For years I’ve engaged in the pastime of dividing the world into two camps; e.g., those who like cats and those who don’t, or those who read the Sunday comics and those who don’t. There’s another one that I don’t very often mention because it feels like I’m exposing a great weakness, but I think that it’s time I take that risk. Those who love me don’t seem to care, and they’re the only ones I really worry about anyway. There are those who are basically lazy and those who are at the Type A end of the scale. I’m the former. You’ll notice I always put the category I’m in at the beginning.
Let me explain what I mean by ‘lazy’. I am quite content with doing nothing meaningful. I can look at my untidy house for days (sometimes longer) before feeling any motivation to do something about it. When I don’t like what I see, I go about cleaning it up. Maybe not all of it, just what bothers me. When my kids were still at home, they always knew when someone was coming over; Mom was cleaning house.
I can sit endlessly playing Spider Solitaire, which will remain a challenge and an addiction until I can win 50% of the time. Then I’ll stop, but it will probably be succeeded by yet another challenging game. I started years ago with a game that caused “golfer’s elbow” (it wasn’t even “Golf”), and yet continued to play. Then I started to play “FreeCell”, a solitaire that engaged me until I was introduced to Spider. I tell myself I’m using my brain, because I do have to think ahead about the consequences of a particular move, I have to look at patterns, and see possibilities that aren’t immediately obvious. Surely that skill must have some place in the real world, right?
OK, so I’m addicted to a computer solitaire game. I also can be found doing crosswords (only the “Sunday” type will do) or the most devilish level of Sudoku, and we all know they’re good for the brain. Meanwhile, the dishwasher needs to be emptied, floors swept. I do multitask, though. While I’m Spidering, crosswording or Sudokuing, I’m also listening to NPR, soaking up news and commentary (unless I’m too rapt about the game and manage to tune out another oil spill or drill).
I have to admit I chide myself at times, thinking of all the things I could be doing instead of warming my desk chair for Sheba (she’ll jump up as soon as possible after I relinquish the chair). I could go drive along or sit by the ‘big water’, my favorite place for meditation and contemplation. I could be watching a movie; I usually have a couple from Netflix I haven’t watched. I could be reading. I could be knitting. Actually, I want to get back to knitting; it’s relaxing, productive, and there’s something to show for the time I’ve spent.
I know people who are not happy unless they’re doing something. Always on the go, they schedule their lives with barely enough time to change clothes between commitments, or so it seems to me. Silicon Valley seems to me to be full of Type A people, and it’s no doubt why this valley became rich and a technological mecca. I get very tired, as in sleepy, when I think of these 80-hour-a-week types. Maybe they love their jobs, and maybe they’re making money hand over fist, but I can’t help but think they’re missing something. Do they have time to think about life, God, politics, love? Do they take time to stroke the cat, walk the dog, wonder about what it’s like to be a solo goldfish in a little bowl? Do they take the time to read to their son and daughter before bed (are they even home then?) or take them to the park where they and the dog can run free? Do they listen to what’s happening around them?
As soon as I start saying “I should be doing….”, I usually remember to stop myself and say, “Mary, you’re doing what you need or want to do. If you wanted to be [fill in the blank], you’d either be doing it or looking for the way to do it soon. Enjoy the now.”
That’s really what it’s about. Enjoy the now. We’re stuck in the now, so deal with it. The laundry will get done, the floor will get swept, but….oh, excuse me please, Riley needs to be loved for a bit.
More to come…
February 27, 2009
February 24, 2009
Laughter
Do you laugh enough? I sure don’t. I really want to change that. This morning I went into my supervisor’s office, and he showed me a couple of things his wife sent him about puppies and a cat. I smiled a lot and chuckled some. Then I got a phone call from a colleague who has recently become a friend. We laugh easily with one another, which is probably why our business relationship morphed so quickly into friendship. We laughed over several things during our brief conversation. Then I got a really funny joke from another close friend and I laughed out loud. Feels so good!
None of these diversions lasted long, but the goodness that comes from laughing can last all day. Sometimes. Unless, of course, someone dumps cold water on it. That’s happened at work several times. Apparently, we’re not supposed to laugh at work. We’re supposed to only work at work.
I’m not a sitcom watcher. I don’t like being told when to laugh by a laugh track. Different things are funny to different people and what’s funny today might not seem so funny tomorrow. Laughter is also a shared joy, I believe, at least for the most part. Oh, sure, I get amused by something on TV or NPR, and I laugh, but if I were with someone, seeing and/or hearing the same thing, I would laugh harder and longer.
Some men I’ve dated over the years have tried telling jokes, thinking (or probably not thinking) that jokes are the best way to make women laugh. It doesn’t work for me. I mean, jokes can be funny, of course, but it’s wit, the turn of a phrase, an intonation, that makes me laugh.
Years ago in a household of 4 boys (5, if you include my husband) we’d always watch “Monty Python’s Flying Circus” on Friday nights. We’d all laugh during the show of course, but what was really funny was after the show, in the kitchen, making snacks, when they all took part in “doing” Monty Python. I laughed far harder and longer than I ever did during the show. My Chicago son can still slay me when he “does” former president W.
Much has been written about laughter, how beneficial it is for one’s health and one’s attitude. If I got my daily dose of laughter and hugs, I bet I’d live to 106. Or maybe longer.
I believe that if we follow the things that make us laugh in life, we will find our bliss.
More to come...
None of these diversions lasted long, but the goodness that comes from laughing can last all day. Sometimes. Unless, of course, someone dumps cold water on it. That’s happened at work several times. Apparently, we’re not supposed to laugh at work. We’re supposed to only work at work.
I’m not a sitcom watcher. I don’t like being told when to laugh by a laugh track. Different things are funny to different people and what’s funny today might not seem so funny tomorrow. Laughter is also a shared joy, I believe, at least for the most part. Oh, sure, I get amused by something on TV or NPR, and I laugh, but if I were with someone, seeing and/or hearing the same thing, I would laugh harder and longer.
Some men I’ve dated over the years have tried telling jokes, thinking (or probably not thinking) that jokes are the best way to make women laugh. It doesn’t work for me. I mean, jokes can be funny, of course, but it’s wit, the turn of a phrase, an intonation, that makes me laugh.
Years ago in a household of 4 boys (5, if you include my husband) we’d always watch “Monty Python’s Flying Circus” on Friday nights. We’d all laugh during the show of course, but what was really funny was after the show, in the kitchen, making snacks, when they all took part in “doing” Monty Python. I laughed far harder and longer than I ever did during the show. My Chicago son can still slay me when he “does” former president W.
Much has been written about laughter, how beneficial it is for one’s health and one’s attitude. If I got my daily dose of laughter and hugs, I bet I’d live to 106. Or maybe longer.
I believe that if we follow the things that make us laugh in life, we will find our bliss.
More to come...
February 20, 2009
Homeless
A couple of weeks ago, as I approached the double doors of St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, I noticed the sleeping bag at my left. Tucked inside was a darkly bearded man. Behind him was a backpack, and as the faithful congregated, he remained unperturbed and asleep. No one asked him to leave, nor did anyone bring him a cup of coffee and a sweet roll. When we emerged an hour later, he was gone.
I learned a bit later that he’s often there in the morning, and he slept unusually late that Sunday. No one knows his name or his circumstances, but no one harasses him.
Is this the best we can do, “not harass him?” Where does he take care of the necessities of life? Our bathrooms are locked, our church is locked, our parish hall is locked. We don’t have a port-a-potty on our grounds. The Walgreen’s across the street might be open all night, and perhaps they’ll let him use their facilities. But why can’t we?
Many years ago and far, far away I lived across the parking lot of another Episcopal church. Everything was in one building, not like the sprawling campuses in California. The church proper and one office were at street level, the choir loft above in back, and the undercroft (basement) held bathrooms, kitchen, and classrooms. The building was always open. This was in the 70’s on an island, a small suburb of Buffalo, where crime was pretty much limited to misdemeanors. It wasn’t unusual to find a note of a Sunday morning in the kitchen, sometimes with a dollar or two, thanking the church for the coffee and a place to sleep. Maybe they were just traveling through, but maybe they were homeless and transients of another sort. Whatever, the church was there with shelter, a degree of warmth, toilets, water and coffee. It was in the early 80’s and after I’d moved with my two boys to Buffalo that the brass candlesticks were stolen and a decision was made, sadly, to lock the church. Not just the pews and the altar, but the building where a weary traveler could find sanctuary. My younger son was one of those weary travelers for a few months and when there was no place left for him to sleep, he made his way to the familiar church, believing it was open. Not too different from the man outside St. Mark’s two weeks ago, and just as sadly, my son slept outside in chilly late September.
What is a church about if not to provide shelter and food and comfort for the homeless, the less fortunate, the hungry, the lost, and the sick? Is that not what Christians are called to do? “As you do unto the least of these my children, you do unto me”, Christ said.
We could blame Ronald Reagan for the homeless pandemic, but blame for past decisions does not solve the present and future homelessness. If we think it’s bad now, think of the near future: millions of jobs lost already, many more to come (mine probably included), and where will those millions of jobless men and women and their children go when they are forced to leave their homes? Many people have friends or family with whom they can stay for a while, but what of those who don’t?
I need to think more about this, because I need to do something about it, and it’s not a slam dunk. It’s complicated.
“All shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” This was written hundreds of years ago by a mystic, Dame Julian of Norwich, and I have to believe it.
More to come...
I learned a bit later that he’s often there in the morning, and he slept unusually late that Sunday. No one knows his name or his circumstances, but no one harasses him.
Is this the best we can do, “not harass him?” Where does he take care of the necessities of life? Our bathrooms are locked, our church is locked, our parish hall is locked. We don’t have a port-a-potty on our grounds. The Walgreen’s across the street might be open all night, and perhaps they’ll let him use their facilities. But why can’t we?
Many years ago and far, far away I lived across the parking lot of another Episcopal church. Everything was in one building, not like the sprawling campuses in California. The church proper and one office were at street level, the choir loft above in back, and the undercroft (basement) held bathrooms, kitchen, and classrooms. The building was always open. This was in the 70’s on an island, a small suburb of Buffalo, where crime was pretty much limited to misdemeanors. It wasn’t unusual to find a note of a Sunday morning in the kitchen, sometimes with a dollar or two, thanking the church for the coffee and a place to sleep. Maybe they were just traveling through, but maybe they were homeless and transients of another sort. Whatever, the church was there with shelter, a degree of warmth, toilets, water and coffee. It was in the early 80’s and after I’d moved with my two boys to Buffalo that the brass candlesticks were stolen and a decision was made, sadly, to lock the church. Not just the pews and the altar, but the building where a weary traveler could find sanctuary. My younger son was one of those weary travelers for a few months and when there was no place left for him to sleep, he made his way to the familiar church, believing it was open. Not too different from the man outside St. Mark’s two weeks ago, and just as sadly, my son slept outside in chilly late September.
What is a church about if not to provide shelter and food and comfort for the homeless, the less fortunate, the hungry, the lost, and the sick? Is that not what Christians are called to do? “As you do unto the least of these my children, you do unto me”, Christ said.
We could blame Ronald Reagan for the homeless pandemic, but blame for past decisions does not solve the present and future homelessness. If we think it’s bad now, think of the near future: millions of jobs lost already, many more to come (mine probably included), and where will those millions of jobless men and women and their children go when they are forced to leave their homes? Many people have friends or family with whom they can stay for a while, but what of those who don’t?
I need to think more about this, because I need to do something about it, and it’s not a slam dunk. It’s complicated.
“All shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” This was written hundreds of years ago by a mystic, Dame Julian of Norwich, and I have to believe it.
More to come...
February 19, 2009
I sometimes wonder...
My father used to say that - I sometimes wonder -, mostly in exasperation at someone’s foolish or stupid behavior, but I wonder at all manner of things that are less exasperating than they are unexplainable to my limited understanding.
Case in point: how did the wealthiest country in the world get into a situation where people are losing their jobs, seeing their life savings cut in half or losing them altogether, where banks aren’t doing an important part of their raison d’être - loaning money - and where confidence in just about everything is eroding away? There are as many answers as there are pundits. But I still wonder.
On a sunnier note, I also wonder about cats. Yes, I love cats, I have two now, and except for brief times in my life, I’ve always had a cat. Now, I know that cats aren’t dogs, and I have nothing against dogs anyway, if I’m not allergic to the dog. In fact I have two granddogs, Max and Beau, and I really enjoy them when I visit them. Back to cats. I wonder what they think, and there’s no doubt that they do think. I’ve watched them think. I doubt that they think exactly the way humans do, but they do figure things out, and they do learn things, and it’s not just operant or classical conditioning. Some learn faster than others, figure things out far more easily. I wonder about this.
I also wonder why some things have a profound effect on my heart or soul at one time and don’t another time. For instance, sunsets. I’ve seen lovely, beautiful, and amazing sunsets in my life, but I’ve seldom had a sunset fill me with longing for…well, for what I don’t know. Last night driving home from work, I saw a sky that caused such a yearning; it wasn’t just that it was beautiful, it was achingly beautiful. And it wasn’t really a spectacular sunset, just achingly beautiful. I wonder about that.
Years ago I was driving to Connecticut to meet the parents of the woman my son was about to marry, and I happened to hear the Mozart clarinet concerto on the classical station I was listening to. The second movement affected me so deeply that tears rolled down my cheeks; it was not dissimilar to the yearning I felt at last night’s sunset. I’ve heard the same concerto many times since then, and it’s always lovely, but it doesn’t have that profound yearning affect on me. I sometimes wonder.
By this point, you’re probably wondering just who this wondering person is. I’m a woman of a certain age who usually has something to say about most things, and I finally figured that if my son could figure out how to blog, then probably I could too. My son is considerably smarter than I am, but I also figured he’d help me if I ran afoul of the blog police.
Sometimes when I’m at work, I need a break from whatever I’m doing, and I have things I need to impart to someone. Thus, a blog! If every Tom, Dick, and Brian have a blog, then why not me? Indeed!
More to come…
Case in point: how did the wealthiest country in the world get into a situation where people are losing their jobs, seeing their life savings cut in half or losing them altogether, where banks aren’t doing an important part of their raison d’être - loaning money - and where confidence in just about everything is eroding away? There are as many answers as there are pundits. But I still wonder.
On a sunnier note, I also wonder about cats. Yes, I love cats, I have two now, and except for brief times in my life, I’ve always had a cat. Now, I know that cats aren’t dogs, and I have nothing against dogs anyway, if I’m not allergic to the dog. In fact I have two granddogs, Max and Beau, and I really enjoy them when I visit them. Back to cats. I wonder what they think, and there’s no doubt that they do think. I’ve watched them think. I doubt that they think exactly the way humans do, but they do figure things out, and they do learn things, and it’s not just operant or classical conditioning. Some learn faster than others, figure things out far more easily. I wonder about this.
I also wonder why some things have a profound effect on my heart or soul at one time and don’t another time. For instance, sunsets. I’ve seen lovely, beautiful, and amazing sunsets in my life, but I’ve seldom had a sunset fill me with longing for…well, for what I don’t know. Last night driving home from work, I saw a sky that caused such a yearning; it wasn’t just that it was beautiful, it was achingly beautiful. And it wasn’t really a spectacular sunset, just achingly beautiful. I wonder about that.
Years ago I was driving to Connecticut to meet the parents of the woman my son was about to marry, and I happened to hear the Mozart clarinet concerto on the classical station I was listening to. The second movement affected me so deeply that tears rolled down my cheeks; it was not dissimilar to the yearning I felt at last night’s sunset. I’ve heard the same concerto many times since then, and it’s always lovely, but it doesn’t have that profound yearning affect on me. I sometimes wonder.
By this point, you’re probably wondering just who this wondering person is. I’m a woman of a certain age who usually has something to say about most things, and I finally figured that if my son could figure out how to blog, then probably I could too. My son is considerably smarter than I am, but I also figured he’d help me if I ran afoul of the blog police.
Sometimes when I’m at work, I need a break from whatever I’m doing, and I have things I need to impart to someone. Thus, a blog! If every Tom, Dick, and Brian have a blog, then why not me? Indeed!
More to come…
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