Tag: middle age

George on Sleep

I slept in late today and it was delicious. I’m still a little sleep foggy. So today, I am going to give the late, great George Carlin my blog platform:

“People say, ‘I’m going to sleep now,’ as if it were nothing. But it’s really a bizarre activity. ‘For the next several hours, while the sun is gone, I’m going to become unconscious, temporarily losing command over everything I know and understand. When the sun returns, I will resume my life.’

If you didn’t know what sleep was, and you had only seen it in a science fiction movie, you would think it was weird and tell all your friends about the movie you’d seen.

They had these people, you know? And they would walk around all day and be OK? And then, once a day, usually after dark, they would lie down on these special platforms and become unconscious. They would stop functioning almost completely, except deep in their minds they would have adventures and experiences that were completely impossible in real life. As they lay there, completely vulnerable to their enemies, their only movements were to occasionally shift from one position to another; or, if one of the ‘mind adventures’ got too real, they would sit up and scream and be glad they weren’t unconscious anymore. Then they would drink a lot of coffee.’

So, next time you see someone sleeping, make believe you’re in a science fiction movie. And whisper, ‘The creature is regenerating itself.”
― George Carlin

Thank Yourself

Have you thanked yourself lately? Have you given yourself some appreciation? Have you told yourself how grateful you are for the life that you have created? I think that you deserve some recognition for all that you do for yourself, don’t you? I’m sure that you are good at feeding yourself criticism and admonishment to do more and to be more, but have you balanced that out with any loving kindness and valuing of yourself?

Have you thanked yourself for everything that you have tried in life, even when it was hard? Have you really thanked yourself for all of the experiences you have tried – the new places you have gone to, the new foods that you have attempted to cook and to savor, the new abilities that you have taken the time to learn and to master, the new jobs and career paths that you at first had so little expertise in, the new relationships that you have nurtured, willing to risk your fragile heart? All of those things take so much bravery and courage. You deserve thanks for all of those experiences.

Have you been grateful to yourself, for all of the fun that you have given to yourself – interesting books and movies and shows and music and art that you have gotten lost in, amazing trips and vacations to places so different from what you call home, the willingness to laugh out loud at all of the absurdities that come with life? It’s great that you let yourself relax and to laugh and to smile and to take pause.

Have you said thank you to your body lately – the vehicle that allows you to experience all of the sensations that life has to offer? Have you thanked it for taking you to where you want to go, to helping you bring forth more life into this world, for continuing to run on the low fumes of lack of sleep and good nutrition, that sometimes come from the busy life that you lead? Have you thanked it for being so reliable and rarely breaking down? Or do you just get angry at your body for not being photo-shop beautiful or for finally breaking down and getting sick, when it has been pushed too far?

Have you been grateful to yourself for the comforting nest that you have created for yourself and for your family? Have you really said thank you to you, for giving yourself that comfortable couch, that warm bed, those cozy pillows, that eye-catching statue that is so aesthetically pleasing to you, and those large windows that allow the beautiful nature to feel like it is part of your inside home? Have you really thanked yourself for creating a soothing place to call home?

Have you thanked your sensitive heart for risking hurt with every new relationship that you have entered into? Have you thanked yourself for nourishing your relationships to the point that you really understand the depth and the breadth of your deepest love, even with the vulnerability that comes with that gift from your heart? Have you thanked yourself for co-creating every wonderful, wonderful relationship in your life – the good ones that you have with your partner, your family, your friends, your pets, your co-workers, your God? Those relationships that you work so hard to nurture are perhaps the most beautiful gift that you have given to yourself. Have you really said thank you to yourself for co-creating and nourishing them?

Have you thanked yourself for removing yourself from harm – harm and hurt from toxic relationships – toxic people, toxic places, and toxic things that were sucking the very life, right out of you? You took those very courageous, heart wrenching steps for yourself, to disentangle yourself from pain, when nobody else would or could do it for you. Wow, how amazing and loving and strong and protective of you! Have you really said thank you to yourself for all of this?

You are amazing to yourself. You do so much for yourself, even in the sometimes constant barrage of criticism and total lack of appreciation. There is no one who has done more for you in your life, than you. There is no one who is more reliable, willing and able to be with you, from your very beginning until your dying day. There is no one else in this world who is wholeheartedly with you, in your every triumph, and in your every stumble, than your very self. Have you thanked yourself lately? If there were any other person in your life, who has done this much for you, and stuck with you throughout your lifetime, through all of the good times and all of the bad, you would probably be on your knees and in tears of gratitude, for everything that this person has done and has been for you. How could you not love yourself? At the very least, have you thanked yourself?

9/11

Image result for best 9/11 quotes

As awful as 9/11 was, I remember feeling so close to everyone. I remember feeling love and compassion for others, strangers even, like I never had before. We were living in Pennsylvania when it happened, and our neighbor was on a business trip in NYC. He was in the World Trade Center. Thankfully, he was a survivor of the attacks. A couple of weeks after the attacks, he came to our house to tell us about the experience. I remember how much he emphasized how kind everyone was to each other, as they hurried down the staircases. He said that it was less of a panic and more of a unified urgency to help each other to safety. Out of one of the most hateful acts ever to be perpetrated, came out a universal Love like most of us had never experienced.

The Golden Carrot

My husband showed me an article in the Wall Street Journal over the weekend that showed a mansion on the market with its own underwater labyrinth of caves, meant for scuba diving. It is located outside of Kansas City. Overall, the mansion cost over $30 million dollars to build. Right now, it is listed at $11.8 million. Another 13,000 square foot mansion in Pennsylvania is being auctioned by its owner, in hopes for a quick sale. The mansion took three years to build, got finished around 2009 and cost over $35 million dollars. Having been up for sale since 2016, it is now being auctioned for $14.9 million. Up the highway from us, is a home that has been for sale for as long as we have lived here (over eight years). It boasts the largest residential pool in our county with 14 waterfalls and a lazy river. The 21,000 square foot mansion also has its own in-house ice cream shop.

It struck me that there are many reasons why these enormous, very custom homes do not sell very easily. First of all, and obviously, there is a very small pool of buyers with the financial ability to purchase these mansions. Further, if one has the ability to buy and maintain such a home, they also have the ability to build their own creation, custom to their own interests, which might not include scuba caves and ice cream shops. It also struck me how quickly these homes seem to go up for sale, after being having been completed. They don’t seem to be utilized and enjoyed, very long, despite all of the vision and planning and resources, that it took to create them. It really is the perfect analogy as to how life works.

Human beings get focused on our goals. It is in our human nature. Our DNA propels us to move forward, always with a little bit of discontent, believing that our next achievement is going to bring us the contentment that we crave. If we didn’t have that craving for the new attainment, would we have ever progressed beyond our cave dweller state of being? The thing to remember, though, is that the most enjoyment usually comes from the process of trying to attain our target. The excitement of building an idea in our head of what we would like to obtain, create and/or achieve, and then finding the means to bring about this idea into the material world, is the thrill of living. When we actually accomplish our goals, there is often a sense of disillusionment, maybe even some disappointment, after the initial exciting sense of glory wears off. We go after our prizes, but rarely is it the end resulting prize, that brings us the most pleasure. The process of working towards the achievement of the prize is really what keeps our juices flowing. And how often, after finally completing our mission, do we soon start searching for our new mission to fulfill? We put our 16,000 square foot colossal ideas brought to fruition on the auction block, and we start focusing on the next castle in the sky, to fulfill our dreams.

I don’t think that there is anything wrong with this realization. Again, I think that it is this constant yearning, in our human nature, that is what has brought us to all of our creative advances, so far. I think that it is probably more peaceful, wise and exciting, though, to clearly understand this, about our own very natures. We think that we all crave contentment, and so we strive at goals, with the idea that the achievement of said goal (money, power, relationships, physical prowess, genius creations/inventions, material items, academic/industry prizes, world peace, fame etc. etc. etc.) will give us this feeling of contentment. Yet it rarely does, or if it does, it only does so for a short time, before we are on our yearning search, to complete a new ambition. So perhaps the real answer to achieve contentment, is to be content with our discontent. Perhaps, coming to peace with the idea that our journeys will never be satisfied, that we will always be craving more experiences, more discoveries, more advancements and, the best part of this dissatisfaction, is the action and energy, that it propels us to take. We crave a sense of fulfillment, achievement, and contentment that stays with us only briefly when we win the gold medal. But if we realize that what really gives us contentment, is getting back into the training for the next race, our heads buzzing with the excitement or working towards the next Olympic gold medal, we are okay knowing that the carrot will always be on the stick. We will be honest with ourselves, knowing that our true contentment really comes from the chasing of that carrot, not the consuming of it. We will enjoy the process of living, with the realization that the process has no real end.

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.

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.