Anyone can whistle

When I was 6 years old I would sit at my mother's dressing table to look in the mirror as I practiced puckering my lips, blowing out air and trying to make music. Everyone else in my world seemed to have this frustrating combination of three simultaneous tasks down pat, but it seemed beyond my capability. I was learning to play the piano and to read, two important skills that were moving along nicely, thank-you-very-much, but couldn't get my lips, breath and brain to cooperate. 

Then I discovered it was easier to make a sound while breathing in. It was only one tone, but it was a beginning. From that small success I found I could make the same sound sucking air in and blowing air out. It wasn't a musical phrase, but it was a note and I was on my way.

 

When things finally clicked and I performed the "twinkle, twinkle little star" tune for anyone within range, and then quickly moved on to something else. If I'd had a to-do list of required childhood learnings, whistling would then have gotten crossed off. 

This came to mind yesterday as I took an introduction to the pottery wheel class where I again learned there are lots of things to think about and do at the same time in order to create art. My first piece fell apart. The second is a rather interesting lopsided dish. The third has potential as a small key or change bowl, but I won't know until I can pick up the finished piece after it is fired.  

I don't know why whistling was something I was so determined to master. Maybe a favorite friend or character in a book was a great whistler. I do know that whistling is an example of many things in my life. I dabble and then move on. In the art world it has led me to try many things, from paper making to pottery. In my career, this has made me a generalist, a Jill-of-all-trades. And, you know, I'm quite content being someone who is not a star but who has a varied resume of work and art and who can still whistle a little. What about you? What are you glad you tried but don't excel at?

Marilyn

Scabs, scars and bruises

Two weeks ago our Lunch 'n Learn session featured basic CPR and first aid. Last Tuesday I needed to put some of that learning into action. Just as a friend was turning the corner to drop me back at the office after a catch-up breakfast, we saw a woman fall onto the street. As soon as the car was in park we both jumped out to run to her aid as did other good samaritans who were walking by.

Thanks to the recent class I knew to: assess the situation to determine if it was safe to leave her where she fell (it was), see if she was conscious (she sat up, blood streaming down her face), tell someone to call 911 (my friend did), and go for an emergency kit (my role). By the time I returned with the red and white box holding needed plastic gloves and other supplies, we heard a siren in the distance. Besides a broken nose, a gash on her forehead and contusions, it seemed she was okay but we were glad when the paramedics arrived. She'll have some bruises and maybe end up with a scar both inside and out.

It got me thinking about the summer I was seven. There seems to be a childhood year when either scabby elbows or knees are ever present. For me it was knees, with the biggest contributor being falls from my hand-me-down red bike. I remember sitting on the third step of the wooden stairs that led up to my bedroom and picking at a delightfully thick scab. It was just at that point where the edges were starting to separate from the skin. That's an intriguing stage to a child because the hurt is gone and the healing is progressing. 

At that age we are still learning about our bodies and need our parents to tell us to leave the scab alone, advice we will probably ignore. We watch with fascination as bruises change colors as they heal. We're also learning that true healing often requires more pain, a lot of patience and some action.

Some hurts need iodine, not just mercurochrome, or work with a therapist, not just talking with friends. All hurts need time, time for the natural processes to occur. That can include using our thought processes to understand the corresponding emotional layers. Finally, hurts require action, which can mean non-action, like not picking up a hot pan without a potholder, or the positive step of getting back on the bike.

Like most of us, my scars from childhood include a few chicken pox marks. I also know where there were stitches in my hand from a fall on the running track. It's the emotional scars that have taken more than a few days or weeks of bandaids and itching. Some are scabbed over, not gone, but the scab is doing its job. Others I know that if I pick at the scab, the pain will ooze out again. Perhaps it's time to do that. Finally, there are those where I know that I really should pick at the scab. It's at the point where the healing is finished underneath and the new skin will be healthy. I think I'll start with those. What about you?

Marilyn

What are you afraid of?

Beyond not liking spiders or heights or going to the dentist, and underneath the challenge of getting on an airplane or standing at a podium, and ignoring the fact that there is nothing you can do about getting older, deep down what's your biggest fear? For some it is a fear of intimacy, or being poor or dependent. Medical words like cancer or Alzheimer evoke dread, and while none of us like to fail, that fear can keep us from acting at all. New anxieties and fears stem from today's technologies.

For me, when all else is stripped away, my bottom line fear is that I'll be forgotten. Perhaps this comes from growing up in a family where after someone had died they were never mentioned. I look back and realize that grandma, the only grandparent I knew, was a huge influence and a major stabilizing factor of my first six years. After she died, she was simply gone. It's not like she was erased, as there were pictures in photo albums and in frames, but she was never referenced or outwardly remembered. When I inquired about the three grandparents I never knew, or about Uncle Harold who died from being gassed in WWI or other faces in some of those pictures, no meaningful personal tidbits or fun stories about them were ever shared. It was like it never mattered that they existed.

I've learned that the same is true in many families. Whether a family or cultural norm, I do my best to change it. I find it comforting to talk about someone who is no longer around to talk with. I understand that it is difficult when the grief is too new, when feelings are raw, but memories either make me smile or help me understand.

When my poker group gets together, at some point during the evening we usually remember one person no longer around the table. We don't speak of her with reverence, which can so often become the case when someone has died, but of who she really was. I like that. If I were hit by a bus tomorrow I'd like to think that group they would raise a toast to me occasionally also. 

Maybe my fear of being forgotten is quite common and one cause of the billions of selfies. I'm sure it's one reason why I publish these musings in a public way. Naming and facing a fear can be the first step to overcoming it. So, here are words I've put together on a road toward that. What are you afraid of that you're willing to acknowledge and take at least one step to face it head on?

Technological gluttony

This past week I ran across that jarring phrase. Those words came at the end of a paragraph in Richard Foster's book Sanctuary of the Soul where he describes how people complain about our wired world while utilizing all the gadgets at their disposal. He states that the Internet culture is symbolic of a fundamental problem, namely, distraction. We will do anything to fill time, to feel busy, to believe we are connected and engaged. Later on he quotes Blaise Pascal, "The sole cause of man's unhappiness is that he does not know how to stay quietly in his room."

Since buying my iPad seven weeks ago my room is now seldom 'quiet.' I enjoy doing puzzles, playing dominos and a few card games. These I usually do while the TV is on in the background. While some might call it overlapping, Foster might call it distraction. I call it the inability to stay focused on one thing. That's part of my Myers-Briggs profile. I'm a high P and can easily flit from one interesting thing to another. Give me two to deal with at the same time and it might seem that I should thrive. But, actually, I'm getting worn out.

Someone recently mentioned that there is only one facility focused on technological addiction and that the waiting list is two years long. Part of me gets it. Once I didn't go to the health club because I had forgotten my MP3 player. How could I be on the treadmill without my story/distraction? At the office we wonder what to do when the server goes down. even though there is plenty of paperwork, planning, and simply thinking to be done.

Just like in everything else, technologically there are the haves and the have nots. There is a technological divide and there are technological deserts. I might be late to the table of phone and pad, but drawn in nevertheless because I live in a place where that is possible. Meanwhile schools around the world struggle for access to information. There are places where people still go to bed when it gets dark. Here we live in a society where we fight sleep in order to finish the movie or chapter or until we get to the next level of a game.

Even as I am grateful for the small mobile screen and separate keyboard that allows me to write, search, and play, and for all of the good that technology does, I shudder at the electronic speed of life today and its accompanying lack of need to sit quietly in a room. One goal for this week is to take a breather from the technological gluttony of my life and see if I can sit quietly in my room just for a little while. You up for the same challenge?

Marilyn