The Journal

thinking, writing, learning

Holidays That Last for Days

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When you have an extended family, celebrating means day after day after day! But one good element of this pattern is being able to spend quality time with each family. I have also come to know that love is the tiny moments. Pat Schneider was a poet who had a profound impact on me. This is her poem, “Lessons”

Have good lessons this holiday season.

LESSONS
Pat Schneider

I have learned
that life goes on,
or doesn’t.
That days are measured out
in tiny increments
as a woman in a kitchen
measures teaspoons
of cinnamon, vanilla,
or half a cup of sugar
into a bowl.

I have learned
that moments are as precious as nutmeg,
and it has occurred to me
that busy interruptions
are like tiny grain moths,
or mice.
They nibble, pee, and poop,
or make their little worms and webs
until you have to throw out the good stuff
with the bad.

It took two deaths
and coming close myself
for me to learn
that there is not an infinite supply
of good things in the pantry.

A Re-thinking

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Holidays bring memories, both good and bad, and create added stress to the already expectation-filled days. This year I’ve done a good job of relaxing through it. My goal was to write every day, take time to intentionally breathe/pause, and to release those expectations. It seems to be working.

My list:

  • Lighting candles at supper every night, even if it’s just a salad
  • Writing poetry every day (and not worrying about form, structure, or audience)
  • Taking a walk, even when it’s freezing (I do need to stop whining to David about it)
  • Sticking to my eating plan (no bread, reduced sugar, reduced alcohol, LOTS of fiber, no meat, and lots of water)
  • Thinking about what I’m grateful for (such a cliche, but it does work)
  • Journaling and exercising every morning

My writing has helped me come to terms with my relationship with my parents. In many ways they were loving, kind, and generous. The past few years, I found myself concentrating on how hard my childhood was– growing up as a “need to please” child, which in turn made me an insecure teen and adult. But writing has allowed me to realize the cycle of parenting. I’m sure my own children have their anger and frustration over my lack of consistent care giving, and I do wish I’d done many things differently. Yet, I am so proud of the men they have become and the fathers they are. What more could I ask?

So this was a recent bit of writing…and made me realize how much I miss special moments with my parents. Today I am grateful for my friend Donna, who shares her photos with me for writing inspiration. A window that I might literally look through, and a window that gives me a different emotional perspective. There are cracks and there is light. How beautiful.

What I Know

Mornings in my childhood home
come with a gift: orange and pink
brilliance sprays across the pond,
and fills the sky. The sun lifts, bounces
its rays off boats. Finally, yellow touches
the miracle blue and drifting white clouds.
I race to the dock to photograph
the horizon again, as I’ve done so often.
How many photos of mornings can one have?

There’s a first time for everything,
and a last.
A walk with him.
A hot cup of coffee on the porch with her.
A few words from a hospital bed.

Perhaps knowing of endings
tugs me out of bed when dawn
barely pokes through the window.

Update on Pair Project

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Last April when my friend Donna Hopkins and I decided to try a poetry/photography project, I was excited. But I didn’t know we would still be working on it these months later.

Yet, I’ve found this project has given me focus. I’ve also changed the way I see the world, much like when children view events through their own fresh eyes. And I couldn’t be more grateful for this in my life right now.

This was Donna’s idea: to make a photo and send it to me where I would react to it in writing. “Let’s see where it goes,” she said, with a smile that drew me in.

photo-projectDownload

First, I love her photographs. They capture moments in her life, moments that show what it means to be human. Also, she knows I use the photos as inspiration, so my writing is not literally about the photo but what comes to me as I study it. We found we were much aligned as we moved forward. The other discovery came when she titled the project Natural Histories, a nod to this time in our lives. What a perfect way to document what we are both going through as we transition into what I think of as the last third of our lives.

An example above shows what she sent- a photo, stark in its dark green and white sign contrast, but also empty with a sign that says nothing. At first I focused on the blank sign, but then my mind moved to what happens at the moment of death. I found my feelings stirred up around the idea of after life and my mother.

We are mid-way through the project, aiming to finish up next April, a year from when we started. The beauty for me is I can create a poem but return to it before we finalize. I’ve already added and deleted lines from earlier poems, and I plan to do a once over before we publish our book.

Sebene Selassie said, “each of us can cultivate our capacity to live in ways that honor our inherent interconnection. Through intimacy and imagination we can consciously create the world we live in together.” This feels like I am creating the world in which I want to live. We will all grow old. We will all die. How do we honor the time we are here on this earth?

The Ugly American

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Portugal, 2022

I knew our return trip from Portugal would be difficult for me, just as our return from Germany and France had been a few years ago. Walking through small towns and larger cities in Europe filled with coffee shops, interesting people going here and there, and old historic buildings along beautiful rivers makes me joyful. I am at peace.

Not so in this country.

Don’t jump down my throat. I know the United States offers much good not evident in many other parts of the world. I’ve just not been seeing much of it lately. The politics. the violence, the stupidity of people running for office, and the disparity between the rich and poor make my blood boil. I seem to say over and over, “what’s wrong with people?”

I also know that spending a week traveling in Portugal doesn’t make me the expert on Portugal. One of our guides mentioned the 48% tax residents pay (to cover education, health, and infrastructure). Someone in our group gasped. But I nodded in full agreement with the payment. What I don’t know is how our two systems compare. Would I be willing to pay half my salary for a system like theirs? I’d like to think I would, if only to even things out.

I can’t help but think we could learn something from this culture. But we can’t if we continue to put America First and wear blinders blocking our understanding of the rest of the world.

So I am trying to be gentle with myself. I’ll visit a local coffee shop and order espresso. I’ll make sure I keep up with my walks and my writing. Avoiding large crowds helps, as does keeping my schedule as simple as I can.

Yesterday, I called out “Bom Dia!” to someone walking his dog. I’m sure he thought I was a nut, but I don’t care. I’ll pretend I’m there for a while longer.

To Read or Not to Read

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I hope Jenna doesn’t mind me using her photo from last night here. She was amazing, as were all the other readers at the Water Street Writers open mic event.

I’d brought three poems to read, just in case. But I had a feeling I wouldn’t read, beginning a few days ago. I spent my life in front of people: teaching, talking to parent groups, and speaking at technology forums. Presenting seemed easy, natural. Then I went through some life changes that, well, changed my life. Suddenly, I experienced anxiety, gut issues, and sleep problems. I ignored them for a few years, but then realized I needed to learn how to manage them.

After two or three years, I do feel like I *can* manage (not fix) them. And one way is to honor what I am feeling. I try to say “yes” when I mean yes, and I say “no” when I mean no. I knew if I read, I would feel the flutters in my stomach turn to waves. Then I’d have gut issues that wouldn’t subside for days. And I probably wouldn’t have slept last night.

I *chose* not to read. Instead I totally enjoyed sitting outside in the freezing weather listening to my Water Street writers read. The evening was relaxing!

I have become more introverted as I age. I crave solitude. Nothing makes me happier than writing, listening to podcasts, walking on the beach, or sitting in a garden. That’s not to say I don’t love my friends. It was so good to see the writers whom I usually only see on Zoom! So many smiles, so many hugs.

The past few years have taught me to honor my feelings and do what is important for my body. I don’t always make the right choices, but they are choices. That feels right.

What I’m reading/learning:

This

A Simple Movement for Joy

Start Where You Are