Which character are you?

Which protagonist from the past month most describes where you are in your life?

§  A Maccabee, finding your resources are nearly gone and needing a miracle

§  Frosty, with either some healthy or ugly parts of you disappearing

§  A shepherd, herding your family, friend, or clients within safe boundaries

§  A sheep, following the crowd or wandering off and needing to be found

§  Santa, keeping track of things and/or doing all the giving

§  Herod, insecure and scrambling to hold on to power

§  Judah, full of preparations to rededicate an altar in your life or heart

§  Mary, who said “Yes” and listened to her heart instead of saying, “What?!”

§  Joseph, remaining steadfast and in the background

§  An innkeeper, who has already taken in more than your share

§  Rudolph, taking the lead because others are struggling

§  A donkey, carrying a load that is both heavy but meaningful

§  Elizabeth, resigned to not having what you long for

§  Ebenezer, allowing the past to control and dictate your present and future

§  A Wise One, following a dream, with purpose, and in community

§  A citizen of Whoville, keeping the faith even when surrounded by grinches

§  A baby, starting fresh

We look at a New Year as a beginning.  Think about which of the above you would like to be as we prepare to turn the page and consider doing one thing today in that role as a foreward to Chapter 1 that starts at midnight.

May each day in 2013 provide the storyline of our lives with enough drama (so there is purpose), humor (so there is relief), interesting characters (so we are engaged), mystery (so we search), action (so we move forward), joy (so we celebrate), and peace (so we rest).

Marilyn

Lasts (final in a trilogy)

It ain’t over ‘til it’s over.
                        …American proverb

Students learn that creating art of any kind involves the concept of resolution.  A similar view in mathematics is that there are conclusions.  We observers learn to recognize that the final chord of the Hallelujah Chorus and the Pythagorean Theorem and Bugs Bunny’s “That’s all, folks!” represent different types of resolutions, conclusions, endings.  We trust that in the last chapter of a story the issues between characters will get settled and that the mystery gets solved.   Other finales in our lives have us waving goodbye at the airport and cheering for the last runner in a marathon.   We drink the last dregs in the cup, celebrate when all the pieces of a puzzle fall into place, get irritated at someone who always has to get in the last word, and feel bad when being the last one picked for the team.  If we are so honored, we can hold someone’s hand while they breathe their last.

Lasts mark an ending but they also mark accomplishments.  Scientists responsible for the successful landing of the Mars rover now move on because their part of the project is over after years of study, planning, and testing.  Sometimes we think we understand a last and what will come after.  Johnny Carson’s last Tonight Show commemorated his transition into retirement, but I thought we would see him again, just in a different venue.  Bette Midler’s rendition of Johnny Mercer’s lyrics, “We’re drinking, my friend, to the end of a brief episode.  Make it one for my baby and one for the road,” was memorable and said there was still a long road ahead.  But there wasn’t.

Yesterday was the last Sunday in Advent, but Advent gives way to Christmas.  On the calendar we are approaching the end of the year, but we just celebrated the solstice and the beginning of winter.  Because of the culmination of circumstances over the past few years I have to move.  As I prepare to leave my home of nine years I am noting other things on the calendar, symbolizing many ‘lasts.’  Some, like changing the filter in the furnace for the last time remind me of things I won’t miss. Others, like decorating for my last holiday season here have been poignant, and still others, like last dinner parties with different friends, have been fun to plan and led to memorable evenings.

 

T.S. Eliot wrote, “In my end is my beginning.” Yes, firsts lead to lasts and lasts lead to firsts.  My current dilemma is that while I recognize there is a beginning on my horizon, I’m not there yet.  I’ve had to focus on the ending for a very long time without the benefit of knowing the details of the beginning.  I am trusting that soon I can start looking for a new home and then jump into all the planning that will come with that change. 

We’ve all had some ‘last’ that was imposed on us.  Whether it was a surprise break-up or being downsized, we discovered that we liked ‘lasts’ much better when they were of our own making.  Regardless of how we arrived at an end, the best lesson I’ve learned and which I’ve tried to emulate during this difficult time is summed up in a quote from Robert Louis Stevenson: “True wisdom is to …change with good grace in changing circumstances.”  

If there is a ‘last’ in your world, if the ground under your feet is shifting, OR, if as we approach the New Year you would like to have a change in your circumstances in some way, then look for the true wisdom inside yourself and follow what your heart and gut tell you.  Oh, and remember, whether you’re in a ‘first,’ in the solid ‘in-between,’ or, like me, in the middle of a ‘last,’ you don’t have to be alone.  That’s part of the message of Christmas.

Marilyn

In-between (second in a trilogy)

We spend most of our lives in-between.  Phases of our lives are marked by firsts and lasts, but we settle in to the security of the daily routines that make up our weeks, months, and years.  We each develop a rhythm for our normal in-between.  For some, it is a rushed pace, getting everywhere at the last possible minute, while others, at least outwardly, have a steady step-by-step life.  Sure, there are highs and lows, planned and unexpected breaks from the usual, but, for example, we know that a wedding does not make a marriage.  It is what comes before and after that one day, the in-between, that is important. 

This week we were brutally reminded about firsts, in-betweens, and lasts.  As a people we will soon see child and adult coffins symbolizing an end. Some will repeat words that have been said for centuries, words intended to comfort while experiencing a last.   For many, a new normal will contain a deep grief that has yet to arrive amid the busy-ness of the trauma, and families are beginning a yearlong journey of firsts – the first Christmas without, the first birthday date when the person is not there.

I was a kindergartner and had just gotten home from school for lunch when billows of smoke appeared in the sky and panic hit the neighborhood, and by the end of the first part of the story 15 classmates died.  So I know firsthand something about what is going on in Connecticut.   (you can Google Cleveland Hill School fire if you are interested or click here to read some of the gruesome event http://www.talkingproud.us/Culture/CleveHillFire/page84/CleveHillFireAftermath.html ). 

My trauma was in an era when there was no film coverage, no recorded emergency calls to be replayed over and over.  There were no busses of psychologists who rushed to help a community deal with disaster.  We simply put it behind us and never talked about it.  When classes resumed after the fire we did not talk about the part of the building that was rubble, about the smell, about the fact that we doubled up classes, and certainly we did not mention the names of those no longer there.  It was rare for friends who had been at the school to talk about that day.  When they did, it was about facts – we sang “Columbia, the gem of the ocean as we marched into the auditorium” – not about feelings. We know better today.  We know that drama and trauma need to be talked about, and even better, adults have resources on how to help the children as well as themselves process what they are feeling and experiencing.

We have all suffered terrible things during our life of the in-between.  Some of us had theirs played out on a more public stage.  And now it is the holidays, something that presents a challenge to many even without additional external stressors.  What we all have in common regardless of where we are on our journey in the in-between is that we are looking for hope.  Anne Lamott wrote, “Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.  You wait, and watch, and work: you don’t give up.”  This week as you put one foot in front of the other, as you try to do the right thing, whatever that means for you, may you find hope. When you do, take a minute to share it with a fellow traveler, for remember that for most of our in-betweens we do not need to be alone.

Marilyn

Firsts

My brother’s first word was “rrr-rrr” for railroad.  According to my baby book, mine was more predictable (“mama”).   We remember some special firsts.  That first kiss (George), first car (Ladybug, a red beetle), first plane ride (a propeller plane from Buffalo to Schenectady for my first all summer job at Camp Pinnacle).   For some reason I recall not my first day of school but my first punishment although I do not remember the infraction.  In kindergarten, Mrs. Engel made me sit in the kneehole of her desk during story time.

Many of us are at a time in our lives for a different type of firsts. This weekend I returned to Wheaton College for a holiday concert and entered Edmund Chapel for the first time in more than four decades.  Now, I’ve been on the campus several times over the years, driven through and seen new structures and the new crop of students, but had not been inside any of the familiar buildings. As I sat on a blue cushioned seat close to the front on the right side, snippets of memories of being in that majestic space played in my mind.  

I recalled orientation week and marching with all new students in the Parade of the World – me with people from New York, my roommate with those from Illinois and future friends under banners of Canada or Africa.  As I looked at the grand piano I remembered playing a Mozart concerto on it (well, more likely, a predecessor).  As the choirs marched down the aisles, I could summon up what it felt like to be walking up the stairs and settling on to the risers on stage and looking out at the audience.   

Going to Wheaton had been my first major step of faith based on what became of lifelong philosophy that continues to ground me today – if you do what you’re supposed to be doing, things work out.  I didn’t know anyone at Wheaton, but it felt right at the time to go there.  Three years later it felt right to leave.  It was a painful parting. I didn’t have the words then, but I sought social justice and, while others found it there, I no longer did.  There was also the practical issue of not wanting to take out another student loan when I didn’t know what I wanted to do after graduation.  So I stepped out on my own again and began my professional life.

While a ‘first’ may open a new door, it is how we handle what is behind that door that defines us.  Yes, there was a first piano lesson at age six, but it was the years of practice that led to being able to perform on that stage.  Yes, there was the audition the first week of college that led to a notice in the mailbox inviting me to be one voice among the selected many. Yes, Wheaton had been the right place for a portion of my journey.

So my trip to a Christmas concert turned out to be a pilgrimage. Walking through the big white door into the foyer and then the double doors into the chapel after all these years was healing.  In this Advent time of waiting, I encourage you to think about any firsts that may call to you.  Whether it is the first time you’ve jumped rope since you were eight, or the first time you’ve reached out to your best friend in high school since you parted ways, or the first time you tried to replicate grandma’s recipe for latkes, make a pilgrimage of your own.  Even if you trip on the rope, don’t hear back from your friend, or burn the potatoes, these ‘first time since…’ moments really can open a new door.

Marilyn

The Other Shoe

Do you ever wonder about the one shoe lying on the highway?  For years I’ve thought about the possibility of a coffee table book of photographs of that single shoe in the middle of the expressway, the sneaker on the side of the road, the Mary Jane in the gutter.  A part of that book would be stories to explain how someone loses one shoe out of a moving car, and how long it was before the owner discovered it was missing, and what the wearer did with the one remaining shoe.

Usually when we think about ‘the other shoe’ it is in the context of waiting for it to drop.  We’ve all had those strings of events in our lives where we sense the bad luck is not over and we wait for the next awful thing to happen.  Sometimes we even get jaded and shrug off the flat tire, the unexpected bill, the bad cold with a ‘of course, it was bound to happen’ and ‘poor me’ attitude.  You probably know someone who doesn’t truly enjoy a good thing because they believe that just around the corner is ‘the other shoe’ which will bring calamity, despair, and trouble, the guaranteed partner of a joy.

Yesterday was the first Sunday in Advent, a liturgical and personal time of waiting.  Most spiritual journeys and faith traditions have times of waiting and collectively we are currently waiting for more than a babe in a manger.  We long for and anticipate the peace that was proclaimed, the good-will-to-all about which we seasonally sing, the star to direct those seeking reconciliation.  What can we do – together and individually – during this time of waiting to ensure that when that other shoe does drop we can and do welcome it with grace?

Whatever we are waiting for – peace of mind, contentment, grace, the inner awareness of simple abundance – it will surely come to us, but only when we are ready to receive it with an open and grateful heart.
                …Sarah Ban Breathnach

Blessed Advent!
Marilyn

What Are You More Than?

Many years ago when visiting a new mom, my first question was about how she was doing and not about the baby.  She burst into tears.  “Thanks for remembering that I’m more than a mother,” she said while I merely nodded and tucked away two kernels of truth – we are more than our current headline and sometimes we need to be reminded of that.

My question was not intentional.  It was more that she was there and the baby was not and I had already seen and held the baby.  But obviously my question hit a needed note. 

You’ve been there yourself.  Whether your significant event was celebratory like a baby or a wedding, or a difficult issue such as a divorce or disease, your world, at least for the moment, revolved around that circumstance and you got used to hearing and answering the same questions from everyone in your circle.  This blog actually began as a series of weekly emails to my friends to keep them updated on my job search and later morphed into these musings.

The flip side of those common questions about our current situation is what we ourselves bring to social dialogues.  If all we talk about is our joy or our misery then we have allowed a tragedy or a happiness or a cause to define us. We can become so engrossed in our career we may not realize that our headlines consistently shout what we do, forgetting that what we do is not who we are. 

In those times in our lives when we are in-between dramatic headlines we become used to conversation that doesn’t require us to continually bare our souls or repeat the litany of the latest update.  This season of parties and gatherings, I’m going to try to remember that I am more than my current situation and so are those with whom I am breaking bread or sharing a drink.  So, if we meet and my opening question is, “What was the best gift you ever gave?” please don’t think I’m not interested in what’s going on in your life.  I’m just giving us both a conversation holiday.

Marilyn

 

A Bag of Groceries

The year that I lived in a boarding house I shared a bathroom with 4 people and a kitchen with 6.  My $10/week corner room with 2 windows was large enough for me to have a single bed against the wall to double as a couch, a desk and chair, a dresser, and a small stuffed chair with a side table and lamp.  Because there was no closet, it also held a $50 metal wardrobe from Montgomery Ward’s.

I was working fulltime and going to school fulltime.  Well, I went to classes when I had gas in the car to get there.  Money was scarce for me and the others in the house.  Everyone was busy, and while we were friendly we were not friends.  Since we were all going to be there on Thanksgiving we decided to have a potluck.  Hotdogs were on the menu. 

Wednesday after work I made Jell-O and as I was sitting down to play the piano in the parlor, the doorbell rang.  When I opened the front door no one was there.  I looked up and down the street but it was empty, and then noticed on the porch a brown paper bag with my name written on it in black marker.  I took the bag into the kitchen and started unpacking it.  In it were all the fixin’s for a Thanksgiving dinner.  My neighbors and I had a lovely traditional meal thanks to someone’s generosity. 

A couple of weeks ago I got the mail from my box in the lobby and as I was riding the elevator up to my condo, I thumbed through the envelopes.  There was one that I initially thought was an apply-for-a-credit-card type solicitation, but something seemed different.  Like opening the door long ago, inside there was a bag of groceries in the form of a gift card to Jewel for $100 from “a fan,” someone who knows that money is tight once again.

During the decades in between the two different doorbells of groceries I have done some things to pay forward such kindness and charity.   I’m sure not enough.  I have also tried to work on receiving such surprises with grace, since I’ve learned that for me, it is more difficult to receive than to give.

Winston Churchill said, “We make a living by what we get but we make a life by what we give.”  If you receive a gift this season, receive it with kindness.

If you have extra to share, I ask that you consider the organization for which I work.  By donating money that helps to provide entrepreneurs with needed financing, you support local small businesses.  Visit our website, www.accionchicago.org and click on Donate Now or check out our upcoming event, Taste of Accion, and purchase a ticket (half is a donation) and come and meet my great colleagues and taste and see firsthand the food, beverages, and products of some of our clients.

Why consider us?  Those we serve are unable to secure financing from traditional sources such as banks because their need is too small or they have poor or no credit.  Qualifying for a loan from us validates a small business owner’s confidence in their dream. Opening or expanding a small business gives the owners and families a sense of security and pride.  The businesses stabilize neighborhoods, and as those enterprises grow, our clients hire others.  Your donation of any size is like a bag of groceries for our clients.

In these days when, like me, so many are still struggling, and when we continue to see greed in so many places, it is nice to be part of a company that is doing well while doing good. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

Marilyn

A Taste of Home

When I was in college only those students whose family lived within a 2-hour drive were allowed to leave campus for Thanksgiving.   We had classes on Friday and rumor had it there once had been terrible accident involving students rushing to return to school.

For freshman that meant that this was the first holiday we were not with our families.  Conversations over Wednesday supper in the dining hall were unusually subdued.   Every dorm had its monthly meeting that night as soon as the doors were locked at 10pm. 

We were pretty quiet as we gathered in the main living area of Williston, the oldest dorm for women at Wheaton, a castle-like building complete with turret.  The agenda for that evening’s meeting included the usual business – reinforcing some rule, reviewing the calendar for the next month, etc. – and some holiday devotion.  As soon as the meeting was over and we returned to our rooms, the screaming and shouts of joy started.  During the meeting the Resident Assistants had put a package on everyone’s bed, a package from home.

Brown wrapping paper was quickly torn off and boxes opened.  “Oh’s” and “Ah’s” could be heard.  “Look!” a roommate would say as she lifted out a picture of the family, or a new pair of gloves, or a drawing from a younger sibling.  Enclosed letters were skimmed and set aside for later devouring.  The most common phrase, however, was “Try one!”

Almost all boxes contained a taste of home, some favorite cookie or pastry that meant family, good times, and holidays, treats that evoked traditions and lovely memories.  We gathered in hallways and lounge areas.  Conversations were lively as we shared stories as well as sweets.  Fashion at this impromptu party included new ski caps, fuzzy slippers, and, in my case, a brown and white silk scarf which remained in my wardrobe until just a few years ago. 

New types of bonds were forged as we discovered more in common and many worldviews expanded as we heard about diverse customs.  Sure there were tears and feelings of longings to be with loved ones, but the surprise taste of home made us realize that we were simply spending that particular holiday with a newly formed family. 

What would you want in your box from home.  Or, perhaps more important, think of a surprise gift you once received.  Anne Morrow Lindbergh said, "One can never pay in gratitude; one can only pay "in kind" somewhere else in life."  What would you send to someone who needs a reminder of a special connection?  It’s not too late to ship off a box or a card or extend an invitation.  And if you're concerned about people traveling, you could even follow the 2-hour rule.

Marilyn

 “Open your mouth and taste, open your eyes and see how good God is.” Psalm 34:8

Now, Where Was I?

Interruptions.  Distractions.  Detours.  Such things can break our focus, derail our plans, or take us off course.  Sometimes it is easy to pick up where we were, resume our train of thought, conversation, or task, but often a disruption sends us in a new and different direction.  Even a scheduled meeting can mean that we don’t get back to where we had been or what we had been doing before heading off to that appointment.  The brief hiatus this Monday Muser announced in September became longer because it took a while to regain my weekly writing rhythm.

The number of and variety of interruptions possible in our world today seems to be increasing.  Our phones, which no longer keep us rooted in one place, now notify us that we have email.  Even as we watch one news story a ticker tape runs across the bottom of the TV screen streaming with other headlines.  Ads pop up, robocalls sell and tell.  The outside world can bombard us and interrupt us 24/7.  I found a statistic reporting that the average worker experiences 50 interruptions a day and that seventy percent of them have nothing to do with work.

One result of this new norm of expected and accepted interruptions is the fact that we have become an immediate people.  We seek immediate gratification, answers or solutions, and think that we must act right away.  This is reinforced by movies that resolve complex issues in two hours and by the ‘call now to receive a bonus’ commercials that interrupt the plot.  In the middle of dinner we can ‘Google’ to look up the exact year that Tootsie Roll was introduced to prove our case and resolve a conflict.

Another by-product is that we are constantly in-touch and in-the-know both in our own circle and, through round-the-clock news coverage, with the world at large.  Those not by a computer or TV all day or who leave their cell phone turned off, may not realize how addictive a beep, vibration, or ‘this just in’ message can be.

Because of this immediacy norm, we have a generation that hasn’t experienced busy signals or a boss’s closed door.  It is easy for any of us to become our 3-year old selves, unable to understand the concept of ‘wait.’  Just monitor your frustration level the next time it takes longer for a website to open up.

Still one more result of our instant society is that we invent ways around the interruptions.  Record a show and fast forward to the end, use In-Demand and avoid commercials all together.  Missed calls go to voicemail.  We also find ways to reframe the inevitable intrusions into routine conveniences such as the ability to answer the phone with the touch of a button on the steering wheel. 

I rant about this today because tomorrow we finally bring to an end what has seemed to me a very long intermission.  I have not experienced this election cycle as a process that we are privileged to share.  Rather it has been a lengthy disturbance that has not energized, and from what I hear when I do tune in, I am not alone in this reaction. 

We all know that elections matter, that we should be engaged and informed, but it has become awfully hard to balance our immediate lives to the yearlong campaigning.  Whatever side of the aisle calls to our values and priorities, let us all exercise our right to vote, deal with the results, quickly adjust to whatever unfolds, and together find a path back from the detour of partisanship.   

Of course, the larger problem with all of this is summarized by C.S. Lewis when he wrote, “The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one's 'own,' or 'real' life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one's real life -- the life God is sending one day by day.”

I hate to interrupt a good rant, but, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go muse about that.

Season Finale

If you had to develop the outline of a script for the season finale of a TV show about your life since March, what would you include?  What plots and subplots unfolded in your life through spring and summer? Would your series be mystery, comedy, fantasy, drama, animated, or a new genre?  Would you need to use poetic license or move events around to build tension before resolving all problems in one hour?  How would laughter and joy be incorporated into scenes and who would be the main players in your story?

 

I ask because I started this blog in early spring, 22 weeks ago, a time span that equals a season for a TV series. During my blog-series you’ve had comedy, drama, mystery, news, weather, and even some sports.  Behind the scenes, here is what happens.  From one Monday to the next something triggers an idea and before I know it I’m wearing the hats of scriptwriter, designer, editor, producer, director and spending a couple of usually enjoyable hours at my computer.  There have been times when one musing was nearly ready and then an overheard remark, a sunrise, a headline, well, something caught my fancy and another topic appeared in your email instead of what I’d originally planned.  I love the process!  I also love the responses, the encouragement, and the appreciation you each have shared.

But now it’s time for a hiatus.  The Monday Muser is taking some time off with a plan to be back in mid-October, so this is not a series finale, just a wrap up to the first season.  Please stay in touch during this break.  Let me know something that you’ve been mulling over and musing about or what you’ve found a-musing.  I invite you all to think about being a guest blogger during the break or sometime during Season Two.  You may find it rewarding.  I do and thank you for making it so.

Marilyn

Familiar Intersections

As someone who has no sense of direction, I am quite familiar with the gut reaction of ‘this doesn’t feel right’ accompanied by 'I have no clue which way to turn.' There are two things that alleviate that stress – seeing a familiar landmark or asking for help.  In these electronic days, getting that help is much easier than it used to be, but MapQuest and GPS do not overcome the frustration of feeling lost or give one back the time that has been spent going in circles.

Perhaps, like me, you are at a difficult intersection.  We have all been at Indecision and Stuck, or Rock and Hard Place, or Mad and Hurt.  What or who is your GPS when you are in need of directions from those crossroads?

Me?  I tend to get very quiet and still and stand on each corner for a while, looking up and down all paths.  Then, having stood alone and having assessed every corner, I will tell my close friends where I am.  Sometimes I present a snapshot of the place.  Other times I may share the whole trip that got me to that point.  What I need from my GPS friends can vary from ‘just listen to me’ to ‘have you ever been at this crossroads?’ to ‘please help me navigate these particular streets.’

We humans are not alone in these experiences.  The trees I saw at the arboretum this weekend are distressed having spent the summer at Heat and Drought.  As I was writing this, the sparrows and doves on my balcony found themselves at what for them is a very routine intersection – Eat or Be Eaten.  They all suddenly took flight.  It is common for them to fly off in a flurry of feathers for no reason that I can see.  This time, a few moments after they few away, a falcon landed on my railing. 

There are people I know whose current intersections include Cancer and Cancer or Pain and Suffering. When I see them I know that my challenge, awful and hard as it may be, pales in comparison.  Finally, I also know that one day soon I’ll travel to Joy and Delight because I’ve been on the highway long enough to know that those places do exist.

Whatever intersection you face this week, whether familiar or some new place, you will be able to do something to clear the route with the support of your GPS friends.   And, if your map is currently clear at the moment and you are helping someone else interpret the road signs, remember their path is unique and the best you can do is ride shotgun.

Marilyn

The Colors of Onions

“Make new friends but keep the old; one is silver and the other gold.”  Maybe you, too, sang this tune around a campfire, enjoying camaraderie and s’mores at the end of an activity-filled day.  My Scout leaders were trying to instill some sense of loyalty and life lesson through the words of a simple song, but as 7, 8 or 9-year olds, our friendship feelings were easily hurt and our BFF changed frequently.  

We have different circles of friends who, like an onion, represent different layers of closeness.  Acquaintance is a lovely word as is colleague; they each have important role in our lives.  But silver and gold are the core.  Most people I know have assembled a core family-of-the-heart because they are separated from their blood family by miles or lack of deep connection. 

These silver and gold family-of-the-heart friends are the handful of people to whom we reveal our true selves and are still loved.  This group can include family-of-origin folks and people we rarely see but who would be there in a minute if we needed them.   To me family-of-the-heart also means that we share some core values but challenge one another in our thinking and that we laugh at many of the same things.  We travel with these friends on journeys of fun and learning and through the difficult internal explorations of pain and discovery.

In the last few years I’ve lost 4 of my family-of-the-heart members; two died, one suddenly and the other after months of pain, discomfort and frustration.  The loss of the other two came from a different kind of death, the kind where they remove themselves from your life.  As they closed the door on our friendship we hurt and lost one another but the grief is the same – they once were there and now they are gone. 

One silver friend says that in her experience these people may come back.  Perhaps.  

My oldest golden friend is from college and lives a couple of hours away.  Another one close-by is busy with her class reunion.  She’s still connected to people from elementary school.  That's sterling.  The circles do undergo some natural changes.   Major transitions such as marriage, divorce, or career paths cause shifts. One friend recently met someone special and is working on the delicate balance of gold and a whole new bracelet of silver while another is talking a major across-the-country move.

You never know where a new friend will be found or what that friendship will lead to.  In spring I attended a wedding that was silver of sorts; the bride was 74 and the groom, 85.  Music was their original connection and they called themselves ‘concert friends.’  The friendship blossomed and now a new family exists.   

Whether silver or gold, I treasure my family-of-the-heart.  To those reading this musing, thank you for who you are and all you bring to my life. 

Why not check in with your own precious metals?   Some may need a bit of polishing.

Marilyn

The World is Getting Smaller

Remember those dreaded 500 word essays?  The kind where someone asked the teacher, “Can we count ‘a’ and ‘the’?”

One third grade homework assignment was an essay on ‘the world is getting smaller.’  I remember being nervous and a little scared because I didn’t understand the topic.  What the heck did ‘the world is getting smaller’ mean to an 8-year-old in the 1950’s?  Was the world shrinking?  Was I supposed to do something to help fix it?

After school I went upstairs, sat at my desk, and kept writing the heading over and over. I suppose I was hoping for inspiration.  There was a window over my desk and one time when I looked up I saw a plane that had just taken off from the Greater Buffalo International Airport.  Suddenly something about the topic clicked and I had things to write about. 

This came to mind because Friday was the last day of work for three young people in our office.  Two summer interns completed their term.  One was headed off to India and then to his home in Dubai.  The other is going to South Korea to be with her family.  The third had been a colleague for as long as I’ve been there.  Bukie was our AmeriCorps VISTA.  Her year of service was finished, and, as much as we’d love to have her stay, she’s getting ready to spend some time in her homeland, Nigeria.  Our third intern will be with us one more week and he just got back from 10 days in Kenya.

My first airplane trip was the day after high school graduation.  My friend Sue and I had jobs at a camp in the Catskills outside of Schenectady.  We got on an American Airlines propeller plane, took off, and in many ways, I never looked back.  Nine years later my first big vacation was to California and included my first jet ride.   

Back in third grade, as I figured out how the world was getting smaller – at least in ways that an 8-year-old could understand – I completed the essay, diligently counted the words, lined up the 2 pages of paper and carefully turned over the top left corner so the pages would stay together.  There is something to be said for having lived in the decades when we were the pilgrims experiencing and helping the world getting smaller.    For so many of today’s youth this small world is at their fingertips.  Travel is just part of their norm and that’s terrific.  Travel builds bridges between cultures, expands one’s horizon, and opens worlds of possibilities.

Looking back, that assignment actually made my world bigger, but today, the topic makes me more nervous on levels that in third grade I didn’t even know existed.

Marilyn

Situation Normal

It’s been a week of gripes, surprises, and joys.  If I kept a journal these would be some of the entries.

Monday

·         Itchy eye.  Not going to wear contact today, which probably doesn’t matter much since I’m still wearing reading glasses most of the time anyway.  Don’t think this experiment is working.

Female quite fascinating

·         Elevator not working.  First time that has happened in 9 years.
·         Close to finishing major project.
·         Elevator working when I got home from the health club.

They watch out for each other

·         After a couple of weeks of steady attendance, the cardinals finally came when a camera was handy and when there was enough light!



 Tuesday
·         Got to open the windows for a little while today.
·         Elevator out again. 
·         Forgot coupon for 40% off at Michael’s.
·         Used the phrase ‘you guys’ when leaving a message.  I hate that phrase, stopped to correct myself and then nearly forgot why I had called.

Quaker parrot/monk parakeet

Wednesday

Looking back to my balcony

·  Just about ready to leave for work.  Walked into living room to close the drapes and there were my surprise visitors!  Some of the monk parakeets that started a colony in Hyde Park decades ago have migrated to Berwyn.  I’ve only seen them around the library.  Four of them were on my balcony.  But my movement in the house spooked them.  Luckily, they only went to the utility wires over the alley.  Hope they come back now that they’ve discovered this restaurant!

·         Catch up coffee with friend and another dear friend starts new job today.
·         Project not so near finished.  Major revisions not incorporated.  Were my directions not clear?



Thursday

Thursday night moon rising

·         Opened new bag of bird seed and left it on the kitchen counter as I watered the balcony plants and put out the morning's seed.  The bag toppled over… seed everywhere, in the cat’s water dish, food tray, under the stove. 


Friday


Friday sunrise

·         Very light traffic on the way to work.  In the office in 18 minutes.

Saturday

·         Oak Park book sale.  Trying a few new authors for 50¢.
·         Cleaned out pantry.  Cake mix that expired in 2009 was the oldest.  Still finding birdseed. Threw out 3 bags of stuff.  Moved on to other stuff an have 2 bags for Goodwill.

Sunday

·         Kane County Flea Market.  So great to be outdoors and now in the evening listening to the cicadas instead of the air conditioner.

Monday

·         Today marks the last week of work for a delightful colleague.  Mixed feelings.  Would so love to have her stay, excited for her to go and follow her dream to live in her homeland, Nigeria.

A rountine week.  Situation normal for me.  You?

Marilyn

When the Experts are Wrong

In the mid-1970s, AT&T was still a regulated monopoly. Bell Labs was the creative research arm, Western Electric manufactured their products, and the Baby Bells sold the wares and cared for the public.  The designers introduced a new phone system, the 770.  As industry and engineering experts they thought companies would be anxious to upgrade to a slick console switchboard, trading in their old-fashioned cords, and enjoy the features that came with changing from rotary to touchtone phones.  The problem was that the 770 was terrible.  Consumers didn’t like it and we who sold, customized, installed, and trained it were disappointed. 

The experts screwed up.  They were stuck in the paradigm that AT&T was the only game in town and that we could tell customers what they wanted and needed.  But times were changing.  Competition in telecommunications was new and others were starting to produce flashy, reliable and modern systems.  January 1, 1984 marked the breakup of the Bell System, and many people thought the experts were wrong to do so, but look at the amazing things that have happened in the communications and telecommunications arena. 

Who were the experts in 1985 that convinced Coke to change its formula?  That was a strategy, branding, and marketing nightmare.

One summer day in 1987 my mother and I were out for a lady’s lunch.  As we enjoyed a cold drink, a salad and some warm rolls in a little tea room outside of Buffalo, she suddenly said, “You know, until the day I die, I’ll regret throwing out your ‘blankey.’  The book said it was the right thing to do, but I hated doing it.”

Now that’s a conversation shocker.  On so many levels.

Aunt Lizzy made this quilt
that hangs in my front hall

Until the day my mother just mentioned there was a handmade piece of quilt about the size of a pillowcase that I hugged as I went to sleep.  It wasn’t anything I carried around, just my comfort object to curl up with. The great-aunts had made it along with other quilts and it had been in my mother’s hope chest for 20 years before it became my blankey.  Presumably there had been one that had been in my brother’s crib.

“You found it the first time I took it away,” she continued.  “You went searching and found it in the Good Will bag in the basement. So then I knew I couldn’t save it and had to really throw it away.  You sobbed every night for weeks.  But the book said at 5 years old you should be able to go to sleep without it.  I wish I’d never paid attention to that chapter in the book!”

The experts were wrong.  On so many levels.  I appreciate that my mother acknowledged that and treasure that she shared her regret.  Do you have an ‘experts were wrong’ story?

As a society, as consumers, we’ve been told a lot, even molded a lot by what experts say.  Too often when we look to the experts in behavior, emotions, culture, finance, we let them have their sway rather than listening to our guts. Certainly there are times we need experts and need to follow their direction.  But our collective and personal histories tell us that experts can be wrong. Let’s have the courage to ignore the experts when what they are saying is not right for us. 

Let’s keep our blankeys. 

Marilyn