Sharing My Roses with the Aphids

 

 

In celebration of Earth Day, I’m writing about my friends the aphids. They are attacking my New Dawn rose bushes. These two rhapsodic rose bushes are climbers, growing higher every year. If you count their spilling over the trellis and arbor, which I keep adding on to, they are about 16 feet tall at this point, with more life in them than all the new trees and bushes I have planted in the last four years. The buds, only visible the last few days, are growing. It will be a few more days before they open.

 

I was so excited at dusk last night to see if they’d started blooming that Mocha cat and I went out onto the screen porch after dinner, and I noticed – horrors of all horrors – that the aphids had returned. I’ve been looking for them, while trying to think positive thoughts that maybe they’d stay away this year. I really thought I’d headed them off with a few preventive whiffs of rose bug poison. But no, there were a few tell-tale headless stalks visible but undeterred, thankfully, from reaching for the sun.

 

If I’d been successful in ordering liquid garlic to spray instead of pesticides, I’d probably be OK. But the company turned out to be fraudulent. And I’m just not willing to load the air with pesticides, so it may take a few more years to conquer this battle. But, in the meantime, I’ve decided to be at peace.

 

“Live and let live!” my husband used to say about vermin. The kids and I didn’t pay much attention to this bravado until he said it one evening about the roach crawling across our map of the world in the family room. Then we cringed at the grossness. I said it seemed a little irresponsible to be that passive, even though I hate killing any creature. “World traveler,” the kids named the poor little guy, groaning and giggling at the same time it made it across several continents, safely.

 

That memory is now long gone, as I breathe in and let the pale pink roses warm my heart. I asked the protecting guardian of wildife and nature, Ariel, to spare me a few blooms. 

 

And so in a spirit of compromise on Earth Day, I am conceding to the little bugs. We share a gentle love and discriminating taste. I should be able to give up a few decapitated stalks in the midst of boundless beauty. As for the carpenter bees that have been digging holes in the arbor, I’ll tolerate them, too, until I find a green solution.

 

As life so often brings us full circle, I am reminded of ninth grade when we had to memorize a poem. I chose Alfred Lord Tennyson’s “Flower in the Crannied Wall” which I still remember after all these years:

 

Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower–but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is. 
 

Now that I’m wiser, I don’t yearn to know so passionately why things are the way they are in the universe. I’ve fought too many battles, demanded too much control, and sought too many answers. I just want to enjoy my roses.

 

With triumph over the aphids no longer my priority, I can settle in quite nicely to co-existing with both aphids and bees. It makes me wonder how they adapt to making do with humans. Maybe setting an example of mutual respect is no effort to them at all. Maybe they, too, think that it only takes a handful of pink patches at dawn and dusk to fill their heart’s desire, and their stomachs.

 

Looks like my husband had it right all along by picking the important battles. A few missing rose buds are the right savory touch to enticing me to contemplate changing my position on how much I fight with nature. Or how much I resist anything unwelcome.

 

 

 

 

The Search for a People’s Leader

When I meditate about the loss our country has endured from the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. 40 years ago today, I feel grief first of all; grief and anger that we have had to do without his vision, dignity and courage all these years. Others have taken up the mantle but not as comprehensively, passionately and effectively.  

There is great promise in the leadership of Barack Obama, though his vision of social and economic justice and equality and its implemention is broader, more concrete and less theoretical than Dr. King’s. No one could accurately call him a black leader; he doesn’t focus on race, and he fights for the rights of all races.

In the span between 1968 and today, blacks had to move on without receiving the justice and equality they sought, and many of us sought for them. It has come bit by bit, especially with the Civil Rights Act, but not in the hearts of every American citizen and therefore not in practice.

And in that same time,  from when Dr. King was assassinated until now, Barack Obama was growing up, a child not just of America but of the world, his path made easier by the legacy of Dr. King as he says but more from the hands-on experience of living abroad, of seeing the clash of cultures close up and of learning the importance of their respecting one another and working together.

I mention Dr. King and Senator Obama because they have been the ideal leaders during my lifetime, with the exception of President Kennedy. The ones that inspired me to care, and to speak out and say that fairness and equality still don’t exist. Dr. King’s legacy reminds me I can’t give up hope; he wouldn’t have until economic justice has been won. 

I feel frustration, too, which comes from enduring the incompetence, arrogance and dishonesty of President George W. Bush. Since Senator Clinton has adopted many of his traits, especially his dishonesty, I ache for Dr. King’s character, demonstration of heart, and openness and I yearn for his leadership.

But is it gone? I believe it remains not only in his legacy but also in his hope for us which hovers above our continued need of the ideals he fought for.

Perhaps it is the example of character and leadership of Dr. King and Senator Obama that accentuate the falsehoods of Bush and Clinton. For without integrity it is impossible to lead; the definition of a leader is one who inspires others to courage and action with the interests of the country at heart… not fixating on approval ratings or special interests. 

However, legacies aren’t enough in themselves. They only pave the way, serving as silent leaders, demanding action from each of us. 

When I yearn for a transformation of Dr. King’s message of nonviolence, and an example of his straightforwardness and sincerity in the flesh, I look beyond these false and destructive ‘leaders’, elected and not, who underestimate…in their rush for acclaim and their quest for power at any cost… the intelligence and perception of voters. I listen to my own heart and to the heart of my brothers and sisters and it motivates me because the audacity of their not understanding what Americans want and need is frightening. But there is strength in voter numbers, and Americans are catching on, finally. 

Setting things right after the death of a people’s leader, and making unactualized dreams real, is not just about developing better programs or policies. Wounded hearts have to dare to feel again, and trust has to be restored, which takes constant effort on the part of us all to forgive one another for the past. 

I pray that we will all keep striving for unity as we continue our pursuit of justice and equality. One option we have is to stand behind Senator Obama’s capacity to attract experts whose answers complement his own, and accept his invitation to in essence fulfill Dr. King’s legacy, thereby creating a new moral and economically fair order.

Remembering the words of Dr. King, timely today from its unfinished business, gets us closer to achieving the goal of dignity, jobs, education and food on the table. It is asking so little that all Americans have enough to keep them healthy and happy. By inching, together, towards these rights and their fulflllment, we gain a mile, and in the meantime, our own dignity. 

 

A Good Speech Heals the Hurts

Yesterday was one of those off days, thankfully rare, with two bad interactions in yoga class.

A friend reported she had lost a book I loaned her. No apology, just “I have no idea where it is. Maybe if I had the title.” I didn’t remind her that I had given her the title of what I thought it was. We had been discussing this for seven months and I should have let it go long ago but I couldn’t get past her nonchalance.

The yoga class was intense. With my stiff back, holding poses for a long time isn’t something I adore. One man announced it was ”the hardest class” he’d been to with this instructor. I smiled at him, glad to have company. In the locker room,  when I ran into a circle of ladies complaining amiably, I said, “I’ll go tell the instructor,” thinking that I could represent all of us. Since he was a friend he might listen, and didn’t teachers want to know when people were dropping out and why? I marched back into class, nabbing him before he left, and told him that there were a bunch of folks who were struggling. His reaction caught me off guard. “I don’t have a problem with them. People always tell me my classes are too hard,” he said, turning his back and walking away.  

I was dumbfounded; it never entered my head he wouldn’t care about helping his students’ progress. I’m sure I could have presented my case more smoothly, too, though I tried not to sound accusatory.  

Driving home, I narrowed down what was bugging me: one person had shown a tinge of accountability and the other none, while neither showed empathy. For some, it’s too threatening to admit a mistake; and for others, they can’t get beyond themselves. 

Then the most amazing thing happened. I found the healing I needed while reading a speech in The New York Times. Not just any speech but one of the most majestic, truthful and heartfelt speeches I’ve heard in my lifetime. It was Barack Obama’s Speech on Race, (delivered March 18, 2008). It meant more than a warm hug or a friend saying, “I hear you, it’s OK.” Imagine that, a speech with that much healing power… for small hurts that couldn’t even measure up to significant subjects like race and unity and equality. 

Obama’s honesty, openness and insights on race in America brought tears to my eyes, his words demonstrating such directness and understanding of universal pain that it soothed every doubt and fear I have about the future, not just my present petty concerns.

How phenomenal that a speech that cynics could label as purely political could bring so much hope. But it did because we have to heal to make room for hope. If it had that effect on me, there’s no doubt it hit others, too, as being history in the making. I count it as one of the most important speeches of all times, up there with the Gettysburg Address and Martin Luther King Jr.’s I Have a Dream. I was reminded first of King’s Letter from a Birmingham Jail thinking, “I’m living this event, not looking this speech up in the library years later.” I was cheered by the timing because David Patterson’s speech just the day before, upon his swearing in as Governor of New York State, had inspired me similarly.

Healing can come from the least likely places, though the events are not random. Gestures of healing don’t have to come directly from the person who hurts us, but they do need to contain directness. I was reminded of my favorite words of sympathy from a friend after one of my husband’s parents died years ago. The friend saw me outside church, walked up to me, looked me in the eye and said, “Mary Ann, I don’t know what to say.” Nothing could have comforted me more. He gave me all he had, most of all honesty.

It wasn’t just empathy I needed in yoga class but honesty and forthrightness, two little triggers that help us feel supported so we can find the courage to forgive, move on and seek the solutions we desire. When it didn’t come from “friends,” it was my duty to be honest and kind to myself, as I need to do regardless. Always.

Notes from a Campaign Worker

Last weekend was not one of my usual weekends. I made phone calls for Senator Obama before the Texas and Ohio primaries because I knew I’d blame myself for not trying harder if he didn’t get the nomination. 

I came away learning a few new things about human nature, campaign strategy and geography, and having a few old things about leadership and character affirmed.  

The first obervation: most people are secretive about whom they vote for, even when they agree with you.  

The second: campaigns seem to target not only the hard-to-win constituencies but also the surer bets, contrary to my thinking they went after the most challenging prospects. 

The third is about geography: there’s a town in Texas called Wichita Falls, which I didn’t know. I made calls there, as well as in Canton, Ohio in the Southeast which is conservative, a fact which I also didn’t know. This comes from the olden days when Virginians migrated to southern Ohio and New Englanders migrated to the big cities in northern Ohio, like Cleveland and Toledo. Having lived in a steel town, Middletown, in the western part of the state as a child, it was fun to update my bearings.  

The phonothon logistics of the Obama campaign were web-based and impressively easy, with a script and all. I started calling in Houston. I heard that the campaign was targeting Katrina evacuees and I hoped that that was the case. My results were mixed – mostly cordial, though two responses were so rude I had to fight back tears. 

In Wichita Falls near the Oklahoma border, everyone I spoke with seemed to be retirement age. If their terse responses of “NO” when I asked them if they were caucusing were any indication, they were Republicans.  

It was fascinating listening to scores of voice mail recordings made by chipper husbands that said, “We’ll be back soon.” They mentioned the wife’s name, too, as if presenting a show of cheery unification against burglars or the unknown… like terrorism and campaign calls. Every time I left a message – which the Obama campaign instructed me to do in Texas but under no circumstances in Ohio - I couldn’t help picturing an idyllic scene of the family dog helping the couple unload groceries in the kitchen as they listened to my message. I prayed it would prompt them to open the ice cream on its way to the freezer and talk about some key issues, like consensus building. 

Making campaign calls to strangers is an awfully intimate kind of calling, much more so than the phoning I used to do in fundraising and headhunting. Because politics is so passionate, and it’s such a humongous responsibility to represent a candidate, it’s nice to find common ground with the person on the other end of the line.  

I had actually planned to campaign in Houston in person, even purchasing a plane ticket. But I decided not to go when the pet sitter fell through and the campaign organizers said I would be campaigning on my own near my motel, most likely. An hour’s search on Mapquest for campaign headquarters and a motel spawned a serious fantasy of driving the Houston perimeter. Like Chevy Chase in the movie European Vacation when the family circles a rotary in London until nightfall, unable to get off, Dad shouting out, ”Look kids, there’s Big Ben!” at each rotation. I could get lost and go in circles at home and it would be cheaper.

In truth, this decision was agonizing because I don’t like missing out on the energy created by teams coming together for a common purpose. But I figured a solitary experience wouldn’t resemble the teamwork I enjoyed while working in the Atlanta Olympics, so it made more sense to make calls from home. My prime objective was helping Obama, not being part of the action, I reminded myself. 

One special call, however,  made it all worthwhile. It was from Latrice in Houston at 10 pm on Sunday night. I’m not even sure she knew why I had called; she said she got my number from caller ID. She talked about the Obama phenomenon and how “awesome” it was to hear him speak after the Wisconsin win. Connecting with this instant friend who shared his views made me feel I was at that rally, hearing my candidate in person. Our kinship was proof that his message brings unity and hope.  

I bested my call goal by 30%, feeling good that if I missed a great adventure in Houston I was living with the consequences of my decision like the candidates do every day, a lesson I always need to relearn.   

Now that these primaries are over I’ve hit a snag. How can I be a tolerant person and allow folks, in my heart, to vote as their heart tells them to? I certainly want to. But it’s difficult when the campaign of one of those candidates – a female - is adopting a style that has been labeled as duplicitous, racist, attempting to instill fear, and of a victim mentality. I don’t support such tactics even though they originate from the candidate herself feeling threatened. 

I come to the conclusion that voters, like mankind, see what they want to see, depending upon one’s values and experience. I choose to tout the strengths of an inspirational and character driven winner, Senator Obama, the role model for how to be inclusive and transcend the fray of animosity. Though he is being goaded to fight back, I don’t believe he will lower himself to her tactics.  

We each make our own decisions about how we want to live our lives, and one thing is clear. If we don’t fight for what and who we believe in with respect, we suffer the consequences.  

One of the Democratic candidates is an example of division and the other is an example of solidarity. While we can learn from bad examples about what not to do, it is far simpler to go with a visionary who has both heart and strength. Those qualities represent the part of our ‘experience’ that not only counts, but that also inspires others to rise above the temptation to be petty and unfeeling, a temptation that is nothing more than indulging in an entity that is minute, yet damaging, called ego.  

A Cheer for Obama

This post will have no rhetoric. No preaching. Just an old-fashioned whoop of joy BEFORE the primaries today that we have a candidate like Barack Obama to vote for. It feels better than I can possibly describe. Close to mellowness and a rush all at the same time, and without either emotion canceling out the other. Maybe White House ’leadership’ had to get this bad before we could recognize pure vision and hope and talent and courage.

Let’s hear it for Obama…Hip hip hooray!!!

A postscript after voting: I will never forget the feeling of standing so alone in that voting booth…being myself…voting my heart’s desire….and seeing that one name all alone on the page. Barack Obama for President of the United States. It felt unreal and I got chills followed by tears that rolled down my face. It was the impact of that wonderful African name! Is this really possible in America? Can it really come true? Have times changed enough for crazies to not be threatened by the courage of this tall athletic figure who can speak from his core? That name rang out such courage! Never in my life have I had such an emotional feeling voting. Now I pray for his safety, his nomination and his victory.

Finding Our Balance When the World Acts Crazy

Last week there was so much discord and tragedy in the news that I felt I needed to plant my feet a little more firmly on the ground to balance myself. The more off kilter the world seemed, the more I felt I was losing hope.  

I don’t need the world to be rosy all the time, certainly, but there is something very elemental about emotional survival and how it affects mood, productivity and health. The defining moment hit me when I was trying to rise above the fighting between Presidential candidates - which felt childish and ego-filled, on top of Wall Street’s quivers, the bloodshed in Kenya, and the tragic and mysterious death of talented actor Heath Ledger. 

How do I stabilize myself when things get bad? The answer is the same whether my imbalance is caused by something external - world events - or from my feelings about a personal situation. Balance resides somewhere between reaching out in care and protecting oneself with distance, as well as between pitching in to make things better and saving time to get our own work done. The answers are tricky because balance is different for each one of us. 

I see two advantages to feeling off balance. It can fuel us to action - to help others – and it can force us to focus on what’s really important; get us to be selective in choosing priorities as to how we spend our time and energy.

It helps me to follow my passion in my career, my relationships, the community I build and, most of all, the values I hold because if I’m off track in any one of these then I won’t have a solid foundation and I’ll be buffeted by ill winds when they come.  

If I choose action as a means of addressing my imbalance, I am giving of myself to better a situation. The thing that needs correcting can be external or close to home, it doesn’t matter.

Regarding the devastating election violence in Kenya that is turning out to be ethnic cleansing, I am at a loss as to how to help. I worry about my entrepreneur who runs a tomato stand in Nairobi, to whom I made a loan through Kiva. She may not even be alive, according to reports from that organization. 

As for addressing the squabble between Senators Clinton and Obama, I can volunteer. I have signed up to campaign for Senator Obama because I cannot not support a true leader who unifies a divided country by inspiring citizens to action. After the assassinations of JFK and Martin Luther King Jr., I never thought I’d live to see another.

Helping just one individual through a troubled time is enough to connect us to the world. One small phone call or smile or favor can create hope at both ends as it restores balance. Our good intention is paid forward. Taking initiative empowers us and enables us to get beyond ourselves, reducing our feeling of helplessness. 

Still the question remains: how do I stay in the world in a committed way without feeling affected by what happens? Action isn’t the only wise response. Since my life is a microcosm of the world, how do I shake off the shaky feelings?  The only answer I keep coming up with is to just keep trying to get involved in things that interest me on as many different levels as possible.

Finding balance is deeper than the conceptual. It comes from feeling grounded. There are many restorative and prevention tricks for strengthening our root chakra and relying upon ourselves. I start by accepting that I am responsible for getting myself up and running and that I can’t depend on uppers from the world around me. I use yoga, which builds balance physically. I do several other forms of exercise which release tension. And I practice meditation which depends upon breath, as in yoga, to restore balance emotionally and spiritually. Creativity feeds and restores me, too, grounding me by transporting me out of the limitations induced by my concerns.

I see the condition of being out of balance as advantageous because it forces me to be more intentional about how I live my life. The values that help me stand on my feet are the same ones I stand up for on a daily basis. They guide me in the right measure of giving – how much I should dole out to others and how much to myself, getting me attuned to the universe in the very ways I’m lacking. 

They say that success is to be found by just showing up… being present… going through the motions. I gain by simply planting myself in front of my computer, and taking breaks by doing tree poses on the yoga mat. Being in the moment brings peace and peace is balance.

Feelings of imbalance can come from estrangement or separation - from not being connected enough to the world - in addition to being overwhelmed in one area or many. I can create my own ‘good news’ by expressing my caring. It puts anguish and fatique into perspective. Caring should never be so great that it renders us inoperative, however.

To survive long term, our priorities must be to take care of ourselves. Being off balance pushes us do that. And though balance is only a means to an end, it is mighty enjoyable in itself.

The Gift of Starting Over

As I was washing dishes just now I had a thought. Not unusual because many of my ideas originate from some spot on the kitchen floor. And that is, how very wonderful it is that we can wake up in the morning and possess the ability to change.

I’m referring to freedom. Incorporating or adopting what is there in the most personal sense. Changing our minds, doing something different, following a dream and, most of all, starting over.

We may choose to erase our past, hold up our past, let go of our past or build on our past, whatever we want. And moving on by making life what we want it to be for ourselves, our families, those we love, and those we may not even know but whose efforts we respect and choose to support.

This ‘rush’ of awareness came to me after listening to NPR commentators discuss the campaign strategy of the top Presidential candidates. The key word was change and how many Americans want it. How primaries are really more about testing the concept of change, along with a candidate’s charisma, than they are about evaluating a candidate’s experience. Experience is important but it is part of our past and that’s not what I want to talk about now.

I want to emphasize the incredible fact that each one of us can make a fresh start whenever we want and at whatever we choose. We can not only vote for change in this country but we can also vote for change in ourselves.

This is my gift to you during this holiday season: reminding you that you have this radically precious possibility within - now, already - the ability to change your mind and heart.

The freedom to change is to be honored and cherished. Use it to strike out in new directions or to feel differently about something. Take note, be aware, feel the expansiveness of this reality, feel your responsibility to yourself. Change is actually as light as air, as light as freedom. If it is right it is not heavy. That is its feel. Its look is lofty and beautiful as Afghan kites. And as full of spirit as those who fly them and those who run after them.

Have and hold these things. From this day forward. They are yours. Waiting for you to notice.

I have a hope for America during 2008. That Americans will stop listening to politicians who are fearful and who lead with fear. And that we will carry this concept into our personal lives as well by starting over in ways that can benefit us.

The change for some will be an about turn. For others a no-brainer if you have been keeping a steady flow of commitments and moving on. Many will keep on moving but they won’t deal with the old first. They’ll block out what isn’t comfortable, bottle it up and build on top of old wounds. That isn’t moving on; it is covering up. Such a foundation isn’t sure and it will crumble.

Is there something you have been wanting to do, or meaning to let go of? Do you hear a voice whispering to you that you need to try a new way of doing something? Your idea may start with something that has been nagging you or something you keep dreaming about; why you don’t know. But you don’t need to know where these thoughts come from. Give thanks for this opportunity and use it. Do this new thing in the new year. Follow your thoughts without judgment; with hope and curiosity. See where they go. Positive change is contagious. Give a new impetus to your life. In so doing, you give to us all.

My goal for 2008 is to speak and write more completely about beliefs that are important to me. I must. I need to be myself more surely. I am ready. Will you join me? 

A few days ago after coffee with a friend, she invited me to see her new office. It was in the quaint old condo where she used to live before she remarried, light and fresh and uncluttered. She’d bought the condo next door, knocked out walls and built a whole new space for meeting clients. The high ceilings, white walls, dark wood, new appliances, artwork, and upholstered furniture were not only magnificent, they were inspiring. I marveled at her style but also her energy in creating new environments that bring so much pleasure (each living space over the years has been beautiful and exciting). And so, in starting over she had found a way to preserve and develop her own identity. I wanted to run home and throw everything out, which surprised me because I’ve already started over, several times, and thrown out tons!

Gifts are to be used, especially the gift of freedom you give yourself to start over. Give this gift to others, too, so they can start over and discover their new selves. Each time we exercise the freedom to start over, we offer the gift of new life to another, for freedom is loving and giving and living, helping those who live in fear to create new beginnings. Making the world a better place starts at home, within our own hearts.

Happy holidays!

Sometimes Thanksgiving Makes Me Act Like a Turkey

On the flight back home after spending Thanksgiving with my children in New York, I witnessed a scene that put some perspective on my holiday weekend.  

The flight attendant was upset over a request from a passenger, which I didn’t hear, but she rolled her eyes and repeated the request to other male passengers along the aisle, getting louder and louder as she came towards me.  She was nearly shouting as she explained the request to a woman behind me, “Your husband just asked me to check on you and I don’t know what he means. In thirteen years, I’ve never had that request. I don’t know what he wants me to do; I’m very confused. If you ask me for something I’ll gladly give it to you but I honestly don’t know what he expects me to do.”

The wife didn’t respond. The flight attendant then marched back up the aisle and spoke to her colleague in the galley, gesturing furiously. The seemingly simple request obviously triggered something threatening for her. It seemed odd, especially when her job was customer service. I wondered if she thought the passenger was insinuating she wasn’t doing her job, or asking more than she thought she was expected to give. Maybe she was jealous of the love and kindness implied; there was no way to know.  

Holidays can be challenging even under perfect conditions. Many would define the ideal as having a big happy family gathering around the dining room table. But moody family members are more common, or being alone, or working like my daughter had to do. Most of us can’t help comparing the day to times past, forgetting that those Thanksgivings weren’t perfect either. 

Our Thanksgiving Day wasn’t the norm for us this year because my son had outpatient back surgery the day before. We made it low key on purpose so we could focus on helping him with lifting and bending. It was so balmy in New York that his apartment held the heat as if I’d spent all day cooking twenty turkeys when in fact I cooked none; my daughter and I shopped for our meal the night before, finding barbeque turkey and colorful vegetables at a deli up 6th Avenue after bringing him home from the hospital in a cab.

By the time Thanksgiving night arrived and my daughter walked in the door from work, I was in a nylon running top, and my son was in shorts stretched out reading on the couch. I’d done miles of walking that day with him (therapy for his back) and for some reason was too limp to pull the pre-made meal together or celebrate. I offered her a beer, which she declined because we weren’t drinking, but when she realized we didn’t fit the picture she’d held in her head all day long of ‘being with family when she got off work’, she went to the refridgerator to retrieve it. Thankfully we revived after making potato leek soup and eating the deli goodies. And by the time my older daughter came into town the next day, we were laughing about it.

But in another way I went downhill. That ‘next day’ was also the day I reverted back to my behavior the day of the surgery (Thanksgiving happened to fall right in the middle) in which I misplaced every single thing I needed – my glasses, notes with information I’d scribbled, you name it. The whole thing was ludicrous; I wish I could have found it funny. I used to be fatigued in years past when I cared for a sick husband, but I didn’t remember being scatter-brained or impatient with myself. I was horrified I’d heard instructions from the nurse less correctly than my son who had just awakened from anesthesia. When she opened a bandage, showed us how to apply it and said, “This is my last one; you can take it home,” I touched the sterile part to open it further, thinking it was a sample. Why did my mind leave me, and worse, why was I letting that fact get to me?

Holidays bring memories and with those memories come expectations so it’s not always easy to adapt to the events that make each holiday a bit different. I know that if I can get my heart grounded on what’s really important, my body and mind will follow suit. There was much I was grateful for, like having a family, being together, my son coming through the operation safely, and feeling relieved that at least I didn’t misplace the meal.

Still, I had to get my mind off myself and feel I was doing something right. This happened spontaneously in the drug store after filling my son’s prescription when I decided to buy a pumpkin pie for the homeless person I’d passed sleeping on the church steps.

A few days later it was gratifying, once again, to observe that I wasn’t the only one overreacting. I asked a friend in yoga class how his Thanksgiving went and he said, ”It was the worst ever! The turkey was like a rubber ball. We couldn’t even stick the carving knife in it so we tossed it.”  “What about the starving children?” I asked, not facetiously because I really have a hard time with wasting food, and he shrugged. So I tried humor.  “Did you make a video and put it on YouTube?” He shook his head, still miserable. I couldn’t help wondering, “Weren’t you grateful for the rest of the meal?” but of course I didn’t say it. He was struggling, like I had over forgetting things.

When I’m taking care of someone on a holiday, I need to cut myself more slack. I knew at the time it was ridiculous to fly in circles, like a poor turkey flying the coop, but the whole thing had me puzzled. Now I understand what was going on, and that if I could have taken three deep breaths to ground myself… my thoughts would have been clearer and my emotions steadier.  

Stuff happens during the holidays, and I was only experiencing some ‘moments,’ and even stressful moments pass. It’s the good moments that we extract and remember, when we choose to, and I choose to call this Thanksgiving one of the sweetest in many years. 

 

 

     

 

 

Angels in the Mountains

Every so often I read an obituary that makes me think, “What a great way to live a life!”  

When I read Tillie Wood’s obituary in the Atlanta Journal Constitution (October 17, 2007), I was struck by the peace and purpose in her life. Her reputation was strong among hikers on the Appalachian Trail who fought to stay overnight at her 1848 cabin in Southern Virginia, just off the trail. Her solar-heated shower and homemade biscuits were legendary. Only the first eight people in line got a full breakfast served on china with placemats. She asked guests to remove their hats at the table and offer grace, and after breakfast she would take a group photo for her logbook that everyone had to sign, with their trail name and real name as well, in case of emergency. She was revered as “a strong woman with a mind of her own…and she inspired you to do the best that you could do.”  

I would love to live in the mountains, breathe in the pure air (tragically now polluted over the Great Smokies) and provide that kind of service for exhausted hikers. However, my self-indulgent side would probably overrule such a commitment.  

I yearned for a Tillie after my North Carolina Outward Bound course in 1987. We had to fast during the solo section and I cheated on three M&Ms that I found in my pack. Had I stumbled upon Tillie’s cabin I would have abandoned guilt along with discipline. I was so starved for fruit and vegetables after the course that my first meal was a huge red tomato I bought from a produce stand and ate like an apple. 

Tillie’s life becomes more poignant in light of a fearsome time our family experienced a few weeks ago, when we all needed an ’angel’ like Tillie to not only provide creature comforts but life itself.  

The tragedy began when we heard from a mutual friend that my daughter’s dear high school friend, whom she is still close to, never returned from a camping trip in the Cascade Mountains of Washington state. She’s been like a member of our family, staying with us in our cabin in the North Georgia mountains, biking across Georgia with us, and joining us on vacations at the beach. I’ve always had a soft spot for her because of her calm, dry sense of humor, her fearlessness, and her invitation to join her hiking the Appalachian Trail (which we never did). Several years ago she moved across country to Seattle.  

We were devastated by the news that she was missing. An experienced camper, she’d never been lost though she usually car camped alone. For the next six days, our best news source was Google. To experience someone you are close to, in this case a very private, unassuming and sweet young woman, become the focal point of national news is surreal. Her parents and friends joined the search conducted by rangers, the sheriff’s office and the immigration patrol along the Canadian border. Temperatures dropped, it rained and there was no sign of her despite the searchers finding her water bottle and several notes saying she was out of food and water and living on creek water and berries. Things looked especially grim when divers searched for her body in a pool at the base of a waterfall. I started to give up hope but kept my fears to myself. 

On the sixth day, a helicopter pilot veered outside the designated search area on a whim and spotted her standing near a waterfall. It was a miracle because she’d left a note saying she was heading back upstream, but that note hadn’t been found. There was no way he or anyone else could have known where she was headed. 

We were beside ourselves. Though our lost friend hadn’t been able to benefit from Tillie Wood’s biscuits, she was plucked up by an angel with metal wings, and whisked to safety and the arms of family.  

Angel rescuers act by listening intently and thinking outside the box. These two would probably say they weren’t going out of their way, or even serving; they were just doing what they loved, or felt called to do.  

Live angels make me think about guardian angels. I haven’t met mine but I can see their results whenever an answer comes at a perfect time. I believe they are listening to me, waiting to help me with my dreams, like omnipresent parents responding with nurture and support whenever a cry is heard. (It is said that they are listening for us to state our request in the form of an intention.) I believe that in the same night mine heard two cries, one from my helpless heart resting snugly under down feathers pleading that the lost child be found, and the other from the lost child herself, alone and deep in the woods. And they acted. At the perfect time, and just in time.

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Editor – Margaret Siegel

Micro-lending, as Much Fun as Philanthropy

 

Maybe you first heard about micro-lending ages ago. How entrepreneurs in developing countries are given a small loan as seed money to start a new business. And how women, especially, have had such a good record in repaying those loans. 

 

I first got excited about micro-lending in the 1990s, by a program inspired by the work of the Bangladeshi banker Mohammed Yunus who has since won the Nobel Peace Prize: http://www.undispatch.com/archives/2006/10/mohammed_yunus.html .

 

Now, there’s an organization that does online micro-lending that appeals to me in a way few groups have. From reading the profiles of the loan applicants, I feel as if I’ve met some of the most ambitious people in the world. And I have.

 

It’s called Kiva. The website is: http://kiva.org/app.php?gclid=CP309KPIw44CFQwsOAodOzvOwQ Oprah Winfrey and Bill Clinton, in his new book Giving, have been getting the word out.

 

Micro-lending isn’t philanthropy but it stirs in me the same sense of responsibility and desire to help those in need. And it was philanthropy that got me to this point.

 

Every year around September 11, I research new ways to support children who have lost a parent. I also care deeply about the homeless and affordable housing but I’m still looking for a way to make it happen, something like Brad Pitt’s green housing in New Orleans. And I love supporting Operation Smile and enabling a child to have a cleft lip and cleft palate operation. So little to change a life. 

 

I’ve always thought what a great substitute philanthropy would be for wedding shower gifts. I’m not very fond of showers. So wouldn’t Kiva be a good substitute as well? Maybe not so much fun for the bride. But making a loan for a frying pan that will start a restaurant business instead of giving a red enamel frying pan to a bride who has so many resources, and will likely receive two other red enamel frying pans anyway makes sense to me. Besides, I’m still using the same cast iron skillet I’ve used for 40 years.

 

I think of the approaching holidays and family gift giving and wonder how I can be creative this year. When our kids were in junior high and high school we used to adopt a family at Christmas with all the cousins, aunts and uncles, instead of giving gifts to one another. We’d shop for clothes and toys together, meet over lunch at one of our houses to wrap, and then one or two of us would deliver everything to the family, which was always slightly overwhelming for the family, and a little awkward for both sides. 

 

This Christmas, I’m doing my shopping early and giving a present to myself by picking my own Kiva loan recipient. I’ve chosen a 30 year old mother from Mengo, Uganda, Juliet Kayondo, who is asking for a six month loan of $1000 to purchase a lorry of matoke, just to keep up with the demand of the food market products she is selling. I didn’t know what matoke was so I looked it up. It’s a fruit like bananas and they use it in a yummy sounding dish of meat, served on a leaf. She has received many loans just in the short time I have been writing this blog.  

 

I can’t explain why micro-lending inspires me more than other projects. It’s probably the true grit aspect of starting a business on a shoestring, and because I need to surround myself with people who have lots of courage and faith. The online aspect feels even more personal, and less awkward, than wrapping presents for that one family.

 

These folks in developing countries are following their dreams. Those dreams are to rise out of poverty, and have enough to eat. That is asking for so little. I read about one family is Viet Nam that was living off the income from artificially inseminating the two pigs they own and selling the piglets.

 

Hard working folks deserve my vote and my heart and they have it. I feel like I really am cheering for them after seeing their pictures and reading their goals. 

 

Here’s another loan applicant that inspired me, a young man in Bolivia who wants to buy a printer. He looks so earnest and he has raised nearly half of what he needs in the last 10 minutes. The link may not be there even if you read this right away: http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&action=about&id=18206 ….But there are so many others who need help. You can even pick your country.

 

Nicholas Kristof of The New York Times met the baker he made a loan to in Kabul. What fun. That’s the kind of adventure my life needs now; talk about an escape! 

 

“Loans that change lives” is the Kiva tagline. Just meeting a few of these entrepreneurs online, and giving a modest amount to one loan recipient, has motivated me to get out there and be more giving, take more risks and get more done.

 

Courage is so contagious, in how we live our lives and how we connect to folks we’ve never met.        

 

With wealth comes responsibility, but with global communications comes responsibility, too, and a chance to make a difference one person at a time, which is the way that sticks.