Good News!

I don’t know about all of you, but I have some pretty severe Covid news fatigue about now.  It comes up in nearly every article or news story as I search to learn what’s happening in our world. It’s like nothing else is going on.  It works its way into nearly every conversation I have with people.  I know there’s a lot going on and a lot to think about, but I’m pretty done with talking about it ad nauseum. 

Feeling a bit frustrated with it all today, I decided to really dig deep and find some good news to share with you all.  It’s got to be out there, right?  Did you know there are now websites that only feature positive news stories?  There really are real life good things happening in real time.  Most of them don’t make the front page or capture online headlines, but I promise you they are out there.  So in my own personal effort to alleviate the constant onslaught of pandemic news overload, here are a few happy headlines that hopefully at least garner a tiny smile on your face today. 

1.   Old Irish Goats Return to Dublin to Protect Hills from Wildfires.  Subheading:  Ireland is tackling the continued threat of wildfires by employing dozens of endangered goats. 

What’s not to love about this?  Save the goats, save Dublin……this is excellent!  And aren’t they cute?

2.   One Man Set Out to Make the Perfect Pasta Shape.  Subheading:  It’s so popular that orders are backed up for months.

According to the article, it has the perfect sauceability and forkability.  The world is a better place, don’t you think?

3.  Top Beef Supplier Approves Methane Busting Feed Additive that Reduces Gas by 55%.

Good news for the ozone and the cows are contented, too.  Who doesn’t love a happy cow? This was a very mooooving story (sorry, it had to be said).

4. 100 Year Old Grandma Sets Guinness World Record as a Powerlifter.  Subheading:  And She Continues Winning. 

I have a few years to perfect my power lift.  This is great news for those of us who have started to shuffle when we get out of bed in the morning.  

5.  Plumber has Landed a Record Deal After Music Mogul Heard Him Singing While He Fitted His Bathroom. 

Just my opinion, but he should probably keep his day job.  Unless he’s Michael Buble`, he’ll make more plumbing.  

How are we all feeling? A little lighter?  Hope at least one corner of your mouth turned up at one of these good news headlines.  I’ll just leave you with these and a reminder that lots of good is happening every day, so don’t forget to look for it (speaking to myself here as well).  Make it a happy, light-hearted, skip-in-your-step kind of day, friends!  

"Hope is the Thing with Feathers"

“It’s strange to think that most of the matter in the universe is invisible.  We know dark matter exists, we see its effects, but we cannot point to it and say, ‘There it is! That’s dark matter! Look at it!  I told you it existed!’  Maybe our single-minded focus on the light makes us unable to see the dark that’s all around, always.  Like when you turn off the lights in a bright room and, for the first few seconds, you can’t make out shapes you saw so clearly moments before.  In those first few seconds of dark, your eyes would have you believe there’s nothing else there.  But your eyes are wrong.  Something is there, whether you see it or not.”   Alicia Elliot, A Mind Spread Out on the Ground

I just finished a book that gave me pause and I’m still trying to process it. I need to talk about it.  It hits close to home and I am realizing that there are still a lot of things I have not understood correctly.  There have been things that I assumed or never bothered to ask or learn. But I’m writing this because we all need to absorb the fact that ignorance is not innocence. If we have a brain and a shred of desire to understand where other people are coming from, we must take the time to listen and learn. We must accept that we don’t know what we don’t know, but we can find out. 

The book I just read is A Mind Spread Out on the Ground by Alicia Elliot. Elliot herself is a mixture of caucasian and indigenous heritage and the book is a series of essays from her personal experience of growing up caught between two cultures. Her father was Mohawk and her mother white Roman Catholic.  Her family bounced between Canada and the US and lived everywhere from the Six Nations Reserve to a homeless shelter.  She so poignantly describes what it was like growing up in severe poverty and not knowing whether to embrace her “white culture” and abandon her Native heritage or preserve the Native traditions and live with those ramifications in her own life.  A “mind spread out on the ground” is the transliteration for the Mohawk word for depression.  Depression is something that runs rampant in Native people groups.  It makes sense when you think about struggling every day to fit in without abandoning the history, the culture, the traditions of what it means to be part of a people who have been relegated to “lesser than”. 

Having grown up in Montana, which has a significant Native population, I should be more aware of what life was like for those trying to bridge the gap between cultures. I had friends in my small town who were Native. I honestly did not think of them as different.  Sure, I knew their skin was darker than mine, but they were friends and playmates who didn’t seem very different to me. But I didn’t live their life. I have no idea what they struggled with that they didn’t talk about. After elementary school we went on to different middle and high schools. I knew no one who lived on a reservation or tried to maintain the traditions of their tribe or heritage while navigating living in a mostly white community. As I got older, I was remotely aware that there was a stereotype or generalization about those with “Indian” bloodlines. I heard labels. I heard conversations. But I didn’t understand enough to know what it was like to live with those stereotypes on a daily basis. 

I don’t apologize for my European mutt genetics. I don’t apologize that I never understood – that I didn’t know what I didn’t know. But the more I read and the more I try to understand, I do apologize if I tolerated stereotypes and generalizations of anyone who didn’t look like me. I know I will never fully appreciate what it means that I didn’t struggle because of my skin color or ancestry. I can’t change how I was born or raised. But I want to learn more about how NOT being European mutt made life different and harder. I want to know more than what was in our history books that were written from the colonist point of view. 

I also firmly believe in human resiliency.  With everything in me, I believe we can overcome what life has handed us even if it may seem insurmountable.  Sometimes it’s hard to find, but there is always a way out and a way up.  Sometimes it means we have to ask for help and let others stand in the gap for us. Those of us who are struggling need to reach out and those of us who are strong need to come alongside. That is how change happens – one soul at a time. 

A Mind Spread Out on the Ground left a lot of questions in my mind.  Some of the essays didn’t seem to apply to the topic of the book, but rather explored her feelings about other areas of life.  Some even seemed to me a bit self-indulgent and biased politically. It is a collection of essays which gives her the freedom to wander. However, the basic premise is powerful and thought provoking.  A reader doesn’t always have to agree with the writer for a book to have value.

I challenge you to read this book. I challenge you to learn what you don’t know. I challenge each of us to break down barriers and learn about those who grew up differently and who might still struggle between heritages or even with what their parents and grandparents experienced. I can’t change history, but I can hear you and try to understand. I’m listening. 

Autumn Revisited

Endings and beginnings;

seasons flow from one to the next

as if nothing is different from the day before.

But change is inevitable.

From death to life and back again,

a revolving cycle of letting go and starting over.

Leaves drop at the first sign of solstice.

Others determine to overcome winter’s murderous plot.

The ones that let go make way for new growth.

Those that hang on remain ever green year after year.

Which is right and which is wrong?

Both.  Neither. There is no right or wrong.

They just do what they are called and designed to do.

Nature needs both.  Life needs both.

Understanding gives way to acceptance;

fighting intended destiny is futile. It all turns out as it should.

It’s a perfect blueprint by a master designer.

Welcome the change. Embrace the ebb and flow.

Peace comes in knowing the next season always arrives on time. 

The Gift of Second Chances

Every now and then something happens in the everyday, ordinary things that we do that turns a day upside down; things that make you stop to pause and reflect, and they stay with you. The past few years, before things got weird with eating out and being close to people, Keith and I used to go on a happy hour date night every Thursday. We tended to gravitate to the same places that we knew had good deals in the late afternoon so our dates weren’t an extravagance. It was a chance to reconnect, have conversations we might not at home, and just enjoy spending time together. 

There is one particular restaurant that we returned to on a regular basis. It became our “go to” because the food was great and the staff was the same from week to week (if you watched the television series “Cheers”, this was the place where everybody knew our names). We got to know our servers and they always seemed glad to see us. One such server was a guy who always greeted us warmly, asked what was new with us, and took great care of us so that we were always glad he was there when we showed up. 

One day as we sat in our usual place in Jimmy’s section, he said, “It’s been great to serve you guys these past couple years. You won’t see me here after tonight. I’m moving.”  We told him we would be sad not to see him anymore and asked about his plans. He took the time to tell us that he had been incarcerated and because of that he had lost connection with his family, and particularly his only son. He shared that he had worked hard to get his life back on track and to reconnect with that son. “I’m moving home to Oregon to be close to my family and get to know a grandson I haven’t met yet.”

I still think about Jimmy whenever we go to that particular restaurant. I think about his second chance at life. I don’t know what had landed him in jail, but he was given a shot to start over and worked hard to put the pieces of his life back together. He was so pleased and proud about reconnecting with his son and couldn’t wait to move closer and work at being family after all the years he had missed.

The thing is, when we met Jimmy, we never would have guessed his backstory. He just seemed like a nice guy and hard worker at a job he probably didn’t love, but he did it cheerfully and was great with his customers. He didn’t have to tell us what he had been through, but he was brave and chose to put himself out there because he was proud of how far he had come after making some mistakes with hard consequences. That last day we saw Jimmy, we congratulated him and wished him all the best at rejoining his family. 

For me it was a lesson about second chances that has stayed with me. When we know someone’s story and we aren’t necessarily approving of their choices, are we willing to offer second chances or do we write them off? Do we allow people to regain our trust once they’ve blown it? Do we offer acceptance or keep them at arm’s length?

I understand that we need to set boundaries with some people, but I think the answer comes in that each and every one of us have had a second chance that perhaps we take for granted. None of us are perfect and we are very human, which means we are prone to messing up. But we have a God who never writes us off and gives second, third and fourth chances every single day. Should we do any less for those around us? 

Jimmy, thanks for being brave with your story. I would love to know how things are for you now. I hope you stayed on track and have an awesome relationship with that grandchild. I’ll likely never know for sure, but I like to think of you as one who did not take his second chance for granted. Hopefully I am as grateful for mine. 

When You Can't Fly, Hop

As fall begins to encroach on the last of summer days, I’ve been trying to get out in nature as much as possible. One of the places where I enjoy taking in the outdoors is a small deck outside of our bedroom. We’ve created what I call my “mini sanctuary” with a couple of chairs and a little table and a water fountain. It’s an area of our property that is pretty isolated from neighbors and it has lots of bushes and trees. We added several hummingbird feeders as well.  I delight in spending time out there reading, writing, or just contemplating life. Visitors consist of deer, squirrels, rabbits, all kinds of birds and sometimes even my husband.  Spending time there increases my well-being and peace and gives me time to just breathe. 

Lately I’ve noticed a flicker hopping about on the ground foraging for bugs in the grassy area off of the deck.  Flickers are common in our neck of the woods. They’re a type of woodpecker and in the spring, they like to peck incessantly on our metal chimney in an attempt to attract a mate. They can’t be deterred from their goal, so we just have to tolerate the loud pounding echoing down the chimney until a female answers the call. 

When I first saw him, I didn’t think much of his search for food amongst the grass and bushes. But day after day, there he was, still on the ground. He would occasionally hop up a tree trunk, but never flew away. One day he came quite close and I could see that one of his wings appeared damaged. I hoped it would heal so he could migrate to the trees, but he’s still grounded. I am not encouraged about his future as a normal flicker with fall and then winter setting in. If he isn’t caught by the neighbor’s cat, his food source will dry up in frozen ground. 

In observing his behavior for these many days, I am struck by his survival instinct and resiliency. After the course of his natural life changed, he did what he had to do. He found a way to live with what he had been handed. He found places to take refuge from predators and he waits for the sprinklers to bring bugs to the soil’s surface. He has not given up and seems determined to survive.

I realize I’m talking about a bird here. Not a huge brain; doing what his instincts and hunger tell him to do. But perhaps there is a lesson for us from a flicker. We are handed all sorts of challenges in life and have a choice about how we will respond. I had a bout with cancer 18 years ago and was pretty amazed at how strongly the survival instinct kicks in when you are faced with potential varying outcomes. I had the choice to be overwhelmed and fearful about the future or to take one day, one option, one treatment at a time. There were some residual long-term effects from that experience, but having survived, they seem small to deal with compared to the alternative. 

We all have choices about responding to the foggy days in life when our flights get grounded. That flicker is taking one meal, one challenge at a time. All he knows is to continue to hop. We can determine to put one foot in front of the other and deal with one challenge at a time, too. It’s far easier to see the sun rising each day if we don’t block it out with the cares of life and  worries about the future darkening our perspective. So, keep hopping. That broken wing may heal, or we may learn to work with what we have left. And don’t forget to wait for the sprinklers.  

But Love Remains

Memories vivid as the day it happened.

9/11.  9-1-1.  Shock. Horror. Disbelief.

One by one the hijacked planes created a path of destruction

that no one ever believed would happen.

Time stopped.  Not just on our soil, but across the globe. 

Nothing. Would. Ever. Be. The. Same.

Changes no one wanted.  Fear became reality.

Doubt and anger and suspicion took the place of freedom.

All the questions.  How?  Who?  Why?  What now?

Twenty years later we still feel the pain of that day. 

But an event of hate and destruction and death

became kindness and unity and offers of help.

A day planned to tear us apart brought the world together.

Never forget.  But remember the love that came after.

May it be what remains.

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep....or Not

As children, we probably never thought much about sleep except for the fact that we didn’t want to do it.  In those growing and learning years, there were lots of things going on around us that we didn’t want to miss out on.  Sleep seemed like a colossal waste of time when there were so many potentially fun things to do when we were supposed to be sleeping.  Napping?  Who wants to do that?  I never did.  My parents were sure I should, but perhaps that was more about them having a break than me needing one.  I remember leaving my bedroom door open a crack to peek at the late night television shows my parents wouldn’t let me stay up to watch, and also doing the flashlight under the covers to read a book trick. 

I was a great sleeper for a long time.  I went to sleep easily, slept about eight hours, and woke up rested.  Now granted, I was never a cheerful morning person and began kick-starting my morning with coffee when I was in high school.  After I married, my husband learned to just hand me a cup in the morning and leave me alone for at least thirty minutes before engaging (he’s a cheerful morning person).  Getting used to trying to sleep in the same bed with another person was a whole adventure, but once I got used to sharing air and covers and space, I still managed to sleep well. 

Then kids entered the picture.  Once tiny humans come on the scene, most moms probably sleep with one ear in listen mode at all times.  I became a much lighter sleeper and was on alert for all the sounds a house makes at night (internal alarms to protect the offspring) as well as waiting for said infant to wake up to eat or need comfort.  This new “light sleep” also made me aware that the house could blow up around my husband and he would not wake, let alone rescue the baby.  For a lot of years Keith traveled for work during the week so I single parented and that didn’t help my sleep much since I was solely responsible for keeping watch over kids, house, property, and pets.  No wonder parents are tired a lot! 

Over the years when Keith worked in medical sales, I fluctuated between sleeping alone during the week and having my husband home on the weekends.  When he was gone, I created some habits that were my preferred way of sleeping that didn’t necessarily survive on the weekends.  The room was my optimal temperature, the covers were neatly tucked in around me, I was not breathing someone else’s used air.  Don’t judge – I came to like sleeping by myself! 

Now in my present state of empty-nester, past the peak and rolling quickly downhill stage of life, sleep has become a whole new circus.  Anyone relate? There’s the I’m cold and then I’m hot thing – covers on, covers off, flip the pillow to the cool side.  My brain has a very hard time shutting down to go to sleep, or if I do, I wake up at ungodly hours and the brain swirl starts again.  Parts of my body complain if I stay in one place too long.  Keith gets up at 4:00am for an early work shift, so I always wake up with him and often struggle to go back to sleep.  I don’t like depending on any kind of substance to be able to sleep so I just don’t partake.  I tried a few natural things that sometimes help and sometimes don’t.  Lately I’ve started having a late night quiet time of soft music or meditation which does seem to help with being able to go to sleep.  More than ever I need my strong, hot cup of coffee first thing in the morning.

All the medical types agree that seven to eight hours of sleep is best.  Our bodies and minds need that break to rest and renew.  May you all be blessed with amazing rest and rejuvenation.  I’ll pray for that for you when I’m awake at 4:00. 

All the Little Things

In this new non-working life, I have set myself a bit of a routine. It’s not etched in stone, but it gives me some incentives and goals and helps me keep track of which day of the week it is.  Going to work used to help with that, and even knowing which television shows were playing on a given day would always help me know the day and date. Being at home full time now and cutting the cable tie, I can’t for the life of me remember what day of the week it is. Friday is the exception because it has been “Grandma Day” for 10 years. The need for a new routine prompted me to have a weekly to-do list. Thursday is dusting day.

Dusting is my least favorite household chore. It feels like a never-ending battle. Having to move stuff to dust around and under just doesn’t seem efficient. I keep downsizing clutter every time I dust so I don’t have to dust that again. I kind of like housework. Clean feels good to me. I feel accomplished on the days that the house smells of white vinegar and Pinesol. I plug in my favorite tunes and get after the sweeping, mopping, wiping, vacuuming. I don’t even mind toilets. But I don’t enjoy anything about dusting. One time when visiting my mother-in-law (and by the way, she was an amazing person whom I loved dearly), I noticed she had a LOT of knick-knacks everywhere. I know she enjoyed all those bits of memorabilia and statuary, but I asked her if she ever got tired of dusting them because I didn’t enjoy dusting at all. I’ll never forget her response. She looked at me with a somewhat disapproving look and said, “Then you must be doing it wrong”, and promptly gave me a lesson in dusting. Keith and I still laugh about it. I tried her method, but it didn’t help me enjoy dusting any more than before. 

So Thursday came along and I procrastinated as long as I could about getting out my dusting supplies. I’m normally a “get after it and get it over with” girl, but I can put off dusting like nobody’s business. I rounded the corner to our living room to get on with the dreaded process and there, in the middle of a glass-top side table, was a toddler-sized hand print in the dust. I looked at it and it gave me pause about wiping it off. The hand that made that print would not stay little for very long. It was like a little piece of art that stopped time. 

That perfect, small handprint from our two-year-old granddaughter was a little gift that reminded me how precious time is and how we should never overlook the little things that bring us joy. I dusted everything but that table just so I could enjoy that tiny handprint a bit longer. Our grandkids are growing up so fast and the moments I have with them are treasures. 

I never want to overlook the little things. I want to notice that robin building a nest in the tree outside our bedroom deck. I want to remember the smell of my husband cooking his amazing spaghetti sauce in the kitchen. I want to take the time to respond to our oldest granddaughter’s text message complete with stickers and emojis. I want to document sunsets and sunny days and never take them for granted. We get caught up in all the big things of life and what’s in the news and the cares and worries in the day to day and tend to miss the little things.

Let’s give ourselves the opportunity every day to appreciate the little things. It takes being intentional to let ourselves see and be grateful for all the little pieces and components of life that add joy. Let’s remind ourselves to slow down, watch, observe, ponder the moments. Life is short and it goes by so quickly. Let’s not be swept into the whirlwind of busyness that keeps us from embracing the tiny handprints. Maybe I’ll just let that table stay dusty for a little while longer. 

More Beautiful Questions

The world is a tough place for so many right now.  Trying to navigate the responses to the global pandemic as well as turmoil in the Middle East, not to mention the day to day issues in the news and our own trials and tribulations.  It’s tough to stay positive.  What I’m noticing is that more and more I sense an overall feeling of frustration, helplessness and hopelessness.  People are struggling.  It’s hard not to complain and dwell on the negativity or be caught up in the stream of “this is all too much” on a daily basis. 

During the Covid lockdown of 2020, I passed time binge watching the Canadian television production, “Heartland”.  All 13 seasons.  C’mon…..amazing scenery, horses, loveable characters, horses….what’s not to like? With the announcement of Season 14 came the news that one of the two very popular main characters would not be returning.  Now this show has a worldwide following and a huge fan base.  This was not going to sit well with the show’s devoted audience.  So, in an abundance of desire to console the fans and a need to appease the rising mob threatening to never watch again, the two actors who play the main characters, Amber Marshall and Graham Wardle, did a two-episode podcast to explain reasons and try to resurrect the loyalty to the show. They talked about how this new storyline arc could be a great lesson about overcoming loss and grief (producers opted to kill off the character of Ty, played by Wardle, who wanted to move on).  I’m not sure it made fans of the show feel any better (can you say “devastated”?), but during the podcast the idea of “more beautiful questions” came up. 

The two talked about how when bad things happen, we have a tendency to ask “why?”, “why me?”, “why now?”.  The book “A More Beautiful Question” by Warren Berger was referenced.  It sounded like something worth reading, the premise being: how we can turn the “why?” questions into “what if?” and “how?” so that more good can come from life circumstances and turn our perspective to positivity if possible.  So I thought I might eventually add the book to my ever-growing reading list.  

At the exact same time the podcasts were aired, we had a major wind event in our area.  After many days of heavy rain and saturated ground, tree roots of our native, very tall pine trees did not hold up to 70+mph winds. Hundred foot trees toppled like toothpicks.  One of those trees landed smack in the middle of our son and daughter-in-law’s home.  Fortunately, no one was hurt, but the damage was extensive and house unlivable.  When I say unlivable, I mean there was a giant tree trunk in their kitchen and massive branches spreading to different parts of the house.  Electrical system destroyed, giant hole in the roof and it was January when temps are akin to the North Pole.  We scrambled to move the necessary worldly belongings, their little family of four, and their two dogs into our basement. Without power to their house, water pipes froze and added a flood to the damage.  Needless to say, no one was asking “beautiful” questions.  But remembering the podcast, it did make sense to ask, “what good can come from this?”

I recently got around to actually reading “A More Beautiful Question”.  I was so inspired by many of the stories and ideas that the pages are marked extensively with pink highlighter.  As I’ve mentioned in past blog posts, I have a questioning mind and this book convinced me that being a questioner is a very good thing.  Knowing how to ask the right questions is even better.  Berger explains how doing so can turn the tide of education, business or life in general. 

I could post quote after quote as so many things in this book resonated, but there was one section that seems especially timely for me since I started this blog journey.  Paul Bennett of IDEO, a global design company, said, “Stop. Take a snapshot of this moment. Remember this. I think you need to be a good self-censor of the madness in the crowd and be able to pause and see something in the midst of all that – something interesting, something that matters, that you can share with others.”  His beautiful questions are these: “How do we continually find inspiration so that we can inspire others? What do you want to say? Why does it need to be said? What if you could say it in a way that has never been done before?”

How are you doing with life right now? If things seem overwhelming, ask the “what if?” and “how?” questions and see where they might take you.  The subtitle of the book says, “The power of inquiry to spark breakthrough ideas.”  Maybe it’s time to start asking the more beautiful questions and see where the sparks fly.   

Author note:  At this writing, after 8+ months, our kids are moving back to their own home.  It has some very nice new upgrades thanks to a very large tree.  “What good can come from this?”  A new kitchen, new floors, new electrical system, new appliances and the joy of returning to the oasis after eight months in the desert (or the basement, if you will.) 

Find the "Time Has Come" podcast with Graham Wardle and Amber Marshall here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pL1DsmPwh4w&t=5s