Where should we go?

Travel, whether over the river and through the woods or Midway to JFK, is an integral part of this season. People make plans to spend time with family and friends, near and far. Some people balance family connections by alternating years with different limbs of the tree or by having multiple celebrations. Travel plans, even just across town, contribute to the hustle and bustle of the holidays.

The same is true for the various characters in stories associated with this time of year. Frosty runs through the town. The Grinch goes up and down the mountain. Santa traverses the world in one night and children who worry about him finding their house can now track his sleigh online.

In the early chapters of the Nativity story, a newly pregnant Mary goes about 80 miles, probably walking, to see her older cousin Elizabeth who is three months from having her first child. After John is born, Mary, now in her second trimester, returns to Nazareth where she then has some time before she and Joseph, along with countless others, have to travel about 70 miles to Bethlehem for the recently ordered census. For that trip Joseph may have rented or borrowed a donkey so Mary could ride rather than walk. They made the trip with a lot of faith. Faith that they would arrive safely and find accommodations. Faith that perhaps Mary would make it back home before the baby arrived. But there were no rooms and a kind innkeeper showed them a stable where Joseph and Mary used straw for comfort and warmth.

Angels tell shepherds around Bethlehem about a newborn, destined to be the savior. They decide to go see for themselves, but all they knew was that the baby boy was resting in a manger in a very busy city. So they hurried with a lot of faith that they would be able to find that baby by depending on the word on the street where that particular child was. My guess is each time they asked someone about a baby in a manger they told of their heavenly visitors and the birth announcement. Some neighbors probably laughed; others may have tagged along, so that by the time they found the correct stable, there were more than just the shepherds arriving to pay their respects.

The wise men also had to ask for directions. Their GPS, the star in the east that they faithfully followed, only got them so far. Unfortunately, they stopped at the wrong service station, for King Herod had heard of the prophesies of a King to be born in Bethlehem. Asking that they keep him informed, Herod sends them on their way, but the wise men would still have to continue to ask about a newborn when they got into the city. By that time there may have been more of a buzz about one particular stable which they finally found. These foreign visitors had the sense to not share their findings with Herod and they returned to their homelands by a different route.

Joseph and Mary traveled six more miles to Jerusalem to take their son to the temple for thanksgiving and dedication and soon after that fled to Egypt to escape Herod's massacre of infants. A couple of years later they returned home to Nazareth.

Many around the world today are asking where they should go. They are traveling, in faith, following dreams, hopes and promises, seeking a safe future. They are walking, running, boating, flying, sometimes following leads, but often just moving to get away, unsure where they are going and what lies ahead. 

There is a lot of rhetoric about closing borders, about forcing many who thought they had finished their journey to leave. Just like the stress that comes with preparing for and having people, even family and friends, in our homes, there is stress in welcoming strangers. Our country needs to find a way to balance that stress with prudence and do the right thing, answering the question, "where should we go?" with a resounding "here!" 

Marilyn

Gone by the wayside

When was the last time a driver waved a thanks to you after you let them go ahead? Or you flashed your lights at an approaching car to let them know their lights were not on and they understood what you were communicating?

Many little courtesies, practices and norms have gone the way of the caboose, housedresses and handkerchiefs. Some societal niceties, like those above, I miss. Others, not so much. As a woman who grew up in the emerging feminist era, I always struggled with the 'men open the door for women' thing. To me it was whoever got there first or had free hands. When I started dating, the tradition of men standing up when a woman entered the room still existed. We were taught to expect it and to judge the boy negatively when he didn't follow that rule. In a required freshmen orientation session in college, we practiced handing our beau money surreptitiously under the table so the boy could be the one to pay, even if it was Dutch treat.

Back in the day when most people went to church or temple, they dressed up, or at least nicely, hence the phrase 'Sunday best.' Now congregants dress casually, enter the sanctuary carrying a coffee cup for themselves and a bag of Cheerios for their three-year-old who brought toys to play with. I appreciate a more casual, inclusive atmosphere, but sometimes sigh at baseball caps and pajama bottoms in the sanctuary.

Old fashioned products like Borax and fels-naptha, once a necessity in a home, are rarely seen anymore. Handwritten letters, even at this time of year, and two stickers supporting a cause that sealed the envelope, are scarce. Diagraming sentences that might compose those letters is probably a foreign concept in today's classrooms. Aprons are worn when they are monogrammed either to indicate success or a sense of humor. Trick-or-treaters can no longer go inside a neighbor's home for cider and a homemade cinnamon doughnut. Neither could Christmas carolers, if there was such a thing anymore of people going door to door singing, but such a seasonal connection has disappeared along with the Fuller Brush Man. 

This topic started during a conversation with a friend who told me to write about the fact that people don't walk correctly on sidewalk anymore. We were trained that people going in one direction walk next to the building and those going the other way walk on the outside. Nowadays people are looking down at their phones and not paying any attention to their surroundings, let alone to where they are 'supposed to be' walking.

I'll bet if you let your mind wander or pay some attention this week to your daily activities, you could create a list of your own, noting things that have gone by the wayside. Some you might miss even as you celebrate that others, like most racist language, are gone. Here is one constant, however, that has not changed – the need for peace on earth and good will to all. May you also see seeds of that being fulfilled this week.

Happy Holidays!

Marilyn

Where is the dark horse?

Where is the dark horse?

In my safe liberal bubble where I try to balance being informed with avoiding the headlines, I keep waiting for sane and sage words to come out of some unknown's mouth. From either side of the aisle. I'm looking for the Jimmy Carter of today, or even a Gary Hart, for someone articulate and wise to kind of come from nowhere.

In my election fantasy this far out from the actual election, there are no debates, no frontrunners and millions have not already been raised or spent. Instead voters and the media are holding those currently in office accountable for getting things done and those in an elected office are working on the tough issues. Together. And getting things done. Now.

Growing up in a Republican household of the 1950s, I had a rhinestone I Like Ike pin. Well, my mother did and I got to wear it for dress up. I think she got it from a precinct volunteer who stayed with me while she went to vote. That's my earliest election memory – me left with a stranger in the house because voting is important. My second memory is the form letter (although I didn't know that's what it was at the time) I received from Richard Nixon in response to my condolence note when he lost the 1960 election. I'm hoping that was a school assignment. That election also taught me that families can be divided over candidates.

Regular readers may be reminded that I can rant and rave over the 24/7/365 news media that gives too many people an extended 15 minutes. A name in a headline, a clip on a news program lends a certain legitimacy to a person or an event. I know It's a hard balance for reporters to uncover news vs. pseudo-news and when and how to let readers and viewers know what is important. Our time is taken with so much non-news it's harder still to get and keep our attention.

This week we have heard this week some absurd suggestions. But I see a potential positive. All of the racist comments about and actions toward candidate and then President Obama were shocking and disturbing, but somehow remained surface and never generated a meaningful national debate. Perhaps we will go deeper to our root collective fears of the different, the other, and discover the commonality of humanity. Perhaps there will be meaningful dialogue around the water cooler, in the classroom, and yes, in the news. 

At the beginning I said I am trying to balance being informed while avoiding the headlines. I also need to balance my inner skeptic with my hope that there will be positive steps made while I'm still around to see them. As someone with one ancestor who was a founder of Hartford, CT and another who was hung as a witch in the early days of our country, I say that we need actions that begin to take down rather than strengthen the barriers that divide us all in so many ways. In this growing extended election cycle we seem to have an opportunity to do that. Fingers crossed.

Marilyn

Storytelling

How would you answer the question, "Are you a good storyteller?" My guess is that most of us would respond in the negative when, I think, we all should reply with a resounding 'Yes!' Everyone tells several stories every day. We don't realize it because we tend to think about stories as fiction. We think of stories as words written by someone else, someone who has skills and learning beyond our own abilities. We forget about autobiographies. We forget that we are the author of our own story and that we are ever and always telling it. How we dress tells a story. How we organize and decorate our home tells a story. How we actually tell a story, such as relating something that happened to us, be it around the water cooler or over the phone or a cup of coffee with a friend, tells our version of an experience. If that experience includes other people, their description would be different. It is by putting all the stories together that a detective might solve a case and how reporters craft the news. Some days we scream the plot, the emotions, the setting, the characters. Other times we barely utter a whisper. There are people who readily tell details to any and every one, sometimes even including TMI, and those who keep their stories secret or hidden until a friend finds the right crowbar to open the book just a crack. Besides not understanding that we are a storyteller we forget that we are also the author. We can claim the power of the pen. With it we can turn the page, delete, change the narrative, rewrite, that is we can claim control of our own story. At least to a certain extent. Sometimes we need to find a co-writer. Or an editor. Or inspiration. As we prepare collectively to turn the calendar page in a few weeks, here are a couple of possible exercises for all of us autobiographers.  ü  If you look at your life today as part of your story, what is the name of the chapter you are in and what do you want the next chapter to be?  ü  Is there a storyline that you need to pick back up and bring to some conclusion?  ü  Is there a primary or secondary character who needs to reappear or get written off?  ü  Is it time for some comedic relief? Is the drama is out of control? Do you need to insert some type of action?  ü  Is it time to let someone else hear a certain part of your story? ü  What story do you need or want to tell today? I've not thought of my weekly musing as storytelling but in following today's premise, they are, so I'll bring this chapter to a close and mull on those possibilities myself. Let me know if you have a ready answer. Marilyn

DIY

We live in a do-it-yourself world. Previous generations would be surprised as we ring up and pack our own groceries, pump our own gas and make our own investment decisions for retirement. Some of these “advancements” have made our lives easier, or at least saved us some time. Many are scary on different levels. I might have been proud that I once rewired a lamp but was concerned each time I turned it on in case I’d done something wrong.

Months ago I ran across this George Eliot quote, “It is never too late to be what you might have been.” With that as a starting point I have begun many musings. I’ve had titles from “Things you can’t recreate” to “Reinventions” and have several interesting phrases, thoughts and beginnings. I rather liked this opening: “Remember that important assignment or task when you wanted to wow the teacher, your boss, your peers, your family, and well, the result was, from your perspective, adequate at best?”

But I have struggled to string those good ideas or phrases together. Yesterday I realized why. This is a DIY musing. I can only speak for me. Each reader needs to figure out what that phrase might mean to him or her.  So, in the two minutes left that you would normally spend to finish reading my words, decide one small thing that you would enjoy doing or always meant to do that reflects one interpretation of Eliot’s challenge. For me, there is someone to whom I could be a better friend. I’m going to text her just with a ‘thinking of you’ message. Now go on and DIY, that is, be more of what you might have been.

Marilyn

Dining room tables

Dining room tables My sister-in-law joined a group that plays the card game euchre and recently it was her turn to host. As she was organizing her first hand, she remembered a time decades ago when our family was doing the same thing around that same table, one piece of furniture my brother had asked for when we were carefully dividing family treasures. She looked down and silently patted the dark mahogany and smiled. Now, that would be a sweet story if that was the whole truth. What she also recalled were the times when it was the rest of the family playing cards while she sat alone in the living room reading or watching TV because playing cards, particularly with her very competitive mother-in-law, had never really been her thing.  Being able to do your own thing in a family setting should be encouraged, so, again, that should be another part of a fond memory. But breaking from the pack wasn't always encouraged in our house. Tacit approval – “do what you want” – might have been the words my mother said, but the set of her jawline said "you're supposed to be in the other room with the rest of us."  "Supposed to be" was big in my house and too often, things, and even the people, were not what they were supposed to be. Unfortunately, we never quite figured out what the "supposed to be" was, only that we hadn't got it right. The house smelled great. The food was delicious. Our Thanksgiving table looked very much like the Norman Rockwell painting, but that was surface. Once each of us realized that we were never going to fill the shoes of "supposed to be" our lives got better. When large celebrations got to be too much for mother, my sister-in-law hosted family dinners around her own dining room table. I enjoyed preparing and serving every day and holiday meals at my table, which is an English pub hand-me-down table, a gift more than 40 years ago from some British friends who paid two pounds ten for it during WWII. I'm glad that the table I grew up with, the place where my parents and I had most evening meals together for nearly 17 years, is still being used to entertain and connect. Just the other day my sister-in-law sat at that table to share coffee with a neighbor who'd received bad news. This Thursday some tables will be filled to the brim with food and folks will sit elbow to elbow. Others will have sparse fixings. Conversation will be stilted or will flow. Some may rationally discuss the disparate headlines about welcoming vs. banning individuals because of race or religion and even appreciate the irony of that issue on this particular holiday. Before anyone takes a bite some may bow their heads to give thanks beyond the cook. Wherever and with whomever you gather, may there be no “supposed to be” vibes in the air, just a loving acceptance.

Marilyn

Duck, duck, goose

Do you remember playing this game where one child walks on the outside of a circle of children sitting on the ground, tapping each on the head saying "Duck" until finally saying "Goose" and then running around the circle? The 'goosed' kid has to get up and chase, hoping to get back to their empty spot before the 'gooser' takes it. Whoever is left standing starts the process all over again.

I hated that game. As someone who felt like a goose in a duck world, I did not appreciate when that was brought to everyone's attention. It didn't matter to me at the time that the game can help teach all children that exclusion is a reality, that there is often an odd man out and that, at times, we are all that person. 

It's hard to be the outsider. It's hard when we don't understand why we are being left out. It's hard when we realize the why and that the reason is beyond our control or is based on unfair or unrealistic criteria, like the color of our skin, other appearance characteristics, the dollars in our bank accounts, our address, education, accent or belief system.

I had started writing this before the events of Friday night in Paris. Before lives and a nation were changed. Before we all experienced a collective fear, a joint rage and a common confusion about how such things can happen, how anyone can think that such acts are justified. These terrorists whose extreme ideologies negate a personal connection to the rest of humanity, deliberately divide the world into ducks and geese.

As we watched with horror that evening, I turned to PBS Newshour. That program incorporated updates on the tragedy in France along with their prescheduled segments. So, in the midst of hearing of hostages and updates on the number of casualties, there was an interview with an expert on the topic of microaggression. Now, I work in microlending and therefore am accustomed to incorporating micro into my language, but this was a whole new use of the prefix. Microaggression is the casual degradation of any socially marginalized group. As I listened and learned, I realized how real it is on a daily basis and that I've been a unknowing perpetrator, making others feel like a goose.

How? The professor gave the reporter a personal example and showed how subtle microaggression is and how it often occurs unintentionally. He described the common social setting where a new acquaintance asks a non-white American where they are from and doesn't accept the answer of "Portland." They press with a follow up question of, "No, I mean where were you born?" and get confused or even belligerent when the answer is still the same. The underlying message is if you don't look like me then you can't be American. Microaggression is an unexamined part of a world view that has minorities, like students in Missouri or actresses in Hollywood, saying that there is still prejudice despite good strides.  (You can read a very public example of Joe Biden and Barack Obama if you go to wikipedia to further understand the topic.)

Being introduced to microaggression in the midst of reports on a terrorist attack was a startling juxtaposition about inclusion and exclusion. Better philosophers, theologians, diplomats and historians than I can discuss the evolution of extreme groups and attack tactics. They can theorize and strategize the big picture. All I know is that those who constantly feel like a goose in a duck world are vulnerable and susceptible to any welcoming message. Beyond that I can't begin to understand the powers at play here, but do understand that I can play a small part in my corner of the world. I can be more aware of the ducks and geese around me. I can search for common ground and seek ways to honor differences so we all - ducks and geese - can swim in the pond of life without fear. Perhaps you can pledge to do the same, regardless of the feathers you wear, and together we will make a difference.

Marilyn

Patterns, rhythms and habits

The superstition that things, both good and bad but mostly bad, come in clusters is common in most cultures, though the particular number may vary. Here in the US we tend to say they come in threes and we can cite several examples, usually of celebrity deaths or tragedies within our own circles. Such folklore is built over centuries as people looked for patterns. Once such a pattern is found, we reach a certain level of comfort by being able to say "that's over, there won't be anymore, at least for awhile."

Before finding patterns we live with rhythms. There is a rhythm in our world to which we all tune in. How we do that, I believe, is part of our connection to the universe and one another, for it is the rhythm of the natural world that we all have in common. The four elements of earth, air, fire and water. The four seasons, different though they may be depending on where one lives. The movement of the sun and moon and earth. The sounds of wildlife. Bela Bartok, and I'm sure other composers before and after him, used the rhythm of birdcalls as inspiration. I once heard that the taunting musical phrase children use in a teasing manner and which you can only imagine since you can't hear me going 'nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah' is present in all cultures.

Habits can be based on patterns. I certainly plan my morning and evening commutes based on what I've experienced as routine traffic patterns. Leaving my house five minutes late can make a fifteen minute difference on the road. There are those who are differently wired for whom patterns drive an internal necessity. It may manifest itself in the need to wash their hands a certain number of times or other behaviors that observers may label weird or even disturbing but which makes total sense to the hand-washer.

In the patterns, rhythms and habits of my life I find that I've gone from comfort to comfortable. There is a constant and a contentedness which is satisfying and even gratifying. When we are in that state, the challenge can be to remember our universal connection and those whose patterns are unsettled, whose rhythms are driven by danger and fear and who, in order to remain safe, cannot develop habits. 

This week I've heard a lot of people saying that it's hard to believe Thanksgiving is just around the corner. Here in the midwest that is true because El Nino has disrupted our normal November rhythm. Our collective balance is a little squeed. We are preparing to enter a holiday season with all the November, December and January festivities and have limited time to meet end of the year goals. All that places additional stressors on our patterns, rhythms and habits. I am hoping to maintain my current harmony. One thing that will help with that is a daily to-do list that, besides all the tasks required to keep me on course, also remind me to breathe, rest, and, in the spirit of the season, help ease someone whose pattern has been disrupted by one or two of those bad things as they wait for the third to drop. Perhaps you'd like to adjust your own routines to do something similar. If you do, let me know how that works out.


Marilyn

Miss Marple has it right

For those not familiar with Agatha Christie's Miss Marple, she often solves mysteries because the killer/thief/perpetrator reminds her of someone in her small town. I recently realized that I keep meeting the same people just in different bodies. Given a group congregating for a random or even common purpose, there are certain types who seem to always be present.

This adventure into group analysis happened a couple of weeks ago when I spent a few days with thirteen people whom I didn't know. We were a random group collected for a brief common purpose. In our introductions activity I was struck by the fact that one woman looked so much like someone I know. Later that evening when she also acted like my acquaintance, it actually got creepy. Seriously, she was a dobbelganger in both looks and affectations. In this group, she was the Caretaker. Then there was the Earth Mother, a comfortable woman with great common sense and a knowledge of how to teach important lessons. The Pain in the Ass was loud, long winded and not self aware, although I'm sure others had pointed out his faults throughout his adulthood and their helpful hints were ignored. The Frightened Mouse actually got along with the PITA, whom several of us decided was simply lonely.

The Wait To See How The Wind Is Blowing pair pretty much stuck together while The Professor got along with everyone. Mostly we left The Full Steam Ahead alone which was fine because she didn't seem to care. She Got A Pickle And I Didn't and Easygoing did ok together, particularly if the Peacemaker was around. The One-Up bustled between sets of the others and the Naysayer ended several conversations.

Stereotypes, dislike them though we may, exist for a reason, which is that on the surface they are accurate. Every group has a certain combination of the above, plus a few more, including the Follow the Leader, the Wanna Be and the Pleaser. One prejudice I am conscious of having myself is against those individuals who perpetuate a stereotype by being so like it, such as when I run across a Dumb Blonde. I want to shake the person into something else. And here I was with a whole group of obvious stereotypes.

It was when I wondered how the rest of the group was pegging me that I finally got to the next layer of the onion. I realized that actually there are bits and pieces of many of the stereotypes I've listed above in me, well, in each of us really, if we choose to let them out. Those characteristics are just under the surface. I can Caretake, Placate, Naysay and One-Up with the best of them. So, as I continued down that road of self realization, peeling away to a deeper layer, I understood it is often those bits and pieces about myself that I have tried to work on because I find them annoying that is a common denominator. Now isn't that a PITA? Wonder if Miss Marple ever figured that out.

Marilyn

Quiet / Silence

When was the last time you experienced an extended period of silence? Not the quiet where the radio is softly playing in the next room and the neighbor's dog isn't barking at the moment. I mean when there is no sound and everything is still.

I'm just back from 4 days in the foothills of the Ozarks, where for hours all I heard was an occasional fish or frog jumping in the lake or one cicada saying hey to another. I never heard the guest in the next room. Seriously, no one walking in the hallway, taking a shower or blaring the TV. No sense of anyone around me. Even our workshop's topic led to classroom silence as we participants dabbed colors on watercolor paper and sketched indoors and out. I felt like I was on a silent retreat and that became the best part of the week.

Quiet means 'marked by little or no activity, disturbance or tumult; calm; secluded.' Silence is 'the absence of any sound; stillness; to put doubt and fear to rest.' As I pondered the difference between quiet and silence, I realized my spirit needed to quiet so I could experience the silence. I reflected that in the last several months I have been deliberate about both silence and quiet, something quite different for someone who for most of her life has had music playing in the background. I didn't know I was preparing for the gift of four nights and three days of calm, stillness and seclusion.

How do quiet and silence play out in your life? Could you use one or both a little more or a little less? Does such a thought delight or scare you? Take a quiet minute to think about that and if you'd like to do anything about it today or this week. For me, I'm planning to keep some intentional times of quiet and silence. I had fairly low expectations for a class called "Life is a canvas" where the theme was watercolor and sketchbook journaling because I have little patience for or skill in watercolor. I didn't expect to come home with anything framable. What I didn't know was that I would come home in a peaceful frame of mind. That's even better.

Marilyn

The Games We Play

When I was in first grade my favorite board game was Sorry. I enjoyed sliding my Hershey-kiss-shaped widget into my opponent's to send them back home while saying the name of the game with much enthusiasm. Mr. Potato Head and Monopoly were ok, but by junior high we were all playing Clue. There was the wrench and other weapons and great characters like Miss Scarlett and Colonel Mustard all closed up in the mansion with what seemed like limitless possibilities for fun murder. Then my family discovered Rack-O, a not as well known game requiring players to arrange 10 cards in numerical order. Trust me, it's not as easy as it sounds. In my 30s it was Mastermind, Boggle and Scrabble. And that's where I stopped with board games.

Game shows on TV evolved from Queen for a Day, which aired mid-morning in the 1950s, where a woman had the opportunity to win a washing machine, to Who Wants to be a Millionaire broadcast almost every night in prime time. Maude, a friend of my mother's, was on some show in those early years and was thrilled when she won a pair of suede shoes. In between was I've Got a Secret, Pyramid, Match Game, Password and, of course, Jeopardy, amidst scores of others featured in reruns on the Game Network 24/7.

Now we don't need a board to play a board game. We play on our computers and phones, either individually or against the computer or 'live' online with an opponent known only by a chosen persona. The ease of access, the need to fill each minute, the soothing affects of repeated motions, the addictiveness of the challenge, the world into which a gamer enters is interesting and alluring. Games can engage the marginal or different learner, teach us all strategy and keeps the mind stimulated. They provide the opportunity to learn how to be a gracious winner or loser. I learned to count playing cards and often played canasta, pinochle, rummy or cribbage with my parents after homework was done. In my early years it is probable that my adult opponents let me win, but mine was a competitive family and I soon had to stand on my own.

Ludology is a fairly young discipline examining games, design and players and their role in society and culture. Anthropologists can probably tell us something as well. I imagine that after a hard day of hunting, gathering and cooking our distant ancestors gathered around a fire and some played a type of game with pebbles or teeth. I have faithfully moved a box containing many of those old favorites games from house to house, although I can't remember the last time I played any of them. Maybe in some retirement facility in my future there will be neighbors who will want to gather around a fire and revisit some of those classics. I only hope none of them cheat! 

Marilyn

Shhhh...did you know?

There is a fine line between talking and gossiping. We can share information we know about someone in a caring manner or we can delight in the telling of a juicy story that presents a colleague in a bad light. Along that spectrum of conversations are words such as chit chat, rumor, scandal, hearsay, backbiting, tattling, evil tongue, grapevine, dishing, secrets and small talk. Behind those words are emotions such as fear and anger, love and concern and motivators such as the need to belong. Consequences of those words can be reputations, judgements and exculsion.

Gossip is defined as idle chat about the personal or private affairs of others. Does that mean every time we talk about someone else we are gossiping? Is it all in the approach or in the intent? Is it the responsibility of the teller to determine if this is a healthy and helpful conversation or is the listener an equal partner in defining the tone and the outcome?

The origin of the word comes from centuries ago when giving birth involved the women of the village surrounding the one in labor, and, having many hours in which to talk, talking is what they did. I guess the implication is that the women who were unable to be present got dished. "Can you believe that Myrtle isn't here?" (No matter that she gave birth just last week or her husband was killed in a raid on a neighboring town or her six children are all under age 8 or their cow just died.) I'm sure each woman had a turn at missing a birth, so they probably would have agreed with Will Rogers who said that the only time people dislike gossip is when you gossip about them.

If a car arrived in the driveway of the house across the street, my mother was at the window to see who came calling. Was that a concern for safety or nosiness? Was the litany of who was, who wasn't in church, what they were wearing or who said what that was part of our Sunday dinner, simply typical family small talk, all innocent and normal, or did it encompass something darker? I have one friend who considers most mentions of other people gossip. From how she approaches this, I gather that any discussion of outsiders in her large family must have been considered bad, so boy, would they have been uncomfortable in my house!

We all want to belong. It's human nature - for that matter, in much of the animal kingdom as well - to do what we can to feel included. And, if that means tattling to feel superior, if that means breaking a trust, if that means not speaking up, well, we've all done it. "What was she thinking?" two women might look at one another and say as a good friend walks away in ill-fitting and unflattering attire. In the South, one would add, "Bless her heart." One employee might casually say, "We need to have the meeting at 10am because Jim needs to be there and he is always late." Such a statement can put one employee down and create complicity when everyone else nods.

There is now an entire industry devoted to this element of human nature. Just google the word gossip and see what comes up. It didn't start with yellow journalism which may have evolved from the gossip column in mainstream newspapers that legitimized our wanting to be in the know about the lives of celebrities. Perhaps it started with Eve when she tried to wheedle her way out of being on the hot seat, or when leaves and animal skins started the options of fashion. Today the internet and 24/7 news has moved and muddied that fine line that has always been present, just shifting in different cultures and eras.

I struggle with all of this. I think part of it comes from growing up in a family with secrets and from being the only child in the house. Not have siblings my age to gossip with and share secrets with meant I could only do that with friends. Today I have one set of friends with whom I actually draw an imaginary sign across my chest and say 'gossip' when sharing some news of the 'did you know' variety, so at least I'm self aware. Barbara Walters said "Show me someone who isn't interested in gossip and I'll show you someone who isn't interested in people." I guess some of us are more interested than others. 

Maarilyn

Leftovers

This morning my car still had a faint odor of last night's dinner from the diner. The lingering smell of liver was a reminder of a pleasant meal out with a friend and some lunch or dinner early this week could feature the remnants in the doggie bag.

My guess is, however, if history is an indication of future behavior, that I will enjoy the untouched baked potato and the liver will end up in the garbage. Somehow I never get around to enjoying leftover liver. While some things are even better a day or two later, stews and soups for example, other foods, like salads already doused with dressing, or for me, liver, are not. 

Leftovers are often planned. I just made a pork roast that will last all week. There's nothing like that first turkey sandwich on the Friday after Thanksgiving. We know which favorite restaurants serve enough food for two or even three meals. Maggiano's has a menu where you can order one entree for dinner and one to go at no additional cost. That's a different kind of leftover program!

As the kitchen kop at the office, I have to keep reminding people to toss their leftovers. The staff has gotten very good at bringing food for only one day, but occasionally it's too much or folks end up going out for lunch and forget they have a container in the fridge. Too soon it becomes that mysterious science experiment in a baggie at the back on the top shelf. Leftovers gone bad.

There are other kinds of leftovers. In a sense, the clothes and items we take to Goodwill are our extras or fashion left over from the last year or decade. I spent part of yesterday at the Kane County flea market, looking over hundreds of leftover items ranging from duct tape from an order too large for a shipment, to antique mirrors, treasures found stuck away in a basement or attic, leftovers of a lifetime. I bought an old shoe shine box, a leftover of an era gone by.

My poker group has about ten dollars in the chip box. There is a bag of coins and bills whose number somehow increases after each party because there is a little leftover once everyone is reimbursed what they are due. Perhaps we are not the best accountants. Soon we'll buy a bottle of wine to have with our meal, knowing we've all contributed somehow. You and I have stood baffled when there is one thing left in our hands after we thought we'd counted so carefully and have to retrace our actions to see what we missed. 

 

Some people, like the generation who lived through the depression, or immigrants who arrived with nothing, have a hard time throwing even bad leftovers away. We can all struggle with getting rid of Items leftover from a relationship or an era of one's life. How many times did you faithfully move your college textbooks or t-shirt?

There are days we all exhaust our resources of emotion and energy and have nothing left to give. And we've experienced times when we need to find some anyway. In relationships one party can feel as though all they get are the feelings and time and attention the other has leftover after dealing with everything else in his or her life. I've been part of choruses or groups where during the rehearsal the director tells us to save it for the performance, that is we need to make sure we have enthusiasm and talent left for the actual show. 

 

Often when I am writing, I have phrases, sentences or whole paragraphs leftover once I piece what I want together. For this topic I've notes on leftover nuclear weapons, trash after an outdoor concert, sports paraphanalia after a team doesn't win, screws after putting something back together, well, there were a lot of leftovers, which I guess is quite apt, and as with all leftovers, I struggle with what to do with them. May any leftovers you find in your life this week be easily handled, and, perhaps, even tasty!

Marilyn

Time management

There is a time management technique called ABC. Categorize your tasks into A (most important), B (next) and C (least). The experts tell you to work on the A list and forget about B and C. In fact, if C includes a stack of papers, they suggest you toss the stack in the bottom drawer and cite that in 6 months you'll be able to throw them away, never having done a thing with them. The problem is that the C and B items are often more interesting, easier to tackle or take little time, so we work on them to check them off the list and feel as though we've accomplished something.

So it is with life. We are distracted by the easy, the less time consuming, the more interesting regardless of what is on our to-do list or what is most important. For the last decade one of my resolutions has been to update my will. It really won't take long. I've made notes and the decisions. I don't find the task depressing, but somehow have not gotten around to it. Why is that? I think it is because no one is holding me accountable. Without that, or without an extraordinary event like a fatal diagnosis, I am not motivated to make updating my will an A list item.

Another issue for procrastinators revolves around a key word in the above paragraph - distracted. Given all of the options available to us every minute of every day, it is a miracle that we get anything done at all. Why do the laundry when there might be a new email, text or post? Why return that phone call when a colleague needs help?

While I never have been a member of the I-work-best-under-pressure club, I do think that items that have no deadline can remain unaddressed until something changes that status. There are many library books I have read because an email reminded me that their due date was approaching. There are many that went unread even after one renewal because, with all of the distractions of life, the title didn't make the priority list.

Finally, for me at least, the last excuse for not taking care of A items is that they are out of sight. I moved into my apartment a year ago and during the move threw stuff in the trunk of the car. Last spring I even changed cars and faithfully had the dealership switch the boxes into the trunk of the new car. How often do I open my trunk? Maybe a couple of times a month, but I'm usually focused on putting in or taking out something new that has found a place there with no problem. Maybe this fall I'll get around to checking out those boxes still in the back.

Or, maybe not.

Marilyn

Old fashioned safety first

Long before stranger danger, lock-key kids and the phrase 'street savvy,' youngsters learned how to be safe. While today's kids have lockdowns to practice for the awful things we've seen happen, back in my day we practiced for when Russia dropped a nuclear bomb on Buffalo. We went under our desks and ducked our heads or sat along the walls in the hallways.

We were taught to walk carefully. "Single file, Indian style, facing traffic all the while" is a refrain from early days of kindergarten. I was quite proud in sixth grade to be one of a few selected to be a crossing guard. When it was our turn (I think we rotated weeks), we wore a dirty white canvas belt and sash combination on which was pinned a badge. We stood on street corners and put out our arms to stop students from crossing until the traffic was clear. As I look back, I think we were positioned at stop signs and street lights, so our role was superfluously symbolic to reinforce what was already in place. 

We went door to door by ourselves to collect for Unicef or sell cookies and alone or in groups to trick or treat. No one was worried about razor blades or Rottweilers or the dark side of 'do you know the muffin man?'

In the bathroom we were taught to carefully pull 4 sheets of toilet paper from the old single sheet dispenser and place them around the toilet seat to be safe from germs. Before bactine, we dabbed Iodine on the most severe cuts and mercurochrome on scrapes. Scouts learned to bandage and ways to assist the injured in order to earn badges. 

Safe sex education was up to the parents. When I was eleven I came home after a bike ride with a friend who had an older sister. I told my mother that my friend had told me that when we turned twelve we would suddenly start to bleed. My mother simply shook her head, a symbol that we were not going to talk about it. The following week she took me to a woman doctor who was a member of our church but whom I had never really met. The doctor murmured, drew pictures on a blackboard and reminded me that my body was a temple of the Holy Spirit. I had no clue what she was talking about. When I went out to the car where my mother was waiting, I got in and shut the door, and she said, "Well, now you know."

In high school we spent two weeks in our physical education class on ways to fight off an attacker. We became quite adapt at dealing with a right handed attacker who grabbed our right lapel. One reason loafers were popular shoes was you could be stylish while having a dime for that emergency phone call. 

I was reminded of all that nostalgia this week when I heard the story on the news of the family with children who experienced an armed break in. I wish today's youngsters could enjoy some of the naive safety as was the norm in my time; however, they need to be aware at a much earlier age of the evils that have always been around but now live more in the light. And, for those close to my age, we know that some of those norms weren't wise or healthy, but many of the above memories make me smile.

Marilyn

What matters

When you are seven years old and you don't get the one birthday present you secretly wanted, it matters. When you are fourteen and everyone else has pierced ears but your parents say you have to wait until you are sixteen, it matters. When you don't get accepted at your number one college choice, your life takes a turn.

These days what matters to me is getting value in what I spend, be it time, energy or money. If I start a book and the words on the page or the voice on the tape doesn't grab me fairly quickly, I pick up another read or eject the CD. I used to feel I needed to plod through. If the acting is awful or the plot unconvincing or the dialogue doesn't make me at least smile, I change channels. I used to give more pilots a chance.

A friend and I were at dinner the other night at a favorite restaurant. Since my last visit the menu had changed. Prices were higher and the selections seemed more limited. My meal was mediocre and lukewarm. When so advised our server at least offered alternatives. Out of loyalty I will go there one more time. Loyalty matters. Up to a point.

Also important to me are deepening relationships with dear friends even as I make room for new ones. Spending time with people who matter matters. Having a balance of time with others and time alone matters because that keeps me balanced. As does time in nature.

There are times in our lives when ambition matters, having certain things matter or even knowing the right people matter. I think I've packed those things away in order to focus on the last two thing that matter to me that I will log here. The first is the need to keep learning. Whether it is a new card game or software or form of art, I will keep trying to conquer new skills and go to new places. I don't know how much travel will be part of my life in years to come. Certainly not what I had once envisioned, but experiencing new peoples and places is high on my list of lifelong learning, even if it be through exhibits at a museum.

Finally what matters to me is the ability to be surprised. Sometimes I am surprised by joy and delight; sometimes I shake my head at the stupidity or the waste even as I'm glad that my heart isn't hardened or my outlook so cynical that I always expect the worst.

I'm sure that in narrowing down what matters to me in the paragraphs above that I have missed a key thing or two. So, one last thing. It matters to me that you point out what they are.

Marilyn

Things I'm trying to accept

• There will always be a smidgen of discomfort when ignoring someone with a homeless sign.
• That the above is not necessarily a bad thing.
• My timetable does not rule the world.
• It really is human nature to look at things on the side of the road, be it the accident or a memorial of that event.
• Some people believe that a cell phone is welcome anywhere.
• Some of those above also believe they have a right to use it whenever and wherever and that a disapproving look from me is meaningless.
• Everything is much more immediate than even a decade ago.
• It's ok to not multitask.
• It's important to not multitask most of the time.
• People who are passive aggressive also have to be right.
• It's no use debating with the above.
• My body is as old as I feel. 
• On days when my spirit seems much younger than my body, I can be more active. 
• On days when I'm feeling every one of my chronological years I feel limited.
• The above being said, some days by body tells me I am getting older while my spirit tells me it is feeling brighter.
• It is ok to be envious of a dear friend's good fortune.
• Just because I have some wisdom that comes with age doesn't mean such wisdom is welcome.
• Christmas holiday movies are going to start on the Hallmark Channel on Halloween.
• The election is still fourteen months away.
• The election is still fourteen months away and in order to be an informed voter I need to pay at least some attention now.
• Not everyone calls the writing of a list creative writing.
• That's their problem.

Marilyn

Stream of consciousness writing

I have been dismayed - isn't that an interesting word that one doesn't hear much, in fact, I wonder the last time I used it myself....hmmm I also wonder the actual definition. Excuse me while I look up the word which turns out to mean to dishearten thoroughly, perturb, alarm or surprise in such as manner as to disillusion. So, as I was saying, I have been dismayed to discover (another 'dis' word. Should I use two 'dis' words so close together? Leave it for now and keep writing.) that someone has been lying to me.

Is is really a lie if they believe in their illusion that it is the truth or a semi-truth or what they think I need to hear? Is placating a lie or merely a tactic? No, this lie was deliberate and to my face. Yes, to my face, so that even as it was happening part of my brain was so surprised (hence, 'dismay - see above) that my head pulled back or raised a bit and I'm sure my eyes widened, while something in another part of me shifted and my relationship with that person will never be the same. Note to self: I've written before about internal shifts. Maybe I should revisit that as a theme.

Why do I assume that people mean what they say, will follow through, have other's interests at heart? Well, I don't want to to have a different or negative outlook, but it sure means a lot of disappointment (oops, another 'dis'). I know that in dealing with disappointments I head off on tangents, which, I suppose, explains at least a reason for these ramblings. I have to look at all angles and see what clues I might have missed and thereby prevented the dismay.

Some weeks this is how I eventually get to a few paragraphs that ultimately get pasted together to create a Monday musing. My fingers go from one tangent to another, occasionally in different directions from my brain, until at some point a kernel takes root (or does whatever it is a kernel does, well more like becomes sticky and other kernels get attached to it). Wonder if anyone who has read this far has a similar experience and utilizes a stream of consciousness tool to get from one place to the next emotionally or rationally. Probably so, and maybe someone will even let me know.

Marilyn

Standing on an el platform in winter waiting for a delayed train I remember thinking,