On Monday I read "Day Walk, Part 1" by Doug Leland, a Master Coach who publishes "Monday Message," each week, a blog sharing his thoughts and observations. Monday, for example, Doug talked about the apparent disrespect for the environment he witnessed on a very long walk. He suggested that littering is "...a symptom" of unhealthy attitudes and apathy that reflect an alarming disconnect and disrespect for the environment..." I totally agree and see it on my own property every day when I pick up the soda cans, beer bottles and paper cups thrown on the lawn the previous evening. We have lived on this road for thirty-one years and now more than any other time, the litter is ever present.
Over the last several days I've thought about Doug's message and connected it with some thoughts of my own. In this blog I have talked about special people I've met, people who made a difference in my life, but those are rarities. It's the day to day dealings that disappoint me. For example: Why when I am at the checkout (mind you, I have already scanned all of my groceries and packed them) does the checkout clerk barely acknowledge my existence. I say "Hello, so and so" reading her name tag, and she grunts or mumbles or talks to the clerk in the next checkout space; why when you say thank you to anyone under 30 they say "no problem" instead of "you're welcome" or if you ask a question they respond with "whatever"; why do Senators and Congressmen feel is it permissible to publicly shout at the President or for would-be presidential candidates to mimic him.
Just as Doug sees a disconnect and disrespect for the environment, I continue to witness that same lack of connection and disrespect between people -- which leads me to wonder, how, if individuals don't respect each other or at the very least recognize the other's humanity, can we expect them to have regard for the shared ground upon which we all walk.
Change starts with each of us.
You can sign up for Doug LeLand's Monday Message by sending a note to:Doug@DougLeLand.com
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
I'm Walking Behind You
Yesterday John and I looked at apartments in New York City with our friend, Elaine, who is also our agent. While I'm still healing from a knee replacement (old news) I've thrown caution to the wind and instead of following my physical therapist's recommendation -- "only one event per day" -- have tried to return to my normal life which includes multiple events usually followed by satisfaction and exhaustion (leg up with ice).
We drove to the City and walked four blocks to an apartment Elaine thought we should see. The problem was that while I could walk the distance, I couldn't keep the pace. Periodically I asked the others to slow down and they did for a few minutes, then returned to that city speed not realizing I was lagging behind.
Sometimes we find ourselves ignoring the problems of others because its inconvenient, because we're impatient, because its delaying us from where I want to go. I know I certainly have and yesterday as I walked along I remembered the many times I asked my Mother to hurry along and she would say, Chris, it's as fast as I can walk. Her lagging always annoyed me because I still thought of her as the forty year old in a print cotton dress picking me up at school or bringing cupcakes into the classroom for my birthday. Why "suddenly" I would say to myself, isn't she keeping up? I never wanted to admit she was aging or that her arthritis was bothering her.
My husband and my friend didn't do anything out of malice. They were just headed for an appointment -- and I daresay that watching me lope along reminded them, too, of the very thing I didn't want to see in my Mother.
So remember, please, when you bark (as I have been known to do) at that very slow gray-haired driver in front of you whose head barely meets the door frame, they are doing the best they can. Yes, perhaps they shouldn't be driving, however, they, too are dealing with that process which will happen to the best of us.
We drove to the City and walked four blocks to an apartment Elaine thought we should see. The problem was that while I could walk the distance, I couldn't keep the pace. Periodically I asked the others to slow down and they did for a few minutes, then returned to that city speed not realizing I was lagging behind.
Sometimes we find ourselves ignoring the problems of others because its inconvenient, because we're impatient, because its delaying us from where I want to go. I know I certainly have and yesterday as I walked along I remembered the many times I asked my Mother to hurry along and she would say, Chris, it's as fast as I can walk. Her lagging always annoyed me because I still thought of her as the forty year old in a print cotton dress picking me up at school or bringing cupcakes into the classroom for my birthday. Why "suddenly" I would say to myself, isn't she keeping up? I never wanted to admit she was aging or that her arthritis was bothering her.
My husband and my friend didn't do anything out of malice. They were just headed for an appointment -- and I daresay that watching me lope along reminded them, too, of the very thing I didn't want to see in my Mother.
So remember, please, when you bark (as I have been known to do) at that very slow gray-haired driver in front of you whose head barely meets the door frame, they are doing the best they can. Yes, perhaps they shouldn't be driving, however, they, too are dealing with that process which will happen to the best of us.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
The Knee Ladies
Two months to the day that were released from the physical therapy hospital, three of us who had had knee replacements, met for lunch.
I'd met Parnia and Cheryl the day I arrived at the rehab facility just days after surgery. In pain and bleary with lack of sleep and too many drugs, my husband wheeled me into my room where I was greeted by a lovely, middle-aged woman with a stunning smile, beautiful skin and a very sore knee. She'd had her operation a week before mine and was still reeling from its effects. She was a charmer with a giggly laugh and lots of stories about the places she had lived. Once settled, my family left and Cheryl arrived at our door in a wheelchair, her face lined with pain. We learned that hers had been a very complicated operation and it would be months before she was up and around.
Every morning we struggled together through physical therapy and comforted each other as the tears streaked our faces. Cheryl had the most difficult time with a leg that would not bed but never failed to make us laugh. Parnia, on the other hand, seemed to be doing well. Our goal was to just make it through and get home!
Over the course of weeks we were at the hospital, we spent hours in therapy each day and an extra hour or so in the evening in a fun chat session where we laughed and compared notes, comforted and encouraged each other, compared how we walked -- and shared our latest stash of chocolate.
My husband arrived at the doorway each morning with a Humphrey Bogart routine that started the day on the right note. Everyone loved him because he always arrived with the unexpected. In fact, the day we left, he gave my roommate and me a pair of black fishnet stockings!
Two weeks passed and it was time to leave. As we got into our cars, we promised we would stay in touch. So many times people make those promises and don't keep them. This was different. Each of our roles had been important to the others' recovery and we knew it. So we emailed and called; we got through Christmas and compared notes, then, New Years and compared notes again. By that time we were well into January and it was time for us to meet.
At lunch how different we all looked. Every one's hair was done, their makeup on. We were wearing real day clothes and scarves and jewelry. Last we'd seen of each other we were pale as sheets, slightly dizzy from the meds and ready to head straight for bed when we arrived home. But this day in January was quite different. Each of us was alive in her own way. Each had traveled a different path since we'd left the hospital. W e decided to devote just 20 minutes to a "knee discussion" -- good luck! Instead, our knees seemed to touch every topic of conversation. And in the end, we compared scars! Cheryl was still having tremendous trouble with her knee and wanted to see how our knees had healed. Looking back now, the sight of us standing with our leg pants up was good reason for patrons to think we were nuts. We did it anyway.
We had come a long way. Our scars were healing well. We were able to walk, to bend our knees anywhere from 100 to 120 degrees but we were ready to have it over, to stop focusing on these prostheses that had been a blessing but had caused so much pain in our lives. We were ready now to focus on what mattered most, the very reason we were sharing tapas that January day...the friendship that got us through.
I'd met Parnia and Cheryl the day I arrived at the rehab facility just days after surgery. In pain and bleary with lack of sleep and too many drugs, my husband wheeled me into my room where I was greeted by a lovely, middle-aged woman with a stunning smile, beautiful skin and a very sore knee. She'd had her operation a week before mine and was still reeling from its effects. She was a charmer with a giggly laugh and lots of stories about the places she had lived. Once settled, my family left and Cheryl arrived at our door in a wheelchair, her face lined with pain. We learned that hers had been a very complicated operation and it would be months before she was up and around.
Every morning we struggled together through physical therapy and comforted each other as the tears streaked our faces. Cheryl had the most difficult time with a leg that would not bed but never failed to make us laugh. Parnia, on the other hand, seemed to be doing well. Our goal was to just make it through and get home!
Over the course of weeks we were at the hospital, we spent hours in therapy each day and an extra hour or so in the evening in a fun chat session where we laughed and compared notes, comforted and encouraged each other, compared how we walked -- and shared our latest stash of chocolate.
My husband arrived at the doorway each morning with a Humphrey Bogart routine that started the day on the right note. Everyone loved him because he always arrived with the unexpected. In fact, the day we left, he gave my roommate and me a pair of black fishnet stockings!
Two weeks passed and it was time to leave. As we got into our cars, we promised we would stay in touch. So many times people make those promises and don't keep them. This was different. Each of our roles had been important to the others' recovery and we knew it. So we emailed and called; we got through Christmas and compared notes, then, New Years and compared notes again. By that time we were well into January and it was time for us to meet.
At lunch how different we all looked. Every one's hair was done, their makeup on. We were wearing real day clothes and scarves and jewelry. Last we'd seen of each other we were pale as sheets, slightly dizzy from the meds and ready to head straight for bed when we arrived home. But this day in January was quite different. Each of us was alive in her own way. Each had traveled a different path since we'd left the hospital. W e decided to devote just 20 minutes to a "knee discussion" -- good luck! Instead, our knees seemed to touch every topic of conversation. And in the end, we compared scars! Cheryl was still having tremendous trouble with her knee and wanted to see how our knees had healed. Looking back now, the sight of us standing with our leg pants up was good reason for patrons to think we were nuts. We did it anyway.
We had come a long way. Our scars were healing well. We were able to walk, to bend our knees anywhere from 100 to 120 degrees but we were ready to have it over, to stop focusing on these prostheses that had been a blessing but had caused so much pain in our lives. We were ready now to focus on what mattered most, the very reason we were sharing tapas that January day...the friendship that got us through.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Petals Falling
Early morning at the kitchen table. The blue from the night sky hasn't quite lifted.
Beyond my keyboard, a vase of tulips -- shades of red into orange into yellow -- edges curled back exposing the beauty of the black stamen inside. Even now in their last moments, the gentle fall of each petal has a presence, a beauty all its own. Would that I could live each moment as these flowers have, moving gently from stage to stage, honoring the force of creation.
Beyond my keyboard, a vase of tulips -- shades of red into orange into yellow -- edges curled back exposing the beauty of the black stamen inside. Even now in their last moments, the gentle fall of each petal has a presence, a beauty all its own. Would that I could live each moment as these flowers have, moving gently from stage to stage, honoring the force of creation.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
January's Gifts and Other Miracles
I began this week tossing things from the closet, the drawers and shelves in the pantry and any other space that looked overburdened. January is a wonderful time to clear one's house and one's head...a time to come clean -- why wait until spring? It is amazing to me how many things I have accumulated - some I don't even remember using like the box of oil crayons that I'd planned to use on my first painting. Never happened. I realized that the true artist in our family had been my older brother. I was left with a good sense of color and design but without the ability to put paint to canvas. A dear friend suggested I use a giant brush, to extend my brushstrokes thereby expanding my sense of freedom -- perhaps even my view of myself. So far I haven't had the courage to do it. I keep thinking that like all of the other boxes of unused tools that I tossed today, the giant brush will find its way into the trash as well. But...maybe not. Maybe I have to take the risk. Stay tuned.
Another thing that drew my attention this week was an article in the New York Times about Fainting Goats http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/06/dining/06frozen.html. The goats have a genetic predisposition to begin to lean one way or another if they are startled. The leaning or "fainting" lasts for about ten seconds. Older goats learn early on to brace their legs when this fainting feeling happens. Amazing, isn't it? If you were fortunate enough to have seen the article, you'll perhaps understand my affinity for the photo -- one half page of Chip, a Fainting Goat, innocently staring directly at the reader, looking as handsome as can be. He has been on my mind ever since I laid eyes on him. I believe it is the sheer vulnerability of the animal that draws me. My family chuckles when I bring up the subject but I know better. Chip is a vision not to be tossed with the January cleaning but to be savored as another of God's miracles.
Another thing that drew my attention this week was an article in the New York Times about Fainting Goats http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/06/dining/06frozen.html. The goats have a genetic predisposition to begin to lean one way or another if they are startled. The leaning or "fainting" lasts for about ten seconds. Older goats learn early on to brace their legs when this fainting feeling happens. Amazing, isn't it? If you were fortunate enough to have seen the article, you'll perhaps understand my affinity for the photo -- one half page of Chip, a Fainting Goat, innocently staring directly at the reader, looking as handsome as can be. He has been on my mind ever since I laid eyes on him. I believe it is the sheer vulnerability of the animal that draws me. My family chuckles when I bring up the subject but I know better. Chip is a vision not to be tossed with the January cleaning but to be savored as another of God's miracles.
Friday, January 1, 2010
It's A New Day, A New Life...
Somehow it's important for me to believe we can all turn a page, find a blank slate and color in whatever life we choose. It is particularly important to me this year because at times I feel the burden of age at my back. I slough it off, but know it's there none the less. Smoothing the page or rubbing my hand across the slate are part of the process of starting anew. So are the colors I choose.
I am what one would call a "color junkie." I carry paint chips and fabric samples in my coat pockets and spend hours working out palettes. I thought until now that I just had an affinity for color and fabric. But what I have just realized is that this is really my attempt to create an atmosphere that supports our lives whether in peace and tranquility, joy or excitement. It is more about creating the ambiance in which we live than just having a desire to play with chips.
My friends tell me they plan to bury me with my paint chips and fabric samples! We laugh about it. But it is a symbol of the life I have attempted to create...and still do.
How do YOU start anew? What do you use to create the ambiance in which to live your life? I'd love to hear from you.
Blessings on this first day of 2010 and always!
Christina
I am what one would call a "color junkie." I carry paint chips and fabric samples in my coat pockets and spend hours working out palettes. I thought until now that I just had an affinity for color and fabric. But what I have just realized is that this is really my attempt to create an atmosphere that supports our lives whether in peace and tranquility, joy or excitement. It is more about creating the ambiance in which we live than just having a desire to play with chips.
My friends tell me they plan to bury me with my paint chips and fabric samples! We laugh about it. But it is a symbol of the life I have attempted to create...and still do.
How do YOU start anew? What do you use to create the ambiance in which to live your life? I'd love to hear from you.
Blessings on this first day of 2010 and always!
Christina
Friday, December 25, 2009
Christmas Morning
I apologize for not writing in this blog for so long, but my focus has been on healing my knee and I have just had no words. But it is Christmas morning, a clean, white slate full of promise and so I am writing to wish the very best of all good things -- to you and to those you love.
Blessings.
Christina
Blessings.
Christina
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