WANT WHAT YOU HAVE: Words of Wisdom for the New Year

Want what you have.

Do what you can.

Be who you are.

-       Forrest Church

    

    On this New Year’s Day, I look forward to a rebirth of kindness and civility with the next administration, along with a waning of the pandemic.  Still, I know that things will not improve overnight, and so, as I wait to see how the next few months will unfold, I take comfort in the above words from the late Unitarian minister and theologian Forrest Church.

    

    I'm not exactly sure what these words meant to Church, who used them as his mantra, or maybe I have forgotten, as it is a number of years since I came across this quote in one of his books. I have pondered them on and off, though, and here is what they have come to mean to me.

    

    Want what you have.  These words call me to appreciation and acceptance.  Let's start with appreciation. Often, we are so busy thinking about what we don't have, what we want to acquire, that we don't appreciate what we do have. And, often, we don't appreciate someone or something until we lose them or it. Or, in the words of the old blues song, "You don't miss your water 'til your well runs dry."

    

    And, oh boy, during this pandemic, have I come to appreciate and long for what I had taken for granted.  Hugging my family and friends. Lunch indoors with a friend.  Dinner at a restaurant with my husband.  Swimming.  Walking through a store without a mask.  Going to the movies.  Traveling to visit someone dear to me.  My volunteer work with hospice patients.  In-person gatherings with my book group.  I will never take these things for granted again. 

    

    So, What do I still have that I would be loath to lose.  What is the water I would miss if my well were to run dry?  There is too much to list, but here is a start.  My husband.  My daughters and bonus sons and their families.  My friends. My health.  My home.  My garden. Hot, running water.  Central heating.  A full pantry.  Weather-appropriate clothing.  Books.  Puzzles. Writing projects.  Socially distanced walks with friends.  Noting and appreciating these things looks like "wanting what I have" to me. 

    

    And, yes, I have a lot to appreciate -- more than many, maybe more than most.  There are plenty of people who do not have all or some of what I listed above.  And who could want, for instance, homelessness, a scary diagnosis, a pandemic?  This, I think, is where acceptance comes in.  And by acceptance I do not mean resignation.  I mean not wasting energy on railing against what is, on why-me-ing.  Of course, we will have these and other reactions to awful events, but after a while, we will notice that the awful thing is still a reality, no matter how much we rail. And while we are busy railing, we are not acting. 

    

    Let me hasten to add, I am not suggesting that I am good at acceptance, just that it is something to aspire to.  Here is how the spiritual teacher Ekhart Tolle puts it:  "Accept - then act.  Whatever the present moment contains, accept it as if you had chosen it.  Always work with it, not against it.  Make it your friend and ally, not your enemy.  This will miraculously transform your whole life."

    

    Ok, so I may not be spiritually evolved enough to accept a pandemic as if I had chosen it or to make friends with injustice, but I get that accepting what is clears a path to try to do something about it.   Which brings us to the next part of Church's mantra.

    

     Do what you can.  Here is where we tackle the diagnosis, the pandemic, or whatever challenges the world presents. Church's mantra reminds me of these words from the Talmud:  "Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief.  Do justly, now.  Love mercy, now.  You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it."  I find this so encouraging.  If I think about the enormity of the work that lies ahead to heal our nation, to bring about racial and social justice, I am paralyzed.  But if I think about one step that I can take and then another, I have the strength to move forward and do my small part.  Same goes for personal challenges.  Find an action.  Take it.  Then find another. 

    

    Be who you are.  This is the trickiest of the three lines for me.  I guess it boils down to doing what is congruent with my own values, to--following Polonius' admonition, being true to myself and avoiding being thrown off my path by the judgment of others or by shiny, distracting things.  Of course, being true to myself means knowing myself, and this has been the work of a lifetime.  I am getting closer, but the work is ongoing.    

    I think an important part of being who I am is not comparing myself with others.  This is an easy trap to fall into, the place where self-judgment gets in the way of peace. There will always be someone doing more of something or doing it better than I can.  But, this takes me back to "do what you can."  If I am doing what I can, there is hope for contentment.

    

    I will leave you with this little story that reminds me of the dangers of comparison.  Once, years ago, when my daughters were young, I left my house to take a walk.  A neighbor stopped me and said, "You work.  You have a beautiful garden.  You are a good mom. And you exercise?!  I thought for a moment, and then said, "What you don't know is that I don't cook."  She looked relieved, and I got on with my walk while my husband made dinner. 

Photo by Dmitry Schemelev on Unsplash

SOME DAYS : Notes on Pandemic Life Nine Months In

Some days I feel like I am holding my breath.

Some days I breathe easy.

Some days I don't want to answer my phone.

Some days I don't want to look at my email or texts.

Some days I avoid the news.

Some days I just want to watch the birds at my feeders.

Some days I miss my family and friends so much my jaw aches.

Some days I am grateful for Zoom, Skype, FaceTime.

Some days I wish they had never been invented.

Some days I walk with a friend.

Some days I walk by myself.

Some days I get lost in a book or a jigsaw puzzle.

Some days I write.

Some days I knit.

Some days I can't settle to anything.

Some days I try to do some good.

Some days I can't think what that could look like.

Some days I know that my cup runneth over.

Some days I can't feel it. 

Some days I am grateful.

Some days I pray for those who suffer in body, mind, or spirit.

Some days I remember that is everyone.

Some days I want to weep.

Some days I want to sing.

Some days I wish I were a frontline worker doing some good.

Some days I am (selfishly) glad I am not.

Some days I grieve for those who have died.

Some days I rejoice to still be here.

Every day I wait to see what will come next.

I DIDN'T THINK IT WOULD BE SO HARD: Reflections on a Covid Thanksgiving

I didn't think it would be so hard.  I thought I could do a quiet Thanksgiving. I did all right for a while. And, then, without warning, the melancholy set in. All it took was the placing of two (and only two) plates on the table for me to become sad.  Very sad.  

I think I have tolerated the pandemic pretty well.  I am good at entertaining myself.  I like to spend time alone.  Sure, there have been bad days, but it wasn't until Thursday that the loss of human connection due to the pandemic really hit home. 

I don't usually like big gatherings - I prefer to take people one-by-one or, at most, a handful at a time.  But Thanksgiving - Thanksgiving is different.  It is my favorite holiday.  No presents - just lots of food and a jigsaw puzzle and beloved people.

This year we had the food and the puzzle, but there was no need to set up a card table for the puzzle--it fit just fine on the dining room table.

Sitting there, just the two of, it felt like my husband and I were surrounded by ghosts.  Yes, we said our gratitudes, and there was and is plenty to be thankful for.  But, then we found ourselves naming those who have sat around the dining room table over the years - always some combination of our kids and their families, extended family, friends, even ex-spouses.  (They are always family when you have kids together.)

And then there was the fact that we had to do all of the cooking.  In recent years, Mara, my youngest, has taken over the kitchen while I have followed her around doing dishes.  And those who have joined us have always made contributions to the groaning table.  

Even in years when we have not hosted at Thanksgiving, we have always spent it with others.  Never alone. 

And, yes, I know, that many have suffered much greater losses. There are those who have lost loved ones or jobs or homes to the pandemic.  There are those who live alone and are unable for a variety of reasons to get together outside with others for a walk or a visit.  There are those who can't visit loved ones in hospitals or nursing homes.  There are also exhausted health care workers who are putting their lives on the line for us every day, even as people refuse to wear masks and insist on gathering. 

So, on this day, two days after Thanksgiving, with Christmas just a few weeks away, I offer thanks for health and friends and family and a warm and comfortable home.  And I pray that we will find a way to come together as a nation to take care of those who are suffering the most during this challenging time. 

WHAT DAY IS IT, ANYWAY? (and other pandemic questions)

In the last few years of her life, when she was in her 90s, my mother would sometimes call to ask me the time.  Although I have a few good years left before my 90s, I do find that the pandemic has left me also feeling a bit untethered from the usual markers of time passing. 

Sometimes I can't remember what day it is.  The other morning, I woke up thinking, "Is today Thursday or Friday?"  I decided to work backwards.  "Let's see, was yesterday Wednesday or Thursday?"  

I couldn't answer either question.

When I recounted this to a friend, she said, "I know what you mean. What we need are those day-of-the-week panties that we wore when we were little girls." 

Anyone else remember these?



Or maybe what we need are day-of-the-week socks.  That way, we could discreetly check the day without disrobing.

Of course, we would have to figure out which pair to wear on any given day.  I think the trick would be to check the day when putting on the first pair, then store the socks in order, carefully putting on the next pair each day.  (Just don't let anyone near the sock drawer, or we will all be doomed.)

And shouldn't time be passing sloooowly during this lockdown?  
How is it always Saturday?  Where do the weeks go?  Is the pandemic eating them?

And how is it mid-August already? Did we have a spring?  I can't remember.

Oh, yeah, and how about the fact that every time I look up, it is 3 p.m.? And speaking of 3 p.m., how am I always finding myself at that hour with nothing to show for myself?  Shouldn't I have accomplished one of the many projects I was always going to take care of when I had time?

Bonus question:  If time seems to be flying by, why does it feel like November 3 will never arrive?

These are pandemic mysteries that I will leave you to solve.  I, for one, am off to order some socks.

YOU TAKE THE HIGH ROAD AND I'LL STAY AT HOME: Confessions of a Reluctant Traveler

      "East, west, home's best."  - Anne Shirley

It has been over three months since the start of the pandemic lockdown. Even before George Floyd's horrible murder brought thousands into the streets to demonstrate for racial justice, people were starting to chafe.  

I, as a person over the age of concern, have been careful.  I wear a mask when I go to the store and avoid getting close to people who are not doing the same.  


Now, things are starting to open up. People are gathering. People are getting their hair cut.  People are going to restaurants. People will soon be comfortable flying again.  

To be honest, it's the flying-again part that is giving me the most pause. The truth is I am fine with not being able to fly.  I don't love to travel. I know -- many people dream of traveling in retirement.  What can I say?  It is not at the top of my list.  Covid is an excellent excuse not to fly.  

When I told a friend I was going to write about this, she said, "But you travel all the time."  Well, I do travel.  I travel because I want to see friends and family and some of them live 2000- or 3000-miles-away.  I will keep traveling to see them.  I just won't love it.  

When I am away from home, I miss my house, my garden, my bed, my pillow.  By the end of the first week, I am thinking pretty steadily about home.  Yes.  I am a travel wimp.  

Look, I'm not afraid to fly; I just don't like it.  I don't like the crowded seating (and I am a fairly small person - how do large people manage?); I don't like sitting around the airport listening to people speak loudly on their cell phones as if everyone around them were part of the conversation; I don't like airport food; I don't like large airports where you have to take a shuttle to get from one terminal to another.  I don't like arriving somewhere by air and then having to wait in line for a rental car.  

Last September, we flew to Scotland to visit my cousin and for me to do some research for a writing project.  I loved spending time with Judy and her husband.  I loved being in Scotland.  I did not, however, love going without sleep for 24 hours (flight plus time- change).  I can't sleep on a plane. (Who are these people who can sleep on a plane?)  I did not love the jet lag in each direction. I did not love the eight days it took me to feel I was back in my body after arriving home.  When I returned from this trip, I felt that I would probably never fly overseas again.  (The Pacific NW is very far from Europe.)  Of course, as was the case with pregnancy, I am likely to forget the unpleasant parts and repeat the experience.   

And, yes, this is a first-world lament. I know there are those who would give their lives to put their children on a plane to safety.  I would gladly give my seat on a plane to someone who wishes to flee a war-torn place.  I just don't know how to make that happen, other than to donate to international relief organizations. (I am open to other ideas.)

Of course, there are places I still want to see.  At least in theory.  And I am deeply grateful that I have been to Paris and to the Alhambra. But, even when we have taken a trip in search of sun during one of our rainy and gray winters; even when I have enjoyed wearing shorts in February; my favorite part of every trip is always arriving home.  Here's the bottom line.  I am a homebody. When I cross the threshold, I want to rub my back against the walls like a cat.  Everything I love and need is here.  

Except, of course, for those faraway friends and family members.  


Photo by Gerrie van der Walt on Unsplash

MORE QUESTIONS IN SEARCH OF ANSWERS

I have been here before--pondering persistent questions.**

Yet, just when I think I have listed all of my puzzlements for your perusal, I once again find myself with questions large and small.  And, of course, I have more time than usual at the moment to ponder these mysteries.

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

So, here we go--one more time.


Why do:


- people buy bottled water in preparation for a pandemic?  

Our water supply is intact and, as far as I know, in no way threatened.  And, for the love of God, do we really need to fill our shopping carts with more plastic?  If you don't like your tap water, then buy a filter.  And please note that 50 percent of the bottled water for sale comes from municipal water supplies -- same as the water coming out of your faucet.

- people hoard toilet paper during the current pandemic? 

Seriously, what is this about?  We are not living through an epidemic of dysentery.  Come on people.  Back away from the TP.  (If you're really worried, maybe buy a bidet attachment.)

- people bring assault weapons to protests?

I am horrified by pictures of people protesting the pandemic lockdown with assault weapons in their hands.  Yes, I know that the First Amendment provides that "Congress shall make no law . . . abridging . . . the right of the people peaceably to assemble," but how is openly displaying assault weapons "peaceable"?

Leaving behind the pandemic, why do:

- people make so few phone calls, now that phone calling is free?

Before I retired, I worked at an office 13 miles from my home.  And although that isn't very far, the two were in different states.  Thus, until the advent of cell phones, Skype etc., my calls home involved long-distance charges.  Same with calls from home to friends and family back east.  (Yes, children, in the dark ages--say, 15 years ago--there there was no way to avoid paying for phone calls to places outside one's very-circumscribed local area.)

It strikes me as ironic that now, when phone calls to almost anywhere are free, many people seem to prefer email and texting. But isn't there something warmer about hearing a voice? With its inflections and nuances?  Or am I just old?  How I would have loved a free phone call in the even darker ages (pre-email) when our only option was to write letters or call on Sunday when the long-distance charge was less.  (I have noticed bit more willingness to talk on the phone since we have been in isolation.)

- people say, "You deserve it" when I ponder whether to buy something?

The word "deserve" in this context makes me uncomfortable.  What does this say about those who cannot afford what I am thinking about buying?  Do they not deserve to have the thing I am purchasing?  Maybe we should say, "You will enjoy it" or "You can afford it." Suggestions?

- people say "woman author," "woman judge," "woman astronaut"?

We wouldn't say "man author" or "man judge."  We would say "male author" or "male judge."  Perhaps the day will come when it no longer feels necessary to identify people by gender, but as long as we are still dealing in firsts, as in "first female chairperson," can we please be consistent?

- companies send me emails with subject lines such as "Are you aging well? and "You need an air fryer in your life"?

They can't really think I will open these. (And what is an air fryer, anyway?  If I don't know what it is, I doubt that I need one.)

- companies sell solid deodorant in a package made of this much plastic when only a fraction of the package is actually needed for the small amount of deodorant inside?

(Yes, I know.  They are trying to fool me into thinking I am getting more product.) And might I add, when the solid deodorant starts to dwindle, it falls out as you screw it up from the bottom.

I have switched to this:

Check it out--made by a local small-business owner (and she ships).  

What is causing you to scratch your head in confusion these days? May your questions all have answers.  And please stay home and stay safe!



**See:  Inquiring Minds Want to Know  know and Why Do They Do That?  

THE VIRUS MADE ME DO IT: Cooking in the Time of a Pandemic

I am not much of a cook.  (Go ahead; ask my friends and family.)  In saying this, I don’t mean to say that I can’t cook – I can get a meal on the table – or that I don’t cook – I do.  It’s just that it isn’t a passion or even a pleasure most of the time.  True, there are rainy days when I enjoy making a big pot of soup, but most of the time cooking is just something that has to get done.

Like many other uninspired cooks, I have a small but sufficient repertoire of meals that I rotate through. And although the rotation may be limited, we eat well.  My husband doesn’t like to cook either, but he can chop – we eat lots of salads, lots of fresh stuff.  

I have even been known to cut out interesting-looking recipes from the paper and put them in a notebook—a notebook that, I confess, mostly stays closed until I have to figure out what to take to a potluck or some such event.  

So, this isn’t a cry for a meal service; it’s just a report that, to my great surprise, I have, since being homebound by the virus, taken an interest in cooking.  The other day, for instance, Bill announced that he was going to the store, and I heard myself say, “Let me get out my recipes.”  

These are not words often uttered in my house. 

I made a list.  He brought home ingredients.  I started to cook.  

I cooked new things.   

I don’t know what to make of this.  I look at myself in the mirror and wonder whether I have been replaced by a pod person.

Pod person or not, though, it has been—dare I admit it—kind of fun, punctuated, of course, by other more familiar kinds of fun, such as gardening.  (I wouldn’t, after all, want to go overboard with this cooking thing.)

Let me pause here to note that most of the gardeners of my acquaintance seem also to be enthusiastic cooks.  I don’t know why I don’t share that enthusiasm.  I have often thought that cooking resembles gardening in this regard:  If you don’t enjoy the process, the whole business generally feels like drudgery.  After all, gardening, like cooking, is never finished (although you do get to take a break for much of the winter.)  

Still, I love everything about gardening.  I don’t do it to reach a final result.  I do it because I find the repetitive tasks to be relaxing and rewarding.  I do it for the beauty and peace that I experience along the way.  My garden will never be finished.  I will never be “caught up.”  And that’s OK.  There are whole days and weeks and months of glory to be enjoyed before plants die back or go dormant or lose their leaves or their lives.

Cooking, on the other hand – such an ephemeral outcome. All that work and the food is gone in minutes.  So, I will say it again; you have to be in it for the process. And for most of my life, on most days, the process has left me cold.  

Those of you whose interests are the opposite of mine are in a better position than I.  After all, if you don’t like gardening, you can just plant junipers in a sea of bark dust and call it good.  But, if you don’t like cooking, well—you still have to cook, unless you have the means to hire a chef or go out to eat every day.

I, for one, cannot afford a chef (nor would I want one hanging around my house) and have no interest in going to restaurants on a daily basis.  In any event, we can’t go restaurant hopping during a pandemic.  So, I am delighted, if baffled, by the sudden and unexpected uptick in my interest in food preparation.  

Will this enthusiasm outlast the pandemic?  If I were a betting person, I’d bet not.  You know what they say about old dogs and new tricks.  Still, cooking is helping to solve the existential dilemma during this time of social isolation and giving me something to look forward to as evening approaches each day.  

Maybe being a pod person isn’t such a bad thing, after all . . .

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

(Stay safe, everyone!)

GRATITUDE RUNS: Counting My Blessings in an Uncertain Time

I think one of the most difficult things about this moment is the uncertainty.  You know the questions:  How bad will it be?  Will I get sick?  Will my loved ones/friends get sick?  How long will it last?

I have written before about my parents' experience in the UK during WWII, a time of great fear and uncertainty, a time when they were asking themselves:  Will we survive the bombing?  Can this rationing get any worse?  Will the Germans invade?  See: Joy in Dark Times.  I will not cover that ground again.  This, which I saw on Facebook, is a sufficient reminder that people have been through much worse:

      "To put things in perspective for those of us feeling a bit stir      crazy already--Anne Frank and 7 other people hid in a 450 sq. ft.   attic for 761 days, quietly trying to remain undiscovered to stay alive.  We can . . . spend a few weeks at home."

Today, I want to write about gratitude because gratitude is calming.  Gratitude puts things in perspective.

This morning, the words of a little song called Happiness Runs (what I could remember of them) have been running through my head.  With apologies to the lyricist, I am hereby changing happiness to gratitude:

     Gratitude runs in a circular motion
     Thought is like a little boat upon the sea
     Everybody is a part of everything anyway
     You can have everything if you let yourself be

If we did not already understand this, the pandemic is teaching us that we are, indeed, part of everything else.  Our actions affect the health and safety of others.  And, so, I am passing the time at this moment of isolation by listing below the people and things I am grateful for, in the hope that this list will trigger one of your own and help to calm our boats as we ride along on an unfamiliar sea,

Everyone in the healthcare field, all of whom are risking their health and facing shortages of supplies to keep us safe and well.

First responders, taxi, Uber, and Lyft drivers, who are taking risks to get people to their healthcare providers.

Governors and mayors, who picked up the slack before the federal government got around to taking this seriously, and who  continue to do their best to keep us safe.  

Researchers who are racing to find treatments and a vaccine.

Letter Carriers who continue to touch and carry our mail.

Truck drivers, shelf stockers, cashiers, and all those who are keeping us supplied with food.

Newspaper deliverers and all of those who continue to gather and report the news.

All those who are heeding the call to stay at home in the face of financial hardship.

My husband and my dog who are keeping me company.

Family and friends who are checking in on each other via:

                  Skype
                  Texts
                   Emails
                   Phone calls

I am grateful that we have all of these ways of being in touch at this time.

Good health - so far, so good

Sunshine

Spring!  So grateful this pandemic didn't hit us hard in the dead of winter.

Walks - They are free and safe.

My garden - Saving my sanity.

Birds, especially those singing outside my window and visiting my feeders.

Trees, especially the weeping cherry outside my home office window and the trees in the woods where I walk each day.



My home with its hot running water and central heating.

Music

My writing projects

Books, puzzles, and Netflix

I would love to see your gratitudes in the comments.  And, in closing, I would like to share a version of the Buddhist loving kindness meditation:

                    May we be well.
                    May we be free from suffering.
                    May we be comforted.
                    May we be at peace.