what I choose to give words to and what stays hidden. The same goes for my other social media fun outlets Instagram or Facebook. What do I choose to "capture" and share, and what do I let go or just experience privately. It's a curious time we live in.

Anyway, have a lovely day. I hope to do the same. 

on the genius of tom petty and other memories

With my daily micro-poem writing over at tiny river splash this month, I haven't been spending much time here. But after going on a Tom Petty video watching marathon last night (streaming YouTube on the television screen), I knew I had to post a video or two today here. (My) Tom and I had read an article on the seven most underrated Tom Petty videos since we both agree he presents as just one of the coolest human beings ever. (Do you notice his detached observation mode in almost every performance? The videos somehow capture that ethos.)

Anyway, from the moment I first set eyes on him singing Refugee on Saturday Night Live in 1979*, I have felt a strange kinship with a rock and roller I will never meet. There is a deeper level to his lyrics and videos than the surface might show. He seems to have an understanding of suffering, pathos, and mistreatment of human beings in this world and yet, his songs and countenance portray the necessity that we still exist within and among this array of emotions and scenes, this crazy world.

Anyway, feel free to scan the article linked above and search out the seven videos. You might certainly be thinking of some of the more famous videos like Last Dance With Mary Jane... that one doesn't appear because it certainly isn't underrated. I will embed two below that I found interesting, disturbing and brilliant, each in different ways. These videos remind me of the MTV era of my younger days when there was a layer of interpretive art added to what would otherwise have been more two dimensional listening of music. We have been mainly back to just listening and watching live or studio performance videos with only the occasional true art video in recent years. Enjoy Swingin' and Walls. You will see a few cameos in Walls if you look carefully.

*Watching Tom Petty on his SNL debut is a very clear memory. Just recalling it now, I am transported back to the family room of the Moritz's home on W. Pine St. in my hometown where I was babysitting into the wee hours of the morning most Saturday nights. I was 14 years old with fairly conventional and strict parents. I would otherwise not have been allowed to be out at night at that hour and I wouldn't have been up allowed to be up watching SNL on the family TV. I loved babysitting at the Moritz's. Not only did they have great snacks (and always macaroons during Passover), the kids were nice, went to bed by 10, and I had hours of freedom after dark in a fun home. Sometimes I would call the late night radio host and request songs, in the days before caller ID, preserving my anonymity. My guess is that the DJ did not know how young I was or he wouldn't have flirted with me the way he did. The family paid pretty well (although babysitting wages were abysmal), and they came home happy and toasted. It was definitely one of my better babysitting gigs.

the return

We returned from a week at the lake on Friday afternoon. Here are just a few photos for you. I took so many it was hard to pick just what to post here.

Yesterday was spent in laundry and readying-for-the-week-ahead mode. Today has just a few things on the list as I prepare to go back to the routine tomorrow.

This annual lake vacation is something I treasure. We enjoyed the beauty of the Adirondacks... a cloudy day, a brief heavy rain, a nighttime thunder storm, and mostly perfectly sunny, breezy, warm days. The sunsets were beautiful. The week included some reading, a couple of mountain climbs, one tennis match, swimming, card playing, and taking in the vistas.

Not only is the environment completely re-charging, but I get to spend it with my family, recalling years of good memories and creating some new ones. To be together (and apart) in one familiar place is a lot of fun. Each year we have a pitch tournament (card game) and one team of two ends up with first prize mug "trophies." We take turns cooking and we go out to eat a couple of times. We have a lot of little traditions. Each year is different, and each year has common threads.

No week "all together" is completely perfect of course. There are a few moments of "button pushing," where we are reminded of the enmeshment of personalities that make up a large family. Someone might be sad one year due to one loss or another. This year we all grappled in one way or another with the loss (by impending divorce) of a brother-in-law. We all missed the old "entire" family after many, many years. We remember lasts. (Last year he was with us). There are new firsts. (This year my other sister had her longtime boyfriend stay for a few nights.) We know that future years will hold other losses. Loss is part of life, and life is all the sweeter to appreciate what we have right now.

Another thing I realized, and I don't know why I was so surprised by this, but vacations are different when your child gets older. The teen arrived late to the week and left early due to his work schedule, and it was odd and a bit worrisome to have him away from us for three of the days. Thank goodness for text messaging to give me some reassurances. Probably my happiest snapshot memory this past week was the night before the teen had to leave, and all the cousins knew it, they all decided to run to a dock and jump in the water (some in their clothes...) and go night swimming. They actually without realizing it jumped in in age order with my guy first, then the other four cousins following -- with just a moment's hesitation by the youngest (10) before she plunked in. They swam together to a shallower part and played in the water and they tapped into that happy, carefree childhood place that I wish we could bottle.

Every year, I see a friend and colleague from within my university system who vacations the same week we do nearby with her extended family.  We see each other more on the beach in this one week of the year than we do otherwise because she lives/works about 3 hours from where I do. Her children are still young and she doesn't get to relax much. We had a laugh about how she was jealous of me being able to read in a chair at the beach area, not having to be lifeguard, being able to relax during the days ... Meanwhile, I was a bit jealous of that sweet time with a young child when I knew everything about when my son played, ate, and slept. Now, I am awake many nights at 3 a.m. when my son is at his late night food delivering job and I wonder if he is safe, if he is tired, if he is eating properly (because he certainly doesn't have a good sleep cycle.) I guess being a parent means to never relax if you let that stress and worry and fear get to you -- and it means coming into harmony with those things as possible. My mom and I had a talk about letting go of "control" in being a parent. She wisely stated that it is a fine line between "control" and "responsibility," and finding that balance is the key.

Separation is normal, and it happens, and I suppose we are never quite ready for it. The challenge is to have a strong mind, a present mind, and I did okay. One thing I decided to do was the #AwakeAugust small stones writing month. I haven't been writing much lately. The small stones form is a form I very much enjoy. If you are interested, they are posted over at tiny river splash.

So, off to the day I go. Holding onto this inner Adirondacks peace as long as I possibly can. Ciao.

mandala thoughts

"Each person’s life is like a mandala – a vast, limitless circle. We stand in the center of our own circle, and everything we see, hear and think forms the mandala of our life."  -- Pema Chodron

[Had some fun coloring this past week...]

high hopes

Friends, having trouble blogging poetry or positive thoughts lately. Words are on my finger tips. I am seeking wisdom and comfort in the words and voices of others right now. The state of the world is depressing. I can't bring myself to blog about the RNC or Donald Trump or race relations and the violence that is going on between certain lives and certain other lives because I get seriously nauseated (and/or numb).

Even with all the privilege I have allowing me at times to bury my head in the sand, everyday life can be challenging in its own ways. Living moment to moment is good - and I am finding wonderful distractions, however temporary they may be. This is a melancholy selection. It is a beautiful selection.

Enjoy this track off Pink Floyd's 1994 Division Bell called High Hopes. I posted another version of this song back in 2012, but the video has been taken down. It is worthy of repeating.

Pasted below is a selection from one of my favorite writers Anne Lamott who recently provided some powerful inspiration. She is a bit too "born again" for me at times*, but I adore her writing and her fierce, loving voice, wit, and intelligence. (*Don't get me wrong, I have faith and seek to experience the divinity of the universe . . . I just don't have the specific faith beliefs she ascribes to. Her progressive and liberal activism is admirable. When she asks WWJJD? She really looks into what that means!)

"Life has always been this scary here, and we have always been as vulnerable as kittens. Plagues and Visigoths, snakes and schizophrenia; Cain is still killing Abel and nature means that everyone dies. I hate this. It's too horrible for words. When my son was seven and found out that he and I would not die at the exact same second, he said, crying, "If I had known this, I wouldn't have agreed to be born." Don't you feel like that sometime?

My father's mother lost a small child in the 1918 flu pandemic. Someone in the family is having a nervous breakdown. A yoga teacher was shot down the road last year by some druggies, while walking on a foot path. A yoga teacher! And then in recent weeks, Orlando, police shooting innocent people, and innocent police officers being shot, and now Nice.

How on Earth do we respond, when we are stunned and scared and overwhelmed, to the point of almost disbelieving?

I wish there was an 800 number we could call to find out, so I could pass this along to my worried Sunday School kids.But no. Yet in the meantime, I know that we MUST respond We must respond with a show of force equal to the violence and tragedies, with love force. Mercy force. Un-negotiated compassion force. Crazy care-giving to the poor and suffering, including ourselves. Patience with a deeply irritating provocative mother. Two dollar bills to the extremely annoying guy at the intersection who you think maybe could be working, or is going to spend your money on beer. Jesus didn't ask the blind man what he was going to look at after He restored the man's sight. He just gave hope and sight; He just healed. To whom can you give hope and sight today. What about to me, and disappointing old you? Radical self-care: healthy food, patience and a friendly tone of voice, lotions on the jiggly things, forgiving pants, lots of sunscreen and snacks. Maybe the random magazine.
Do you have your last computer on the shelf, that you really don't have time or effort to take to the after-school program in your town--but you are going to do today? Go flirt with the oldest people at the market--tell them you are glad to see them. Voila: Hope and sight.

Remember the guys in the Bible whose friend was paralyzed, but couldn't get in close to see Jesus preach and heal, so they carried him on a cot, climbed the roof, and lowered him down for the healing? Can a few of you band together--just for today--and carry someone to the healing? To the zen-do? To a meeting? Help a neighbor who is going under, maybe band together to haul their junk to the dump? Shop for sales for a canned food drive at the local temple or mosque? How about three anonymous good deeds?

There is no healing in pretending this bizarre violent stuff is not going on, and that there is some cute bumper sticker silver lining. (It is fine if you believe this, but for the love of God, PLEASE keep it to yourself. it will just tense us all up.) What is true is that the world has always been this way, people have always been this way, grace always bats last, it just does--and finally, when all is said and done, and the dust settles, which it does, Love is sovereign here."  Anne Lamott

an early memory: ethical dilemma #1

[Still in draft form. This may need some work.]

What we know about our early selves often comes from our elders. Few people have clear and cogent memories of  themselves as babies or toddlers. Often we've heard stories about what we were like as infants or seen photos, and together those  become "memories" of who we were as little acorns. I know well the story of me playing my first ever joke on someone because my mother has shared it with me several times. Apparently, my mother was hurriedly trying to get two children under the age of 18 months all dressed and out of the house. I had hidden one of my shoes and then when my mom asked me where my shoe was, I toddled into the bathroom smiling and pointing and saying "toilet" (or whatever my language for that thing was at that age). As the story goes, my mom panicked and went running in to look. When she looked and nothing was in there, I started laughing. And then I went and got my other shoe from my bedroom.

I know well the story of how my mother found me pacing in the hallway with worry at my grandmother's house when she came to pick me up to bring me home after my second sister was born (I was 3 and a half years old and my grandmother had told me I had to help my mother as the "oldest" of three). Again, I know this about myself because my mom has told me the story. Actual memories kick in around age 4 and 5, and those memories seem to be associated with sheer joy, pain, or dilemma. This makes sense to me based on the limited knowledge I possess about the brain and learning/memory and emotion.

A couple of weeks ago I attended a two-day Ethics Institute on my campus. Working in my small group on some case studies, the memory of my first ethical dilemma came bubbling up. It wasn't exactly the classic Heinz dilemma, but in its own way, illustrated similar reasoning for when a person breaks rules in order to mitigate against (perceived) harm. My colleague and friend Kathy encouraged me to write it down, and why not? I have a blog after all. This is a place for musings, so here goes.

My youngest sibling was born with a minor, correctable problem with his feet/legs. When he was a baby, and I was nearly five, he first had to wear plaster casts to help his feet turn outwards and up. The casts didn't seem to bother him too much because he had some mobility while lying in his crib or sitting up.  After the casts, he was outfitted with special hard-soled baby shoes that were mounted on the bottom of either end of a maybe 12 inch steel bar. In the middle of the bar was a screw that could set for the angle necessary for keeping his feet apart and turned out. The screw, when tightened and when the shoes were laced up kept his little legs immobile. I imagine this felt like . . . not pain, but a constraining and immobilization when he wanted to kick and move. He had to wear this contraption for so many hours per day, and I actually think, overnight.

I remember my baby brother crying when he would be put in his shoe-brace. I remember my mother telling me (and presumably my two younger sisters) that this was good for the baby and was going to help him. She told us this wasn't hurting him and to not worry. I remember her telling us not to touch the brace because it was set "just so," and I remember thinking that there was no way this wasn't bothering this little baby. Even though I knew I had been specifically told not to, I distinctly remember sneaking into his room on several occasions when he was lying in his crib and loosening the screw in the middle of the steel brace so that he could move a bit more. I remember my sisters and I stroking his head and arms to sooth his crying. I also remember my mother saying after one of these episodes that she didn't know how in the heck this child was loosening the brace! (She recently told me that my brother made regular progress at his check ups, so either he didn't need all that brace time or the time he had was sufficient . . . ). As it turns out, he was not only "fine," he went on to become a gifted athlete in high school, college, and even beyond college traveling the world on an Olympic and World Cup teams.

Did I think then that I did the right thing by breaking the rule that had been set in front of me? Yes, I think nearly five-year-old Nan reasoned it out. I made a decision in my young brain and heart that just because my mother said something was good and right didn't mean that it necessarily was. I loosened the screw because it seemed like the "more right" thing to do at the time. I did have a bit of guilt and some inner struggle, and I think that is why I remember this so clearly. I only confessed to this "crime in the name of something more important" years later. The fact remains that the brace may have been the more right thing after all. I guess we'll never know. The good news is that my mom laughed pretty hard and it all worked out well.

Post script,  There are a few other early memories in the bin. Early on in the history I wrote about sneaking under the Christmas tree at age five or so when everyone was asleep. Perhaps another time I will tell the story of the events that occurred in the hospital just prior to my tonsillectomy at age 4 or lying to the priest in the confessional at age 7 or 8 (so that I was doing the sacrament of First Confession correctly, you know?) Like this story of the first ethical dilemma, these early memories are not just "everyday" occurrences. They are the ones seared in by powerful emotional reaction - joy, pain, angst, shame. I'll bet even if you don't think you have many early memories, if you think back to your earliest memories, they may bring you back to some time, some emotion worth revisiting.

change the world

bring joy.

find joy.

thisisindexed.com by Jessica Hagy

It's that time of year . . . college graduations! These past two weekends, two great young people I have known since birth and age two respectively earned their bachelor's degrees. So proud of Sarah and Cory. Yesterday was a 13-hour day as a marshal for three commencement ceremonies at my campus (9:30 a.m., 2:30 p.m., and 7 p.m.). I enjoy all the pomp and circumstance, emotions, chance to support our students one more time before they move on. My job this year was lead student line marshal. It is both fun and hectic as I had to make announcements, answer questions (mainly from colleagues who hadn't paid attention during rehearsal) and most importantly count no more than 17 students into each row (after row after row) in the arena so that we didn't have any impromptu games of musical chairs after the procession. I heard several speeches, and a couple of them I got to hear three times. Two of the many were absolutely fantastic. The student speech was solid and heartfelt. Perhaps because I heard it three times or perhaps because I think highly of the student, part of it is staying with me. The student shared this Leo Buscaglia quote:

“Ancient Egyptians believed that upon death they would be asked two questions and their answers would determine whether they could continue their journey in the afterlife. The first question was, 'Did you bring joy?' The second was, 'Did you find joy?”

Fellow graduates and audience were reminded to bring joy and to find joy in life as they journey forward. Add to that the faith we all find in others and in ourselves and I don't think it is a platitude to suggest that we can change the world - even little by little. Let's do it.

a sense of place

Charles B. Wang Center, Stony Brook University

Happy Saturday! I am back from a 39 hour whirlwind trip to a one and a half day conference. Five hours down and six hours back thanks to some city traffic getting through NYC - it was well worth the time and energy. I ended up doing all the driving, and had to get some "city driving" on in parts, but all is well and I am home for what I hope is a relaxing weekend. The conference was held at Stony Brook University in a beautiful building called The Wang Center. There were several exhibitions going in the gallery spaces, and there were interesting and beautiful indoor fountains throughout the building. I love water fountains! It was a great setting for a conference of just a couple hundred people. And the food was good, to boot.

Why did I title this post "a sense of place?" I think it is because I really liked the center where the conference was housed. Asian art abounded from several different cultures and times. The sound of water flowing, the light, the design . . . was expansive. It was a perfect place to think and learn. I also feel a sense of place being home after a relatively long drive in a short space of time. Think about sense of place. It is both grounding and freeing at the same time. Cheers.

mad world

WJPP featuring Alex Parks covering the old Tears for Fears song Mad World (off her 2003 debut album). This is going out by request, and I had a chance to pick which video would accompany this beautiful melancholy song. I settled on this great space-themed montage because I find that whenever I am dealing with any kind of episodic depression over the state of something in life, a technique I use comes straight out of Jon Kabat-Zinn. I change my relationship to whatever it is. It is a shift in sight/thought-pattern. A zoom out. You can still see it as "a mad word," but you can look at it from an angle. If you can't remove yourself from the feelings, you can on some level observe yourself feeling them. I am lucky. For me, these are episodic things and usually very brief. Others need more help, and I truly hope they seek the help they need.

I really enjoy Alex's voice. She is originally from Cornwall, England, a place I would very much like to visit thanks to my obsession with the BBC show Doc Martin. Happy Sunday to you. To chase those winter blahs, I am enjoying a concert weekend as I head into a few busy work weeks that will keep me so busy, I won't notice that spring is slowly starting to happen (even if just in fits and starts). Friday night was Cowboy Junkies and tonight is . . . (drum roll) . . . the venerable Joan Baez. I am one lucky, lucky person. I am not sure when I will get to blog about it, but trust me, I will!

sea glass

polished piece of glass
sharp edges worn smooth
by elements - water, sand, and motion
rounded almost silky
in my palm
cool, hard, comforting
this glass
can't cut my flesh
anymore
time has made it
something changed
from what it was

© nan, 2016

Just a quick poem this evening as I think about the ocean, and beating waves, and warmth, and beach walking, barefooted. I like to think about time and change -- what we don't notice and then what we do. It is mid-February and cold where I live. It is a hard time in winter. In my previous jobs, I always managed to have to travel somewhere warm in February or March. No such luck this year or last - although I do have a little travel planned next month and in early April... it is for nowhere warm. This little poem popped up. Ciao.

i took it as a sign

A couple of posts ago I talked about how I joined a concert band in the next over city. At the time my friend asked me to play because they needed flutes (hardly ever a need for flutes), I felt it was a kind of sign... a wake up call to get back to something that used to bring me a lot of joy. Two weeks down and fairly regular practice begun, its true. I am enjoying it very much. The tendons in my right hand are sore, but I think that will subside.

On Thursday, at the weekly noon interfaith worship hour I go to on campus (some readings from various faiths, some singing, some meditation, some joys and sorrows), I decided I would share a joy and that the joy would be joining this concert band. I am usually pretty quiet at these things even though it is a small and comfortable group of people. Before I left my office to head to the service, I thought I had better find and return a book of poetry that Reverend Vicki had loaned me last spring...a book called I Hear God Laughing -- a collection of poems by the Sufi poet Hafiz (or Hafez). I had enjoyed flipping through the lighthearted, interesting, spiritual poems, but I hadn't opened it in months.

Before returning a book, and especially a book of poems, I like to play this little game where I open the book up to a random page to read something where the opening occurred, and try to keep that as symbolic. Wherever that random break occurs is to me like a crack into the light of the larger universe, and I am supposed to take in that slice of light. It is worth paying attention to it and trying to hold it a while.

So to add a layer to the "taking it as a sign" meanderment here, this is the poem that I read when I opened the book randomly to page 54:

How fun is that? I did share my joy at the Interfaith Center, and I read this poem. And now, if I were to open a book of poems, would it be about collecting a year's worth of documents and figures to get the tax prep folder ready? This is not the most fun "hour" (it will take me more than an hour) to spend, but it has to be done. It is my goal for the day. I am also a good procrastinator, so I have a feeling there are other things I will need to get done first. Cheerio.

this every day

When I sit down at the computer to tap out a post, I often know what I will write about. I start with a post title and then hit the narrative or the poem or the video. This morning, I sit down with the idea of doing an "everyday" post since I haven't written in a while. I have only had a few sips of coffee, rather unmindfully, and so I only have a vague idea of what I will write. Thus, my title, and now, if you wish, follow along a strand of consciousness. There are no pictures.

Like many people, I have different personas all wrapped into one, and most of the time I keep them all together and whole and the unifying persona of responsible, competent, pleasant and balanced adult is what the world sees. A few close friends see my silly, wacky, childlike self. Occasionally, party girl comes out, and then there's humorless super woman, the meditator, the band geek, and others. Recently a few of these personas have made appearances.

For a couple of weeks in January, while the spouse was on a 2+ week work trip, I got to be a single parent. It was fun at times, although definitely more work doing the duties that are normally split between two parents, and it gave the teen and I a chance to have some nice time together (when he wasn't working at the ski center or spending time with his girlfriend). There were moments, however of humorless superwoman. She gets it done, but she is more tired and less interesting than she'd like.

This past week things got back to normal. Well, sort of. My semester at work started up again and when a new semester starts, it is like my campus goes from humming-busy to / light switch flipped warp speed. We'll be at this speed until mid-March when there is a week where the students mostly go away. The added excitement to my week is that a friend of mine who has played in a concert band in the next city over told me that they need flutes. That is something you almost never hear as usually there are plenty of flutes. I was, at one time, a good flute player. I haven't played with a concert band in 30 years, and this is a high caliber band. Kind of impulsively, I joined. I have a LOT of practicing to do to get my fingers back into shape. We rehearse one night a week. There are two concerts every spring and fall, and four in the summer. I will travel about 30 min. one way to get to rehearsal one evening after work each week. I had so much fun, I can't even tell you. I hope I can keep up and get back to where I need to be quickly. I really hope nobody finds out how rusty my playing really is.

This morning I promised myself I would go back to yoga. I haven't been to yoga on a Saturday morning in weeks... since before the holidays. Part of that was because of the holidays, and then the spouse's absence, and this morning, it is because I couldn't drag ass out of bed because I had not one but two vodka gimlets last night when we went out on the town to hear some live music and then dinner. I fell asleep watching television at 10:30 p.m. Party girl doesn't have the same capacity that she used to. It was, however, fun, and I do hope to get to yoga tomorrow afternoon. 

Okay, that's all for now. The coffee cup needs refilling and I am getting ready to face the day. Chores, practicing, maybe some Netflix*, some food to cook and bread to bake.  (*Current shows: Nurse Jackie, Broadchurch, and The Detectorists...) Have a great weekend. I hope to be back with music and poetry soon. 

mlk jr. day

I started my day off trying to honor in my own way the reason we have this holiday. I read through many quotes - so many good ones we will all see online today. This is the one I picked . . . not for its high aspiration, as many quotes contain, but rather for its imperative that no matter how bad things are, we have to keep moving forward. At a time when I avoid the political debates of both parties because the vitriol is depressing, and at a time when our country has become more partisan, more polarized, and maintaining and propagating the idea that there can only be a binary of winners and losers, this was the quote that stood out to me the most today.

We have more than a binary. It is more than black and white, Democrats and Republicans, liberals and conservatives, us and them. We have to find a way to keep finding a radiating center that includes all of us. We have humanity. As long as there are closed hearts, it makes moving forward more of a crawl than a flight. But let's keep moving forward, in whatever way we can. Don't let the withering dream die. As the catch phrase goes (and I don't know who originally said it,) "no one has to do everything, but everyone has to do something."