Don't judge. Just smile.

 

I have one son and I feel that I can write about him because, although some of you may remember him from his youth, he lives far away now and you won’t be running into him in Walmart.  He does tend to read my blog though so…  perhaps it is a good thing he lives far away… in this case.  Anyway ... I find him to be hysterically funny.  Actually, my daughter is mega funny as well.  It’s a blessing -- although family gatherings readily turn into laugh fests which can be hard on your stomach muscles after a while. You see they both married super funny people and my grandchildren are funny as well.  It can be exhausting… but so worth it... so much fun!

Anyway – my son has a propensity for group texting which I do find annoying when he starts goofing around near my bedtime.  It’s hard to resist following along and participating even though I sometimes tell him to GO TO BED or sometimes I just resort to sleep texting.  He does this group text thing in the mornings, as well, which works well for me and for his sister. His wife does not appreciate the early morning text fests though – she is like "normal" people and sleeps until a decent hour or at least when she can. (Sometimes I wish I could do that.) Good thing she also has a well-developed sense of humor and can put up with the rest of us. Good thing we can appreciate our differences.  We are who we are. Right? I am thinking that my son-in-law just ignores us all in this group texting phenomena especially when the occasional group text happens during the day. He is, perhaps, wise to do so. Plus -- he does a lot of his work on his phone during the day time and doesn't have any goof off time.  It's not a toy after all.  Anyway -- it’s all good.

So…  recently my son group texted this creepy looking meme that says, “At my funeral, take the bouquet off my coffin and throw it into the crowd to see who is next.”  Of course, sharing the same sick twist sense of humor, we thought this was very funny and found appropriate emojis with which to respond.  Now to catch you all up a bit and to get to the point…  when we were all together this summer – enjoying a walk in the back pasture of my small plot of land (a place I cherish because of the quiet beauty of it all) – I told my children that when I move on to the next "realm", I want to be burned up and sprinkled.  It’s simple really.  I think they should just take my ashes, load them somehow into something like a t-shirt cannon and then blast me into the air in that same back pasture and watch me float and scatter across one of my favorite places.  All they need to do is be careful not to look up with their mouths open.  Seriously -- I think it is perfect.  Unfortunately, I don’t think they believe me... or maybe are a bit horrified at the notion.  My son laughs (sort of), but finds my idea to be dark somehow – even darker that the meme he sent – the one I just told you about.  So – I am telling the world – just burn me up and sprinkle me somewhere I love to be. No fanfare – just let me rejoin the earth.  Don’t judge. Just smile. To be scattered is somehow fitting. Each one of us is, after all, just a small part of the whole.

 

Sometimes...

 

                                         “Sometimes.” said the horse.

                        “Sometimes What?” asked the boy.

                             “Sometimes just getting up 

                                      and carrying on is

                                  brave and magnificent.”

 

Recently a dear friend gave me a book entitled The Boy, the mole, the fox and the Horse.  Maybe you have read it.  If not, I think it is worth anyone’s time.  It was written and illustrated by Charlie Mackesy, who among a long list of accomplishments, also, at one time, was a cartoonist for The Spectator and a book illustrator Oxford University Press. It is a very short easy read, and some may think of it as a children’s book, but like so many “children’s” books, it speaks to adults as well.  The lines above this paragraph are from this book and I started off with them as they call to mind the silent heroes among my students of the past. I can remember standing among them in the moments before class started and thinking how amazing it was that some of them made it to school at all.  They were my silent heroes - sometimes overcoming indescribably hard situations to even get themselves to school… situations that they never talked about – ever.  But … their stories were in their eyes.

Anyway – once in a while I like to share good “reads”.  I know that I recently shared with you that I was reading a series by Louise Penny, a Canadian writer whose work has helped me survive this pandemic.  I think I am currently in book 15 of what is now a 17-book series.  I hope she keeps on writing them, as I am totally enthralled with all the characters of the little mysterious village of Three Pines and... her writing is thought -provoking.  I have also been spending time with Sue Monk Kidd, Tana French and Kate Morton.  Wonderful all – each in her own way.  I don’t know about you, but I am thankful that I can read and that someone can write.  It’s a lovely partnership. 

Reach out...

 

A few weeks ago now I had a very special week.  On Monday I had lunch with a childhood friend and the very next day four of my cousins came to my house for brunch.  There is something very special about the memories you share with a friend of almost 65 years and with family… yes, something very special. I have written before about how sharing part of your childhood creates a special bond between people and being a part of family has its own special and uniquely wonderful connections as well. 

Part of the fun for me in both situations is retelling favorite stories and listening to them being retold as well.  It is a bit of a liturgy really. These stories are a part of a customary “repertoire” of things of the past.  People are fortunate to have them… and even more fortunate to be able to tap into them once in a while. They are worth repeating.  They remind us to remember. 

Sitting across my kitchen table from my childhood friend (notice I did not say old friend?), I was transported back to early morning chats with her dad while sitting in the booth in their kitchen while I waited for her to get ready to go to school with me. She reminded me that he used to tease me about things. I remember everything.  I remember his voice and her mom moving around their kitchen in her “pumps”. We talked about her mom’s love of gadgets.  I remember them all. Such memories are a gift. We share many memories – years and years of them – not that that is the only thing we talk about. That is another whole gift – being able to share thoughts without any guard up whatsoever. Childhood friends know who you are at the core... and sometimes it is a case of -- they like you anyway. I am fortunate in that. 

There are special family times as well – worthy of repeating.  I wish more of my cousins lived closer and that we had even more childhood memories to recall and share. We shared a common growing-up and knew older relatives of several previous generations – we share our memories sometimes with differing perspectives.  It is a bond. It is friendship of it own special kind. It is also mega fun. Plus -- they are just plain wonderful people.

All of this calls to mind the most special of all though -- the liturgy of stories my sister and I used to share or the silly songs that we made up or remembered and that carried on into adulthood.  We would bring them out at the most inopportune, surprising and sometimes inappropriate times.  There would be a sudden burst of song and the other would join in.  My son told me one time that I was a different person when I was around Aunt Cindy.  (I still find that amusing. Guess he wasn’t used to me/us suddenly breaking out into the old Nestles’ Quik song as it was sung by the charming Farfel.) Sometimes you just had to be there…” Her birthday was September 11th. (So much more to remember on that day now since 2001.)

Anyway – the part about this that “hangs on” is that it is not the same with her gone now. Life is short and unexpected.  I guess I just want people to share with friends and family as much as you can while you can.  Haven’t we heard this kind of warning before? Perhaps many times?   There is a reason why we have. 

Was talking with another high school friend later on in that same special week. She was in town for a brief visit and a family reunion. What a lovely way to spend an afternoon.  We covered a lot but did focus, for one brief moment, on loss and how it touches everyone at some point in their lives. Now in our 70’s… loss is perhaps too familiar. Yet -- it is a part of it all.

Add me to the list of those who issue the warning to reach out to those you love.

The Panda, The Sloth and The Blobfish...

 

Somehow the topic of spirit animals found its way into a conversation a couple of days ago, and as a result, I set aside the blog post that I was going to put up this week so that I could share this one with you. Now – just in case you are not familiar -- according to one source, a spirit animal may be “… a teacher or messenger that comes in the form of an animal and has a personal relationship with an individual”.  Sort of nice, right?  Right now, as I type in the predawn hours, I can hear my favorite owl hooting off and on from some far away perch. I love that sound. I find it comforting somehow.

Anyway – finding it somewhat amusing that the person I was talking to said that her spirit animal was the sea turtle, it was with the best intentions really that I started to research what mine might be.  Now in her case almost every quiz she took online said that the sea turtle was her spirit animal. I would have felt better about that if she lived closer to a sea, but it is what it is. I had to look up what a sea turtle even looks like.  There are several different kinds actually, and you can even adopt one ... symbolically of course. The adoption kit will set you back $60 - $250 according to the website I discovered, but there are cute gift bags involved. It's a personal choice.  I will not be adopting one. ~~ Somehow, I still don’t quite see the sea turtle for her, but perhaps I am missing something. I am a novice in this whole realm after all.

So – back to my search.  I started with quizoto.com and discovered that my spirit animal is a panda.  Although the panda is cute, I am not comfortable with that (just don’t feel the connection), so I kept looking. Buzzfeed.com identified my spirit animal as a sloth.  Now – I can see slothful characteristics in my tendency to occasionally live in what I call Slugsville and sloths do have cute faces which make them appealing on some level, but – I don’t know -- a Sloth? They just hang around -- literally.  I decided to take yet another quiz. They are remarkably easy to find and I had the time.

It seems to be commonly accepted that you can find anything on Pinterest, so that was my next and final stop in the search. Here is what happened.  This particular quiz identified my spirit animal as a Blobfish. Look it up – not exactly cuddly – blobfish are found in deep waters off the coast of Tasmania and Australia. Never one to find fish of any sort attractive, the blobfish brings "icky looking" to a whole new level. The Pinterest quiz not only identified the blobfish as my spirit animal, but went on to say this about me… and I quote, so please don’t think that I talk like this – because I don’t – well almost never.  It said that I was “f *cking nasty as hell and… ugly. …need nose surgery… and have no friends. Sorry ☹.”  Yep – that’s what it said. It sort of caught me off guard and then -- after the shock wore off -- I found it to be "laugh out loud" funny. I especially love the “Sorry” with the frowny face at the end. Nevertheless, I discontinued the search through online quizzes. Enough time on that. I am thinking that these particular quizzes are about as accurate as Dr. Google.

Here’s the thing. Native Americans have a much more serious and kinder way that one can determine his/her spirit animal. Plus, they only have 8 common ones – so much easier.  There is a lot written about it actually.  So – I have determined my spirit animal.  You can pick one too.  Anyone can.  It’s sort of nice really.  No surprise here – I have chosen the owl. It feels right somehow.

Hands...

 

For some unknown reason, I noticed my hands today, and … once again thought to myself how very much they are like my Mother’s hands in her later days.  It is a bit startling to see that as I somehow tend to think that I am at least forty years younger than I actually am – until I catch a glimpse of my aging self in a mirror as I walk by or if… as I just mentioned… I notice my hands for a moment. Years ago, my sister caught a glimpse of herself in her foyer mirror and thought she saw our grandmother.  She immediately made an appointment to have her hair colored. I found the whole episode hysterically funny for some reason – perhaps it was the way she was retelling it. Perhaps it was because I remember what this particular Grandma looked like – sort of scary. Oddly enough though I cannot remember this grandma’s hands.  Anyway … we all cope in different ways. I for one, tend not to look in mirrors unless it is totally unavoidable like when brushing teeth or blow-drying hair. Further… I am too lazy to do anything with the color of my hair.  It is what it is and I have other things that I am concerned about.  As far as sitting in front of a lighted mirror at a hairdresser goes -- about all I can stand is an occasional overdue haircut. But that’s just me.  At least at a hairdresser, one can tuck hands under the cape thing.

Anyway -- really seeing my hands and likening them to my Mom’s got me to thinking about hands in general – with a special focus on women’s hands. I mean – just think of all the things that a woman’s hands do in one lifetime. The list would go on seemingly forever. Most of the things I thought about were about hands doing things for other people.  It’s amazing really.  I was watching my daughter braid her daughter’s hair just the other day.  It was somehow wonderful to see – poignant moments. Then too, I recently saw a grandmother wiping away the tears of one of her grands… also touching and memorable -- in a comforting, reassuring kind of way.  I think it is important sometimes to think of these little (maybe not so little) things.  We all know of the bigger things that hands can do… also important, but maybe these apparently “little things” are every bit as significant…or even more so…. I am certain that men’s hands are also worthy of consideration – just not in this blog today – maybe some other time. Odd though -- I always think that, a lot of the time, men's hands age better and look young longer. I guess they work differently.

Those of you who have grandkids have probably noticed their hands as they grow.  My grandson, whose tiny hands fit inside a small pocket of my hand at one time, now has man hands. They are remarkable and strong.  There isn’t much that he cannot do well. How did that happen so quickly?  It’s startling. My granddaughter is teaching herself how to play the ukulele, does her own nails and always very dexterous, makes light work of braiding her own hair, and… of drawing remarkable pictures. She is the artist of her generation as my mom was of hers – only my granddaughter got an earlier start.  She used to draw two different pictures at the same time when just old enough to hold a pencil or a crayon – one in each of her tiny hands.  It was rather amazing to see. I asked her about that just the other day.  She doesn’t remember. Kids forget stuff too.  There is something reassuring about that these days.  Anyway…

My hope is that I will have used my hands to create – whether it was to do all those things that make a clean and warm, safe haven for loved ones, or to write helpful, thought-provoking words and questions over the years to students finding their way, or... in my own writing as I look inward in finding my own way and encouraging others to know that we are all in this together. 

One last thought about hands.  My poor hands have never been so washed and scrubbed as they have been during the past 18 months or so. I even taught my grandkids and my great niece what I call the surgical scrub. We try to make things fun, right?  I have used up a lot of hand cream as well.  Haven’t we all? Aren’t we sick of it? By the way -- I have already started to shake hands again.  I wondered if I ever would. Then again -- I could only last one week of this damncovid without hugging my grandkids.