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Two Sides to the Blade

PRAYER OF THE SELFISH CHILD

by Shel Silverstein

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep,

And if I die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my toys to break.

So none of the other kids can use ’em….

Amen.

“Egos trip, but humble doesn’t stumble, baby.” – Think Smarter (Twitter)

My husband and I stopped at a local “hole in the wall yesterday”, known mostly for its kooky-named craft beers. It was in an industrial park, was furnished with thrift store furniture, had only one, addicting, retro arcade game, only played vinyls on an old school record player, and until recently, was only open on Sundays. And it was so cool.

I read about it, in an article written by a hesitant fan of the place. The writer was caught on the edge of the blade, that we have all been before, that edge of wanting to share with the world, something that you love and adore; something that is so unique and special and unfathomably undiscovered, wanting to give a shout-out to the creator of such an amazing thing, and yet shaking in fear, and prescient of the disappointment, of the other side of the sword. The other side is knowing that inevitably, your discovery’s amazing-ness will catch on, the item/restaurant/singer/band/foodstuff/TV show/vacation spot/store/blog (ahem) will become as immensely popular as it deserves to be, and the magic of the best-kept secret gemstone, will be lost to the masses, to the pretenders, to those who only appreciate that which is already “proven,” and thus your discovery’s novelty, rareness and sui generis will fade to the rank and file, putting you on yet another quest for the next, unexplored, uncharted, great thing.

I almost felt guilty going to the joint yesterday. Wonderful places, yet undiscovered, make you question whether you are worthy. I wanted the waiter to say, “It’s okay. You’re kinda old, but you are cool enough to be here, because you were brave enough to try.” This is probably how the first discoverers of the ancient Egyptian tombs felt. I am sure that the explorers to the new world, had to wonder if it might be better to keep their magnificent findings, to themselves and retrospectively, the native people would have probably been better off remaining undiscovered. Things tend to follow the same cycle of life, that we do. Nothing escapes it. New, fresh, undiscovered people, places and things, grow and peak and then start to decline to the archives, until some of the new, fresh, undiscovered people of the new times, rediscover the validity of the stunning archives, and the cycle starts all over again. It’s the cusp periods, on the edge of the blade, that have us all holding our breaths, watching that what we love and sometimes try to hide and hoard, about to enter its peak on the life cycle of its ultimate story and history.

Ruminating

“The wise do not attach themselves to the ups and downs of life, but stay above them.” – Rumi

I recently read an excellent book that came to me, at just the right time. As an avid reader and a dedicated over-thinker, I believe sincerely that this is how our book connections happen. It so happens that the president’s daughter recently quoted a poem by Rumi, the ancient poet and philosopher, which reminded me that I had purchased a book about Rumi’s writings earlier this year. So, I looked for it and I read it over the past weekend. The book is called Rumi: Tales of the Spirit – A Journey to Healing the Heart, by Kamla K. Kapur. It turns out that even though Rumi is often known for his poetry, he was also an ardent story teller. In this book, Kapur translates twelve of Rumi’s stories which read more like parables or even sophisticated fairy tales, and then she explains the deeper depth of meaning, that she believes that Rumi is trying to convey. It is one of those books that you think about long after you have read it. It is a book that you keep for later reflection. It is one of those books that will find you, again.

The parables of Rumi that struck me the most were the ones talking about our need to let go of attachments. When your children start leaving the nest at a clip pace, and you have reached middle age with an acute sense that everything in your physical world is aging along with you (your things, your relations, your body), it becomes painfully clear of all of the strings that need to be cut. Just how attached am I to my children and the futures that I envision for my children, and the beliefs and mannerisms and ideas that I think they should have, to match my narrow vision? Just how attached am I to my main identity that I have taken on as my children’s mother and caretaker? Just how attached am I to all of the physical things that we have accumulated along the way to support our family and the life of our family unit? ( You may recall that I recently blogged about, while sobbing, just how hard it was to sell a family car that long had been part of our family history.) Just how attached am I to the relationships that I formed to teachers and coaches and friends, because of the connection to my children and their activities? Just how attached am I to my fading youth, and the vitality and beauty that flows away and starts to just trickle, as I age? Just how attached am I to the way things were, when the focus of our lives was this budding, growing family? Just how attached am I to all of the ups and downs, the exciting roller coaster of feelings that raising a family inevitably brings with it?

In the book, Kapur describes attachment this way:

“Attachment is something or someone we grasp desperately for our own survival; something or someone we think belongs to us instead of the Power that made it. . . . .Attachment to our opinions, prejudices, judgments and beliefs also imprison us.”

Recently my husband and I attended a dinner party at the home of a very wealthy man. He had vast collections of everything you could imagine. He had several gorgeous antique cars (and another warehouse somewhere else, apparently, full of more of them), beautiful paintings everywhere, rare hood ornaments, a brown liquor collection, a wine collection, a cigar collection, several antique sculptures, and he had so many Persian rugs, that they even surrounded his large, indoor pool. Many of us party goers asked him fascinated questions about his many beautiful objects. We asked him if it made him nervous, having everyone milling around and touching his things.

He looked at us incredulously. “No, I love to be able to share what I have found joy in,” he said.

We asked him if he rolled up the antique Persian rugs when his grandchildren came over to swim.

“No! I like the rugs to keep their feet comfortable,” he said, earnestly.

When we asked him what his favorite thing was, out of all his vast collections, he answered, without missing a beat,

“My marriage,” he said with a sweet smile.

Rumi says that detachment is not saying that you should own nothing. It is saying that nothing should own you. This man, who hosted the party, was a testament to this wisdom that Rumi extols.

The author includes one of her favorite Aboriginal proverbs, in the chapter on detachment. I’ll end this post with it:

We are all just visitors to this time, this place. We are just passing through. We are here to observe, to learn, to grow, to love and then to return home.

(For more reading on detachment, I also highly recommend Karen Casey’s Let Go Now – Embracing Detachment)

That’s Weird

Hi guys! Happy Friday!! The weekend is here! Happy “Favorite Things Friday”! On Fridays, I keep this light and on the material plane. I typically list three favorite items, cleaning products, foods, songs, websites, etc. that just make life a little more life-filled. Please see previous Friday posts for other favorite things and please add your own favorites to the Comments section. Without further ado:

Amkiri Visual Fragrance Tattoos – I bought this wand and stencils temporary tattoo kit for my artistic teenage daughter to have fun with, and to share with her friends. (including me) It is sophisticated enough to be an upgrade from the Crackerjack stick-on tattoos, but nothing you have to commit to for life (or even for a day), like an actual tattoo. (they are pretty easy to remove) My daughter has a blast experimenting with the stencils and her own designs. The ink actually smells divine, to boot. So much fun to be had and worth every penny!! **helpful hint – My daughter says that baby powder and hairspray makes the tattoos last longer.

Bumblebee Tuna Packets – These packets are a fun, easy, healthy way to snack or to grab lunch on the go. The packets even have a built in spoon. There are so many different flavors to try, but we have decided that our family favorite is the Lemon Sesame Ginger variety. At only about a dollar a package, this is a wallop of good healthy protein, at a great price!

OPI Alpaca My Bags – A while ago, I featured my favorite nail polish colors on a Favorite Things Friday post. I have a new color to add to this list. This is a fabulous shade of blue. It is not a garish turquoise or ultra bright sky blue, but more of a grey-blue or a cornflower blue. It adds a sophistication to blue nail polish which is perfect as we head into autumn and the more subdued shades of the season.

Have a great weekend, friends!!!

It is.

Image result for picture of a white heron in a forest

Behind our home is a small lake and behind the small lake is part of an expansive nature preserve. A white heron often comes and perches in the thick expanse of trees and greenery that make up the preserve. The white heron is still, elegant, peaceful. It is such a beautiful, tranquil contrast to the unruly thickness of the foliage all around it, the greenery that twists and turns and fights for the center stage of the forest, reaching and seeking desperately, upwards and outwards. When I see the heron, I often wonder if that is what our souls look like. The beautiful, quiet, placid spirit part of us, deeply nestled in the center of the thick, and wild forest of our minds and our thoughts and our lives. It quietly sits and observes and reflects without thoughts and judgments and cares. The white heron is beautiful. It is quiet. It is being still. It is being. It is.

No Fish Pucky – A Fish Story

I had a “first time in over twenty years” moment yesterday. I had to spill out a gallon of milk because it had gone bad. I think I am going to have to start buying the smaller cartons of milk. Life sure is different with just our baby girl at home.

Speaking of over 20 years, I have another “no horse pucky” story (see previous “no horse pucky” stories in my blog, if you end up liking this one) to lighten all of the somberness of the news lately. Over the summer, it turns out that I was only the second person to ever fall out of my fly-fishing tour guide’s upgraded canoe, in his over 26 years of being a guide. The water was cold – breathtakingly cold. Let me give you some background.

My husband loves to fly fish. He loves all things outdoors and the biggest highlight of our summer vacation in Montana (and in celebration of his 50th birthday) was to be his treating of the rest of his family, to fly fishing lessons. He set up three tour guides, each equipped with upgraded canoe-type boats that were going to drift down the river, and by the end of it all, we were going to be expert fly fisher-people, with all sorts of pictures of our catch and release beauties, to prove our proficiency. Now, at dinner parties, when I have told this story, people usually interrupt me to say, “Oh, I always thought that you did fly-fishing on the side of the river, in waders and cute hats, with those old-school wicker baskets for your fish.”

Well, where we went, they preferred the row boat method because the water is cold – breathtakingly cold, even in June. (plus, there are grizzly bears, but that is for another blog) Anyway, we got divided into twos. My husband and my second son (the most outdoorsy child of ours, the one who counts Bear Grylls as one of his idols, the one who has mused more than once, about chucking college and living “off the land”) were, appropriately, in one boat. My youngest two children, both good fishers and extremely competitive with each other, jumped into another boat and already started betting each other (and their zany, also hyper-competitive guide) who would catch the most fish. That left my eldest son and I, to the final boat. My eldest son and I are the ones in the family, who get bored with fishing, the quickest. (usually within the first fifteen minutes) We’re the ones in the family who rent the “out there” indie films that the rest of the family groans about, and we talk about the movie, after it is over, for longer than the movie lasted. I felt sorry for our guide. I was already calculating, in my mind, a large tip for him.

Our guide, it turns out, was a very serious, quiet, Thoreau-type guy who after being an English major in college, decided to spend the rest of his life in nature, teaching people alternately, to fly fish and to ski, depending on the season. We were the same age, 48 years old. My first question to him, as I entered the boat, was, “Do you have any good juicy stories about any mishaps with your clients?”

“No, I don’t,” he said with a little tone of puzzled disgust, in his quiet, slow, hard to hear cadence, with already, an annoyed look on his weather-lined face. “Most people who come out here are just so relaxed and happy to be in nature – one with it, so to speak,” he said as he waved his hands to the beautiful horizon with the towering mountains in the distance.

Our guide was very patient. My son and I got our lines tangled together more than the average clients, I suspect. Our guide was an expert detangler. (I kept thinking that I wish I had brought that old ball of costume jewelry. He would have had that thing detangled, in no time flat, with no broken necklaces, to boot!) One time, I got my line tangled on the anchor. I thought that I would discreetly pull the anchor up, and detangle it myself, so as not to add to the tally of his detangling efforts. Of course, that was an epic fail because the boat starting flying down the river, so fast, you would have thought that it had a motor.

Still, thanks to our guide’s peaceful centering, and patient instruction, my son and I started to get the hang of fly fishing and my son, even, started catching fish. I really enjoyed the constant action of fly-fishing, and my instructor kindly stated that while my casting form was getting to be very good, I must remember that the fish are in the water, not in the air. I decided that sitting on the bench seat was probably impairing my abilities and I asked my guide if I could stand.

“Yes,” he sighed. “You can stand, but you must remain in the middle of the boat in the guard area.” This area he pointed to, looked kind of like a pulpit, jetting out from the middle of the boat, so for now on, I’m just going to refer to it, as “the pulpit”.

I loved standing in the pulpit and casting and casting and casting and casting and casting my line. I, admittedly, would get excited from time to time, and move out of my pulpit and lean a little too much on the side of the boat and that is when our guide would say to me (a little more firmly each time), “Remember to stay in the guarded area, or you will fall out of the boat, and be sorry. The water is breathtakingly cold.” I think one time he may have even said (and rightfully so), “Stay in the center guard area, dammit.” I can’t be sure, though, as he was a very quiet, serious man.

Towards the end of our excursion, all three of our boats were in sight of each other, on the river. My daughter had beat her brother by catching one more fish than he had (9-8, or something like that) and I was enjoying watching her amazing form, while fishing. My eldest son, had caught at least 5 fish and had even offered to stop fishing, so that I could catch one, instead of him. My husband and our second son, had caught a couple of fish each. I hadn’t caught any fish. None. Nada. Our guide didn’t like that fact.

“I’m fine. I’m just enjoying watching my kids fish,” I said to him, with an earnest smile.

“That’s not good enough,” he said to me. He anchored us at his favorite fishing spot and told me to cast away. I casted and casted and even let the fly sit on the surface for more than a minute and then, for the first time, all day, I felt a bite.

“You’ve got one! You’ve got one! Bring it in!” my guide exclaimed, in the loudest voice that I had heard him speak all day. His voice startled me. It was the first time all day, that I didn’t have to lean in, to hear what he was saying. He was so excited. My son was so excited. I got excited and all instruction of what to do next, completely blanked on me. I started to jump up and down. I jumped out of the pulpit. I backed up against the edge of the boat. When, the guide reached over to grab me, I leaned back . . . . the next thing I knew, I was gasping, desperately for air. The water was cold – breathtakingly cold. Still, I had my rod in hand and the fish was still on it. Much to the relief of my guide, I started laughing. He smiled, handed the rod to my son, pulled me into the boat, handed the rod back to me. And I brought in my first and my last catch of the day. Freezing, soggy, but triumphant. I would post the picture of the fish that I caught, but my phone was in my pocket when I fell out of the boat.

“You’re welcome,” I said to my guide, as we were leaving and saying our good-byes, at the end of the excursion.

“For what?” he said, looking at me, quizzically and piercingly, at the same time.

“You’ve got your story.”

True story. No horse pucky.

Grit Your Teeth

I’m having trouble concentrating on writing this morning, because I am a teeth grinder. I grind my teeth at night. I am too stubborn to get a mouth guard, despite the pleas of more than one of my dentists to get one. I just don’t see myself being able to fall asleep with giant blobs of plastic in my mouth. (and more than I need comfort, I need my sleep) I hate the look and smell of long lines of saliva. I have PTSD from my retainer-wearing days. I constantly lost my retainer. One time my dad was mowing the lawn, and came into the house angrily, because he almost mowed over my retainer. I have no idea how it got out to the lawn. I blamed my dog.

So, now I have a dull jaw ache, that seems to shooting down to my stomach and up to my head. The only words that I can think to write are “Ow! Ouch! Ugh!”

“Chew on this: Human teeth can detect a grain of sand or grit 10 microns in diameter. A micron is 1/25,000 of an inch. If you shrank a Coke can until it was the diameter of a human hair, the letter O in the product name would be about 10 microns across.” – Mary Roach

Never Lose Hope

In light of all of the painful world’s events that have occurred in just this short time, I think that this wisdom from the Dalai Lama is so correct:

“There is a saying in Tibetan, ‘Tragedy should be utilized as a source of strength.’
No matter what sort of difficulties, how painful experience is, if we lose our hope, that’s our real disaster.”
― Dalai Lama XIV

I hope that you have a reflective, restful day off (if you are fortunate enough to have this Labor Day off) and enter into another fall season, refreshed and hopeful. Over the weekend, a dear friend of mine’s son, tragically lost one of his dearest friends. I wrote to him that every friendship that I have ever had, whether long or short, has affected my life and in essence, has become a part of, and helped to form, who I am, at my very core. So, in essence, those friendships will be with me forever. In that same sense, every tragedy and every triumph that we experience in our lifetimes, also becomes a part of who we are and helps to form us, and to grow us, individually and collectively. Thus, nothing is for naught.

The Good News

What stinks about hurricanes (besides just about everything) is that they force me to look at the news much more frequently than I ever do, on a daily basis. So, on top of all of the anxiety, prepping for all possible ramifications of Dorian, depressing feelings set in, from reading about yet another tragic shooting and all sorts of other negative news, swirling around on the TV and the internet. However, there was one news story, from a day or so ago, that truly touched my heart and reminded me that people are mostly kind and caring to one another. The world is a mostly good place.

A couple was flying with their young autistic son, who ordinarily loves to fly. Typically, flights have a calming effect on this young man, so his parents were completely mystified when their son got hysterical during take-off during the flight and could not be calmed. The flight attendants warned the parents that the flight could not take off until he was in his seat, but the child was inconsolable. When the flight attendants realized the parents lack of ability to change the situation, they patiently worked with them, sitting with them and allowing the child to sit on his mother’s lap, for take off. Soon, it became evident that the child felt more comfortable lying on the floor of the plane, due to the vibration. So after take off, the people in the first class section, spread a blanket down, so the child could lie on the floor comfortably. A stranger wrote a lovely handwritten note to the mother on a ripped out page of the airline magazine. Here is part of it:

“I commend you for your strength. Do not EVER let anyone make you feel as though you are an inconvenience or a burden. He is a blessing . . . Continue to be superwoman and know you and your family are loved and supported.”

The best part of this story, is that when I chose to write about it today and I did an internet search for it, I found that it was just one of many, many similar stories. One mother put her high-functioning autistic son on an airplane to visit his father with a note to be given to the child’s seat mate, letting him know about his condition, asking the person to be patient and even enclosed 10 dollars for the inconvenience. The kind man sitting next to her 7-year-old son, sent a picture and note back to his mom, saying this:

“(Landon) did ask if we were there yet several times but he was a great travel buddy. We had a good time and played a few rounds of rock-paper-scissors,” Pedraza wrote. “He’s a great kid and you’re a lucky mom.”Pedraza said the $10 “wasn’t necessary” and that he donated it to The Autism Society in honor of Landon.

Both mothers put their stories on social media, and thankfully, these WONDERFUL news stories went viral. Perhaps instead of avoiding the news, like I do these days, I should just be choosier about what I read. There are pages and pages of GOOD news to be read, if you put your mind (and heart) in the right direction.

Makes So Much Sense

“This is one of the marks of a truly safe person: they are confrontable.” – Dr. Henry Cloud

Dr. Cloud has written many good books mostly focused on the subject of boundaries. There seems to be a whole lot of attention on narcissism and toxic people, these days. Back when I first learned the term “narcissism” there wasn’t much of anything about it at all on the then sparse internet. There were very few books on the subject, but it was such a relief to finally have a term and some understanding about why some of the toxic people in my life, at that time, behaved the way that they did. Now there is a plethora of information out there about these topics, some good, some not so good, but Henry Cloud knows what he’s talking about. We only have control of our own thoughts, behaviors, decisions, actions and reactions, and we are responsible for the consequences of all of these things. Healthy boundaries that we create are an important part of our overall health. There are all sorts of articles out there, talking about how to spot an unhealthy person. I think the above quote is as about as solid and telling as it gets. No one likes to confront and no one likes to be confronted, but healthy people, even if nervous and upset, can handle confrontation and work through it to a mutually agreeable solution. Trying to confront an unhealthy person, is like walking into a hurricane or a room with a ticking time bomb. The energy swirling around is scary, unpredictable and has the healthy people “walking on eggshells.” I like when someone “states the obvious”, yet what is said is so refreshingly clear that it feels like something that we have known all along, deep inside, suddenly comes to the surface and makes all of the sense in the world.

Hurricane Hassle

Happy Friday! Happy Favorite Things Friday!! Readers, things are breezy, easy and sometimes even cheesy, here on Fridays at Adulting – Second Half. On Fridays, I list three favorite things, songs, apps, foods, etc. that I just love and I strongly encourage my readers to add their favorites, in the Comments section. New readers, please feel free to check out previous Friday posts for lots of good favorites to enjoy!

Readers, I hope you all have a fabulous long holiday weekend. As you know, I live in Florida. We are not evacuating. I am staying positive that we won’t be affected greatly and I am praying for my fellow citizens that we will all be safe and unharmed. I have only lived in Florida for about eight years, and already I have come to accept hurricanes as the price we pay, to live in otherwise, such a beautiful, warm, ripe and fascinating state. If I am not posting, just figure that we had a power outage and we are prepared for that. That is the beauty of hurricanes – they give you fair warning of their impending arrival. It’s just annoying because the hurricanes never decide who they are going to visit in person, until seemingly, the very end.

On to today’s favorites:

Spray ‘N Wash Laundry Stain Remover Max with Oxi Action – I live in a family of six active and not particularly graceful people, and two boisterous dogs. We get a lot of stains on our clothes. I have never used a better stain remover in my life. It claims to even remove 7-day dried in stains. I haven’t tested that situation but I believe it to be true. This stuff is the bomb!

Balanced Femme Liquid Herbal Formula – I have mentioned that I have been trying out different natural remedies for dealing with the fun of premenopause/menopause hormonal craziness. The verdict’s still out on this one, but I have found it beneficial enough, to order a second bottle. At the very least, I have noticed no negative side effects. You can order it from Amazon.

No Pull Dog Harness from Zydistro (ebay) – We have two large, young, strong, eager dogs. Our Labrador retriever weighs over 80 pounds and our collie is about 65 pounds. These nylon harnesses are the best we have ever used to walk our dogs with and they are unbelievably inexpensive ($6.99). They are washable nylon, have strong straps and clips, come in all sorts of sizes, colors and patterns, are easy to put on and off and the best part is that they have a strong pull handle on the top of the harnesses, which comes in handy in certain circumstances, like pulling Ralphie (our lab) away from someone who doesn’t necessarily want to have their face licked off. I bought ours at the beginning of the summer. We walk our dogs daily, and the harnesses are still in great shape.

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