Merry Everything and Happy Always!

The holiday greeting on the bulletin boards in my apartment building during the Christmas season this year read: "Merry everything and happy always." I heard no complaints from any of my diverse neighbors who represent various national backgrounds, races, and religions. I personally appreciated the wish to be happy always, although that's not very likely for any of us.

My son and his  wife came for dinner on Christmas Eve - pot roast and vegetables simmered all day in my crock pot with cheesecake and chocolate ice cream for dessert. We exchanged gifts after our meal, and I especially appreciate the bag that Steve and Nancy gave me. It's large enough to hold whatever book I'm reading to pass the wait time at my medical appointments. My children know me well...

Seriously, my doctor once commented, "Virginia, I've never seen you without a book in your hands."

I resisted the temptation to reply: "Well, Doctor, that's because you're always late for our appointments."

In the meantime, I awoke the next morning to the happy realization that I had nothing urgent to do. I grabbed a book from the library in my apartment building and settled back to relax and read Dan Brown's novel, Angels and Demons.

I read Brown's book, The Da Vinci Code a few years ago, and I've wanted to read Angels and Demons ever since - just never got around to it. I've read the first few pages, and wow! Those demons are truly demonic! I shouldn't have started reading that book before going to bed because I had strange and unsettling dreams throughout the night.

So here I am, the day after Christmas, still in my fluffy pink robe while seated at my laptop. Breakfast dishes on my kitchen counter - I'll get to them later.

Well, at least I slept for about eight hours.

To my dear Katalusis readers, "Merry everything and happy always."

It's about time

 https://www.sootoday.com/local-news/dont-forget-to-turn-your-clocks-back-1109926

I was unaware of the time change until I went online this morning and learned I'd best reset my clocks to fall back an hour – otherwise I'd be out of sync with the rest of my friends, neighbors, and business places, etc. I couldn't help recalling, though, how American Indians once reportedly described Daylight Savings Time as cutting off one end of the blanket and sewing it on to the other end.

That got me thinking about the ingenuity of our time system around the world. Don't expect me to know how it plays out across other time zones, though. I'm lucky to get nudged by my laptop to reset my clocks.

I was okay back in the day when my two children met the school bus each morning, Monday through Friday, in pursuit of their education. One explanation for the time change twice a year was that it made it safer for kids waiting for the bus, which would otherwise arrive before daylight. It was also suggested that depending on the season, it allowed farm kids to get home earlier to help with the chores. Those reasons for resetting our clocks twice a year seemed practical enough, and as we were not a farm family, I didn't question the rationale.

My only complaint regarding Daylight Savings Time is that my stomach has yet to get the message that now we're going to eat either an hour later or an hour before our usual meal time. And it takes my stomach and me at least several weeks to adjust to the change. It's a bigger problem when you're meeting friends for dinner at a nearby restaurant, and your appetite is on the previous schedule.

I failed to mention that DST also messes up our sleep schedules. If you're used to going to bed at 10 P.M. and getting up at 6 A.M., an hour earlier on either end can be disconcerting, to say the least. And your employer won't appreciate it, if on the other hand, you arrive at work an hour late.

The good news is that if you're single and retired – my status – you're free to eat and sleep according to your own dictates. That works for me.

When a good friend moves away

Note: The names in this piece have been changed to preserve confidentiality among my friends and me.

On this final day of October here in Minnesota, it was pitch dark at 7 a.m. Minutes ago, however, the sun broke through, and our predicted high for today is in the fifties. We've had a few potentially nice days lately with sunshine and blue skies, but the wind nearly swept me away a couple of times when I succumbed to the impulse to go out and get some Vitamin D.

The good thing about Minnesota weather is that it can at least temporarily distract you from whatever else is going on in your life; for example, a good friend, Jacqueline, who has lived in my apartment building for a couple of years, up and moved away recently. A few days before her departure, she and I bumped into each other down in the garage, and we enjoyed chatting for a few minutes. I remarked, “We won't be able to enjoy these impromptu visits much longer.”

So it is with lingering sadness that I compose this piece to post on Katalusis today.

Jackie and I were visiting with my friend Meghan a few days ago, who reminded my departing friend and me that we could stay in touch via phone, email, and letters. Well, I know from experience how that goes. My friends Beth in Chicago and Marilyn in Florida do stay in touch once in a great while, but it's been years since I've seen either of them.

The thought crossed my mind this morning that my sadness for my long distance friends is cumulative. My family moved around a lot when I was a child, which meant leaving friends and classmates behind that I had sometimes only begun to get to know.

Still, I remind myself this morning, as I sit here at my laptop reminiscing about them, that even though I may seldom hear from old friends, who have moved away, I continue to be enriched by our time together however long ago it transpired. Each of my friends has contributed to my personal growth over the years in more ways that I can count; thus, they remain an important part of my life.

A Close Encounter with an 18-Wheeler

(Note to readers: This piece was first published in the Woodbury Bulletin, several years ago.)

A recent traffic incident reminded me that politics isn't the only area in our lives where ordinary boundaries of civility are sometimes violated.

I was looking to merge onto I-94 West the other day when a big semi-trailer roared past me and veered toward the off ramp. Braking my mid-sized Mercury sedan to avoid slamming into the 18-wheeler as it made the turn, I wasn't exactly reciting the loving kindness prayer, familiar to those of us who practice mindfulness meditation.

But neither was I making an obscene hand gesture , which the driver, aloft in his cab, wouldn't have seen anyway. Safely within the flow of westbound traffic, I resumed normal breathing and relaxed my white knuckles on the way to St. Paul. Reflecting on my close encounter with the semi, it occurred to me that freeway driving and politics are somewhat analogous.

Since we can't control the behavior of others on either the campaign trail or the interstate, minding our own manners is frequently the best we can do. Elsewhere in our lives, though, we often have more power than we realize to assert boundaries - the emotional, mental, and physical limits on how we relate to one another.  Having effective boundaries means caring for ourselves at all times and under all circumstances.

We fail to honor our personal boundaries when we passively accept verbal attacks and other attempts to undermine or negate our efforts. We fail to honor the personal boundaries of others when we expose them to sarcasm or other expressions of hostility, such as distancing them emotionally.

Chronic complaining often suggests a need for boundaries. A key requirement for setting limits is learning to say "no" calmly and firmly. Standing up for ourselves without attacking the other person is likely one of the hardest lessons any of us ever has to learn.

It might be something as simple as asking a co-worker to use your given name instead of the nickname she has chosen for you.

It could mean refusing to do something you believe is ethically wrong even if you fear your job is at stake.

Sometimes it's best to just step back and not take personally the ranting of an obviously upset person, for example a client or customer. Whatever the conflict, examining the boundaries involved can clarify and help resolve the issues, although maybe not so readily on the campaign trail or the interstate.

Come to think of it, there are times when the loving kindness prayer mentioned earlier might be a traveler's best option. It goes something like this:

May I be filled with loving kindness;
May I be safe and protected from all internal and external harm;
May I be as healthy and whole as possible;
May I experience ease and well being.

Gurus of mindfulness meditation suggest substituting the names of others occasionally, for example, leaders of the opposition party and errant drivers of 18-wheelers.

An Inspiring To Do List?

After I conclude my morning ritual, which usually includes reading a few pages of spiritual literature, writing in my journal, meditating for half an hour or so, and enjoying breakfast, I normally make a to do list for the rest of the day that covers household chores, necessary shopping, and occasionally helping out a friend or neighbor.

Mind you, my to do lists are not that inspiring, but as noted above, I do find time for daily prayer and meditation as well as practical items, e.g., helping a friend or neighbor, cleaning out the refrigerator, or gettng the car washed. Recently, I did, however, find an inspiring to do list over at TinyBuddha.com. It went something like this:

1. Count my blessings;
2. Let go of what I can't control;
3. Practice kindness;
4. Listen to my heart;
5. Be productive, yet calm;
6. Just breathe;
7. Meditate.

Number 5: Be productive, yet calm, leapt out at me. When I have a major task to accomplish, for example, my income tax, I often have an anxiety attack before I'm finished – I do get back to it in time, mind you, but it's kind of frustrating to have to work through that emotional distress first.

I'm finding it helps to do Numbers 6 and 7 first: breathe and meditate. That way I kind of ease into the latest project without getting all worked up over it. And I get it done in good time. Besides, it's usually of better quality than work I've completed during one of those anxiety attacks.

I might add that in addition to breathing and meditating, I often take a walk to help me relax.

Let it snow, let it snow...

I was planning to go grocery shopping the other day when it started to snow; I watched the neighbor's rooftop turn white, and I decided to stay home. No way was I going out on a five-mile drive on a slippery freeway to my favorite store here in the Twin Cities metro area. In any case, I had enough coffee on hand to last a couple of days and a good supply of peanut butter and jelly and a loaf of English muffin bread.

The snow melted shortly after it fell on the still green grass, and I could have probably gone shopping without incident. However, those snow flurries triggered a memory from a couple of decades ago. Back then, my family and I lived in West Concord, a small town near Rochester, Minnesota. My two children were attending high school, and I was enjoying a long-deferred dream of going to college. A student at Rochester Community College, I planned to enroll in the nearest four-year college after earning my Associate of Arts degree at RCC. Keep in mind it was 30 miles one way to Rochester.

I was a dedicated college student and a few snow flakes that morning would not prevent me from going to my class. Not an experienced winter driver, I hit an icy spot on Highway 14 and the next thing I knew, our heavy Ford Torino careened down the incline into the median. Why me?! I shouted as the car rolled over. There were no seatbelts in those days, so I wound up lying on the inside of the car's roof. The engine was still running, and I reached out and turned off the keys. I then opened the driver's side door and crawled out. A truck driver had already stopped on the freeway above me and was setting out flares. I walked up the hill in time to greet the police who had been called to the scene. These were kind and thoughtful people. They contacted a nearby garage, and my car was soon towed back onto the freeway. The only damage the mechanic noted to the old Ford was that it's roof was caved in.

Just a little unnerved, I drove to Rochester Community College that day in time for my psychology class. I met with the professor before class and shared with her what I had been through in order to get there. She said, “You know, you're still pretty far out, don't you?” I don't think I replied.

When I drove home that day, word had already gotten back to West Concord. From then on, the guys at the local Mobile station called me Barney Oldfield, whose name, according to Wikipedia, was synonymous with speed during the first two decades of the 20^th Century.

These days I'm pretty good at adjusting my speed to the road conditions, but as I noted earlier, if I don't have to – nothing wrong with peanut butter and jelly – I stay home when it's snowing.

A Gradual Transformation

I've been meditating a few minutes each day, while seated silently at my kitchen table. As the years have passed, I've gradually begun to spend more time in silent contemplation out here in my kitchen, which is not totally barren of spiritual reminders: my angel candle holders are in view, and I usually have a couple of post-it notes displayed nearby reminding me that the present moment is the key to liberation, or something like that.

I might legitimately be asked, “What good has all that meditation done you?” Looking back over the years I'm surprised to recognize a gradual transformation in myself and my outlook on life. As a youth from a large impoverished family I wanted very much to become a successful writer, earning good money for my work – I was not entirely self-centered in my ambitions: I dreamed of helping family members out who continued to struggle in poverty.

My ambitions have changed in later years to less emphasis on material success to a desire to offer a healing presence in my daily life, as well as in my writing, to those who are suffering from a variety of causes, including illness, disability, poverty, loss of a loved one or a zillion other painful circumstances.

At this stage of my life, I live in a residence for people over the age of 55. As might be expected, my neighbors are often dealing with low income, physical disability, and/or the death of a family member. Approaching a table in our community room, I sometimes pick up on the grief being expressed by my neighbors, and I usually offer to say a brief prayer. I've never been turned down. ­

In my prayers I not only ask God to welcome the loved one home, I also ask for divine comfort for those left behind. It has occurred to me more than once, that the deceased loved one is now healed and whole; whereas, those left behind continue to suffer his or her loss. Prayer helps. As the bowed heads at the table are raised, I sense an all around letting go and peace.

Amen

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I've been meditating a few minutes each day, while seated silently at my kitchen table. As the years have passed, I've gradually begun to spend more time in silent contemplation out here in my kitchen, which is not totally barren of spiritual reminders: my angel candleholders are in view, and I usually have a couple of post-it notes displayed nearby reminding me that the present moment is the key to liberation, or something like that.

I might legitimately be asked, “What good has all that meditation done you?” Looking back over the years I'm surprised to recognize a gradual transformation in myself and my outlook on life. As a youth from a large impoverished family I wanted very much to become a successful writer, earning good money for my work – I was not entirely self-centered in my ambitions: I dreamed of helping family members out who continued to struggle in poverty.

My ambitions have changed in later years to less emphasis on material success to a desire to offer a healing presence in my daily life and in my writing to those who are suffering from a variety of causes, including illness, disability, poverty, loss of a loved one or a zillion other painful circumstances.

At this stage of my life, I live in a residence for people over the age of 55. As might be expected, my neighbors are often dealing with low income, physical disability, and/or the death of a family member. Approaching a table in our community room, I sometimes pick up on the grief being expressed by my neighbors, and I usually offer to say a brief prayer. I've never been turned down. ­

In my prayers I not only ask God to welcome the loved one home, I also ask for divine comfort for those left behind. It has occurred to me more than once, that the deceased loved one is now healed and whole; whereas, those left behind continue to suffer his or her loss. Prayer helps. As the bowed heads at the table are raised, there is an all around sense of letting go and peace.

Amen

I've been meditating a few minutes each day, while seated silently at my kitchen table. As the years have passed, I've gradually begun to spend more time in silent contemplation out here in my kitchen, which is not totally barren of spiritual reminders: my angel candleholders are in view, and I usually have a couple of post-it notes displayed nearby reminding me that the present moment is the key to liberation, or something like that.

I might legitimately be asked, “What good has all that meditation done you?” Looking back over the years I'm surprised to recognize a gradual transformation in myself and my outlook on life. As a youth from a large impoverished family I wanted very much to become a successful writer, earning good money for my work – I was not entirely self-centered in my ambitions: I dreamed of helping family members out who continued to struggle in poverty.

My ambitions have changed in later years to less emphasis on material success to a desire to offer a healing presence in my daily life and in my writing to those who are suffering from a variety of causes, including illness, disability, poverty, loss of a loved one or a zillion other painful circumstances.

At this stage of my life, I live in a residence for people over the age of 55. As might be expected, my neighbors are often dealing with low income, physical disability, and/or the death of a family member. Approaching a table in our community room, I sometimes pick up on the grief being expressed by my neighbors, and I usually offer to say a brief prayer. I've never been turned down. ­

In my prayers I not only ask God to welcome the loved one home, I also ask for divine comfort for those left behind. It has occurred to me more than once, that the deceased loved one is now healed and whole; whereas, those left behind continue to suffer his or her loss. Prayer helps. As the bowed heads at the table are raised, there is an all around sense of letting go and peace.

Amen

The Joys of Diversity

With my pot roast and vegetables - carrots, potatoes, and onions - slow cooking in the crock pot, I actually took it easy yesterday while looking forward to dinner guests that evening. Dessert would feature store bought cheesecake and chocolate ice cream. My guests were few: my son and his wife and my neighbor, a Catholic nun.

I live in a small apartment, so my guests and I gathered around the kitchen table where I served my pot roast, which after nearly eight hours in the crock pot was so tender it was falling apart. Enjoying the food and one another's good company, we were soon engaged in lively conversation, punctuated by intermittent outbursts of laughter. It was only later, that I recalled the diversity the four of us represented: Jewish, Unitarian, Catholic, and my own non-denominational, somewhat mystical, protestant background.

I've often noted to those who have difficulty accepting others with different backgrounds that God must enjoy diversity - just look at all the varieties of flowers out there!

Today, recalling the gathering around my kitchen table last evening, I'm mindful of the sense of joy, peace, and love I experienced in that setting, and my heart is filled with gratitude for the diversity of my family, friends, and neighbors.

The Twofold Identity Survival Strategy

My co-worker Greg, a young black man, and I were employees in the graphic arts department of a large Fortune 500 company. I wrote copy for the company's internal publications, and Greg did artwork. He and I gradually became acquainted over time and on one occasion, this University of Minnesota graduate remarked, "I sometimes feel like two people. At work I use standard English, but when I go home in the evening, I revert to our African-American dialect.

I could easily relate to Greg's twofold identity. I'm the 10th of 11 children in a family that shortly before  I was born, immigrated to northwestern Ohio from Kentucky in search of work. We were a large impoverished family whose speech and mannerisms revealed our identities as hill people - our Buckeye neighbors were not above making fun of our Kentucky ways. Thus, I learned in elementary school to imitate the speech of my teachers and classmates while in the classroom, but like my black friend Greg above, I developed a twofold identity and reverted to the family dialect at home.

Nevertheless, I soon mastered standard English and by the time I was in high school, I was scoring high on state scholarship tests.

After high school graduation, I enlisted in the military as my only route to college. Honorably discharged from the US Air Force, I completed four years of undergraduate school on the GI bill. I majored in English and graduated with a 3.7 grade point average.

I've never forgotten my mountain heritage, though, and I can still easily slip into the dialect of my family of origin, a gift that used to give my son and daughter pause as they overheard me talking on the phone  to a family member back home.

Today I understand that developing a twofold identity is a survival strategy for those who are rejected early on for speech and mannerisms they learned from parents and older siblings. And actually I'm glad I've had that experience as it allows me to identify with and feel compassion for others, like my co-worker Greg, who have experienced the pain of discrimination for a variety of reasons in addition to blatant racism and/or sexism.

Now is the Time

In his book, Practicing the Power of Now,  p. 45, Eckhart Tolle writes: "To be free of time is to be free of the  psychological need of the past for your identity and the future for your fulfillment. It represents the most profound transformation of Consciousness that you can imagine."

Tolle got to me, a retired senior, who has often dwelt in the past and as I've aged, I've become more than a little concerned about the future. I live alone and influenced by Tolle, I began to notice as I went about my daily tasks where my mind was instead of polishing that coffee table the umpteenth time. Although a corner of my mind still admired the renewed sheen on the table's top, my thoughts could have taken me anywhere from the banks of the Blanchard River in northwestern Ohio where I was born and raised to a rice paddy in China where I imagined learning about another culture so different from mine.

 Reading Tolle, I began to visualize the past, present, and future as three rectangular boxes stacked on top of one another - the middle box, representing the present, where we spend too little time, appeared about an inch in depth compared to the two- or three-foot depth of the lower and upper boxes. Tolle warns at one point that by living in the past and future, instead of the present, we are living our lives as a dream, divorced from the reality of the present moment.

Tolle convincingly urges his readers to embrace the present whether it is good or bad at the time.

Acceptance of what is, the theory goes, empowers one to make wiser decisions. I'm not 100 percent there, yet, dear readers, but you can be sure that I'm doing my best to daily practice the power of now. I'm hoping you'll join me: instead of the staleness of the past or too often the fear and anxiety in our thoughts of the future, we can embrace the fullness of life in the present moment - we don't have to wait until we get that impressive job, make more money, become more popular, find the right partner, pay off those medical bills, or whatever.

Contagious Acts of Kindness

     I parked my '99 Honda Civic and got out of my car at the local Starbucks coffee shop.  Seeing my cane - I'm in my seventies - a young man strode over to me and gave me his arm.  He led me to a table in Starbucks and then went to get our orders.

     I pulled my book out of my bag - I was reading Underhill's The Ways of the Spirit and turned to my page marker. In the meantime, several children walked past and gave me high fives.

     The young man, whose name was Mike, smiled when he set my coffee and doughnut on the table and explained that another customer had seen him help me, and she had paid for our orders.  I invited Mike to join me that Sunday afternoon, and he happily sat down across from me. Seeing the book I was reading, he said he would check it out at the local library. 

    Mike and I enjoyed a heartwarming conversation on the theme of contagious acts of kindness. I learned that Mike is in his 30's, and he and his wife Amy, who was working that afternoon, live nearby.

As we parted, Mike handed me a Starbucks gift card on which he had noted: "Thank you for an amazing conversation. I am so glad God crossed our paths today."

I could only say "Amen" to that!

Crossing the border

In recent years, supermarket aisles have become increasingly long for me; by the time I load my groceries into the trunk of my car, my arthritic knees complain mightily – that was even after a young boy dashed across the parking lot to come to my aid. He pulled up at my Honda Civic's rear bumper and announced, “I helped my mom load up her groceries, and she told me

to come help you.”

I offered to pay him for his help, but Mom had coached him well: he was not to accept money for an act of kindness.

Arriving home, I hauled my three bags of groceries up to my third-floor apartment and hastened to put the frozen foods in the freezer and stash the rest on cupboard shelves.

It was mid-afternoon by then, and I welcomed time to lie down for a few minutes and catch my breath. Sighing as I leaned back on my pillow, I envisioned a border crossing. I ached for all the immigrants trying to make it to the other side in hope of finding freedom and a new life.