Being topical

Many weeks when I get ready to draft a musing, I struggle. Should I comment on things happening in the world? Do I have anything relevant to say? What about when I want to ignore, or at least temporarily forget, the things going on in the world? Frequent readers know that I usually end up writing about one of the random thoughts that came to me during the week, which sometimes I am able to link to the headlines.

This week was no exception. Above me on the screen are the beginnings of a paragraph on step stools (three I have and one I need to buy), another on the eclipse, and one on the idea of having just been somewhere where something bad happens. That last one is based on a colleague having just returned from a vacation in Spain, where her favorite spot was the square in Barcelona that turned into mayhem two days after she got home.

So, you'll see that my thoughts are all over the place, which is often representative of our days. It can be hard to focus when there is a solar eclipse about to happen. It can be hard to settle on one thing in the news when there is so much to pick from. Mostly, for me right now, it can be hard to concentrate when my brain is ready for a break. 

Which is what I'm going to do. 

By my calculations, there have been nearly 350 Monday musings since they began seven years ago this week. If you do the math, you'll note that I have taken a few brief breaks over those years. Keep in touch and know I'll be back in a month. Until then, think about what you may need a rest from, for as Maya Angelou wrote, "Each person deserves a day in which no problems are confronted, no solutions looked for. Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us."

Marilyn

Who am I to judge?

If you are like me, you make a lot of snap decisions and you're good at them. Well, except maybe which express line to get in. As I matured, I've tried to pay attention to the consequences of my quick judgements in relation to people. How, by using appearance as the primary factor for putting others in boxes, I cut myself off from opportunities to connect with people whose life stories may seem to be vastly different from mine, but who, in truth, are on a parallel journey. I think I was doing a decent job of it in relation to gender, race, ethnicity, age, sexual orientation, class, and even political leanings. Then came the tattoos and piercings. When I became aware that I was forming an opinion about the young men and women I encountered on a daily basis simply because they had chosen to do something with their body that was contrary to the norms in my world, I realized I needed to stop my instant evaluations of body art and adornment. 

I'll admit it is still hard not to scrutinize and make assumptions. It certainly is often very difficult to not have my eye keep going to the nose ring or the ink. I've leaned that even though I might be intrigued about a design, symbol or word that someone is displaying, tattoos are quite personal and it's impolite to ask.

Yes, we older folks want to warn and caution the next generations about so many things, but we had to try so many things on our own as well, even as our elders judged us for rock 'n roll and miniskirts and protesting a war. And, speaking as one who knows that some people may look at me - short, round and greying - and jump to their own conclusions, I try to enter every greeting with an assumption that we are on common ground, for, after all, who am I to judge?

Marilyn

Diaries and journals

Do young girls still keep diaries? Or, to be inclusive, even little boys? That treasured book that comes with a key so secrets can be recorded and locked away? So older siblings can search for it and tease or tell? I was thrilled to receive a pink and white one for my tenth birthday, but the novelty soon wore off and it was left unsecured and unused in a drawer. 

Since then, I've received and even purchased some lovely journals. Leather ones. Ones from museums whose covers boasted impressionist paintings. Some had blank pages; others were lined and had inspirational quotes above the gilt edges. But, try as I might, I could not consistently record anything of worth. My ordinary days didn't belong in such a beautiful edition. Mostly, I felt that there was somehow a right way to keep a journal that everyone else had figured out except me. Was it a particular type of pen or book? Did it matter when you spent time writing? Or where? I struggled with the details of the process rather than the process itself.

What got me thinking about diaries was discovering that much of the fascinating story of the Wright brothers in David McCullough's book comes from what was recorded in their and other family members diaries. Now, I've had dear friends who've told me that should anything happen to them, my job was to get to their journals before anyone in their family did, and destroy them. What if that had been true for Wilbur and Orville? Much of what we know about history, be it of a family or a country or an invention, comes from the written word of people of the time. We know what everyday life was like throughout the eras because of the men and women who wrote about the mundane as well as the extraordinary.

The other day when I did my occasional look onto FaceBook, I was told that it was 279 weeks since I'd posted anything. Many people may not think about the diary they are keeping on FB or other social media platforms. Future generations are going to have so much more to sift through to find reality than McCullough did. Most of what I have written personally for the past nearly seven years is what is recorded here in these weekly musings. There is no right or wrong pen, time of day to write. All I've needed is a glimpse of an idea and my keyboard. And access to the internet. And you. Someone to read this public diary I've created. Thank you.

Marilyn