Kindness in the face of Fear

It’s so easy, when you are in the middle of a crisis, to think only of yourself and of your own comfort, isn’t it? Closing down to the outside world is often just what you need to get through what is happening in your own life. But what about all the people who are worried about you? what about their concerns? Well, for most of us, we just let our friends and family talk among themselves to get the news. Over the past week, however, I have seen a sterling example of Grace Under Pressure from a member of my family. She had a difficult diagnosis, and had to undergo surgery. But even in the midst of her own worry, the need to comfort her own immediate family, awaiting results, and all the things that come with worrisome medical problems, she had the kindness to put out a blanket email to those of us who she knew were concerned. She did not leave it for someone else, she did it herself. Understandably tired from it all, she still took the time to text me after I left a phone message. This kind of graciousness is rare in the best of times, and in times of worry they are almost unheard of. So to my dear dear cousin, I thank you and bless you for your kindness when you had the right to let every one else fend for themselves.

Just say NO to Bullies

This morning I read an article about a group of three girls who had made a video about bullying for a contest entry, and won recognition in the form of a proclamation, so I took the opportunity to watch the video on YouTube. There has been a great deal in the news lately about bullying and its very real and very life threatening consequences. This week there was a story in the newspaper about law enforcement in Florida actually doing something about it, in the form of arresting the two girls who had allegedly bullied another girl to the point where she took her own life; in essence they bullied her to death. Along with my shock and dismay about the girl who died, the shock and sadness that enveloped me was with regard to the lack of empathy, the outright lack of feeling of one of the girls involved; and not only did she not deny having done it, her message seemed to indicated that she was proud that she had hounded another human being to her death. What have we become? Where is our society on its way to? Our entertainment, and especially that targeted at the young seems to consist of vampire tales, mean girls—the meaner the better—and zombie and other graphic novel characters who take the place of humans. We also have the super characters, like Spiderman, Batman, etc, who are human crossovers, and other human-like characters, like avatars, and men-in-black, and (Keanu reeves) But look around. Do you see any of those kinds of creatures? So far as I know, with the exception of the much debated Yeti and Loch Ness Monster, what we see when we look around is other people, pretty much just like us, with the same kinds of feelings, more or less, the same kinds of needs and thoughts and likes and dislikes. Ask just about anyone, and they will probably tell you that at some time in their life, they were bullied about something. It might be because they were small, or the only redhead, or fat, or different in some way from the “group”, whatever that was. And if you question them further, they will probably tell you that during the time they were bullied, even if it was by a sibling, they felt pretty awful. But taking it one step further, did they ever bully? Even knowing how awful it was to be on the receiving end of the torment, did it stop them from ever being on the “team”, or even standing aside out of fear, when the “team” went after someone else? Everyone at some time has the possibility of being the object of unwanted attention. And don’t we all have some flaw, or even some great thing about us that makes us a little bit different than the rest of the crowd? Whether it is positive or negative, being the exception seems to have become a dangerous thing to be among the tender young. Wouldn’t it be great if we could teach our children, and be the support of children other than our own to learn to withstand the pressure? Wouldn’t it be great if we could be an example of one who steps into the space between the “crowd” and the object of derision, if not to protect, then to remind the members of the crowd that the mob sometimes turns on one of their own, and they could be next. There is no loyalty when the mob become frenzied, is there? I guess what I am saying has already been said: “Be the change you want to see in the world.” And do it now, because innocents are dying.

Lovely Memories

Did you have the kind of Mom that taught you many of the “nice-ities” of life as it was then, and even though many of those things didn’t hold up in the way we live today, do you think of them sometimes? I do. I remember growing from a kid into a young lady that would wear gloves to certain occasions. And I remember graduating from white cotton gloves that one wore to visit someone, to beautiful, fitted kid gloves that were “smart”. My mom wore a dressy hat to my brother’s high school graduation and I thought--I was twelve at the time-- that when I grew up I would probably wear a hat to special occasions too someday. We learned to buy lovely nylons, which were held up by garter belts, and we know that today’s version serves quite a different purpose than the one our mothers taught us. Well, the only time I wear a hat today is to keep the sun off, and my gloves are the multicolored knit variety for the cold, such as it is here in California. So I have in my possession odd articles from the past that no longer serve their intended purpose, but they serve the purpose of reminding me of some of what I learned from my parents. My parents scrimped to make ends meet, but looking at these things, I can look back and see through the veils of memory to what was important to them, and what, of that, has been passed on to me and what has been lost to our fast paced, techno, but differentiated society. I have a box of evening purses that belonged to my mom. I remember too, the first beaded bag that I got of my own. It makes me kind of sorry that my daughters did not grow up in the kind of society where they had a need for beaded bags. They missed out on a certain kind of excitement that I experienced of dressing up, and there being dress clothes and play clothes, and one was not the other. Every girl dreamed of the time when she would have the need to buy a “formal”, a dressy dress or gown for a very special occasion. There was always such excitement when my parents got dressed up to go out for the evening, and it wasn’t clubbing, but perhaps to a dinner dance at the synagogue, or a party that a friend was making. No one ever went out for the evening in ripped or shredded jeans; actually there were no “good “ jeans. Levis were work clothes, and only men wore them, and there was no such thing as athletic shoes. My mom used to wear a skirt and blouse and high heels to go to the market. Ladies carried hankies in their purses, and gentlemen always had a clean handkerchief in their pocket. My father shined his shoes with paste wax, and buffed them with a brush. No one then could have imagined speaking to a small electronic box rather than to their dinner partner, and manners were important enough to be taught. I certainly don’t long for the days when I couldn’t run out to the store in sweats, or when no one had workout clothes, but I do think of the days when life had a certain rhythm to it, or at least my life did. There was homework in the afternoon after we walked a mile home from school, no lessons or leagues. My dad came home from work at 6 and we had dinner prepared by my mom. Mom washed the dishes and dad dried, my uncle called every night to say Hello, and plans were made for a picnic or a family gathering on the weekend. The “family” was the center of things, rather than the kids, and although there were not so many labor saving devices, parents were not so exhausted and preoccupied. I helped my mom with the housework, and we had good times that we created. We had less entertainment, but more fun. Something to think about.

How do you Feed Your Soul?

The title of this entry came to me several days ago, and I have been mulling over what to say about it since then. But what I wanted and needed to share wasn’t as immediate as the title. Perhaps it was because I knew that my soul needed desperately to be fed, but I was not consciously sure of how to do it. (If you have read my blog before, you know that recently my dog Lucy died and I have been missing her terribly.) I have also been having disturbing dreams of loss, and feeling somewhat weepy. Losing track of time should have been a sure signal that something was really amiss, because I am always very aware of what day it is. On Thursday (which I thought was Friday), when the Santa Anas woke me with their screaming howl, I got up to check out what was going on. A couple of chairs had been blown into the pool, not to mention buckets, plastic cups that had been left on the patio, and even a pillow from the outdoor swing. The patio tent that we had erected at the beginning of the summer with Chris’ help--or more accurately-- the patio tent that he had erected with our help, was being picked up by the wind and moved toward the pool. It was already dipping one of its corner supports into the water. I quickly ran outside and tried to remedy the situation, but no dice. I needed help. Now that is one of my weak spots—asking for help. I woke Bob and he came to my aid, and when my daughter came out of the shower, she too came to see what the commotion was about. Together we moved the structure back into position, and pulled off the tent roof, which allowed the wind to blow through the structure without moving anything. In the process, I tripped over the hose, fell right onto my knee and thought I had broken all my bones. But lucky for me, my bones are good, and I was eventually able to get up. Again, the weepiness took my by surprise. I remembered dozens of skinned knees in my past that got patched up and forgotten about. It was the dream that I described to my daughter that undid me. And it was the hugs and comfort that that I received from her that started the healing process, not the Neosporin and bandages. It was the care and caring that I received from my family that started the process that would bring me back to my equilibrium. And in the midst of it all, coincidences not being accidental at all, I came across a column by Dr. Brene Brown about setting boundaries by saying no. I had overextended myself, was overtired, and as I have already established, am not so good at asking for help, even though whenever I do, people are happy to pitch in. Saying “no” when we are over extended is not a bad thing. It leaves us time to refresh so that the next time we say “yes” we are rested and ready for a new challenge. And saying yes to what we need, like a day in bed, reading a romance novel cover to cover, or in my case cutting out a new sewing project, can feed a hungry soul. I know that I am hungry for doggy kisses and hugs that will not come again, but saying yes to the other goodies that feed my soul will have to suffice for the present. Finding out now what feeds your soul—because it is different for everyone—and then actually using that information to stave off the hunger that causes your body or your unconscious to take charge and say “enough” by taking you out of the action is a lot easier on the knees. So feed your soul today and every day. Your knees will thank you for it.