When the ball drops in NYC

Even though I live in Illinois, when the ball drops in Times Square on New Year’s Eve, I’m happy to start singing Auld Lang Syne, toast with my glass of champagne, wish everyone a Happy New Year and call it an evening. Perhaps it’s because I’m seventy and 11 p.m. Central is past my bedtime. Perhaps it’s because I grew up in Buffalo and by body is still synced to being an hour ahead of where I am physically. 

That second thought helped me realize there are some other subtle leftovers from my childhood. Things like the feeling that something is about to start that accompanies the arrival of Labor Day, since that’s when the school year began. Or still being surprised that stores are open on Sundays, even when I might be annoyed that they don’t open until Noon. 

And, speaking of Sundays, the fun of the thick Sunday newspaper with its Comics section, Parade, and special inserts. Of quiet family time as each of us sat in the living room handing off sections of the paper. While better for the environment, reading online is just not the same. This Sunday’s paper featured photojournalism of the past year and I reflected on cameras. Just last Friday the camera on my phone stopped working and I thought of the long gone days of having to go into a closet or dark space to change a roll of film.

Each of those nostalgic thoughts involved waiting. The countdown to midnight. The anticipation of the start of a new grade. Of waiting a week for pictures to be developed. Tonight we turn the page on the calendar from 2018 to 2019 and it seems we all are in a time of waiting. Waiting for things to change, to get better. New Year’s resolutions involve some type of change. Perhaps a resolution could be about committing to something that makes me - us - part of a catalyst for the change we want the most.

Wishing you a happy and prosperous New Year!

Marilyn

Recall notices

As consumers, we should be thankful for recall notices telling us that something we own is faulty, or more important, potentially dangerous or even lethal. And, while we probably are, mostly we are annoyed that we suddenly have a product we cannot use or have another errand to run, an appointment we need to make and keep. This came to mind last week as I sat in the waiting room at the car dealership for nearly two hours while the computer system in my 2016 beetle received some type of upgrade. 

As a friend, neighbor, lover, partner or family member, there are times when we wish we could send our own recall notices. When we admit there was an instance when, as a faulty human being, we said or did something we wish we could take back. Or maybe our flaw was that we did not do or say something when we should or could have. As citizens, we have the ability, indeed the duty, to issue a recall notice through casting a vote, and as an employee we need to speak up, even becoming a whistleblower to bring to light a concern that requires, if not a recall, at least scrutiny. As a Microsoft user, we can click on an option to recall an email.

Recall notices from manufacturers represent a mandate, a legal obligation, to fix things. In this season of good will and beginnings, let us manifest our own recalls for something in a relationship that we need to fix, or at least try to.

Happy Holidays!

Marilyn

Who is your current gift?

People come into our lives for a reason. Sometimes we understand why right away. At a shared event like a conference, we may meet a kindred spirit, enhancing the whole experience. Casual conversations with a stranger can have deep meaning. New colleagues join a team or new neighbors move in, bringing unique perspectives that make us think. Someone within our circle marries. A child is born. Each new person can be a gift.

People leave our lives for a reason. Sometimes we understand why right away. Well, at least on the surface, particularly if it is the normal order of things. Friends move away, both our worlds shift and we hope that our friendship endures the transition. Elders die and we soldier on. But most often we struggle to find answers to a valued connection’s departure, or at least we are puzzled. That kindred spirit doesn’t get in touch. Accidents and disease take people too soon. Relationships end, sometimes just fizzling out over time, and sometimes due to deliberate and hurtful break ups or to new twists, turns or priorities on one person’s part. And, when connections shift, when relationships end, we have to figure out how to keep going, how to move on, how to work through the pain. Ultimately, all that too can be a gift.

Hindsight makes it possible for us to understand the gift that a person gave us when they entered and/or when they left our lives. We’ve all experienced good and bad relationships that have helped mold who we are today. We realize that we are stronger for having endured, but that doesn’t mean we are grateful for the abuse or the abuser, for the broken engagement, for the hurt, for the grief, the pain, the doubting of self. When we meet someone new who turns out to be such a better partner or we build a different type of life than we’d once envisioned and feel richer, our contentment puts the past in perspective. My biggest retrospective learning is that when I meet someone to whom I have an immediate negative reaction, it is probable that they represent some characteristic that I do not like within myself. That’s a harsh reality that tells me I should try to engage with that person rather than retreat. I should consider them to be a gift.

This is the Monday of Thanksgiving week and there may be new, different, unexpected or empty chairs where you are gathered. Perhaps the timing is such that the luxury of hindsight hasn’t had time to kick in yet and you still are hurt or grieving. Perhaps you are nervous about bringing someone new to the circle even as you are on a high for having this person in your life. Whatever your circumstance, just breathe and see if you can find how the concept of gift and a particular person applies to you right now and give thanks.

Marilyn

A clever turn of phrase

For the past month I’ve been ruminating on a snippet from a sea shanty song I heard while weaving through small coastal towns in Nova Scotia on a tour bus. After a demonstration on lobster fishing and a quiz on the largest lobster ever caught (44 pounds in a nearby harbor), the tour director played a CD on which a regional artist sang that the the air off the ocean is “perfume for my soul.” That poetic combination of words has haunted me, causing me to ponder what spritz, what diffuser is perfume for my soul.

Three weeks after that turn of phrase caught my attention, I was reading a book on Benedictine prayer and was challenged to “listen with the ear of the heart.” Ah, another wonderful concept, I thought, and began considering those in my life who frequently model that unique skill of listening and wondered if listening with the ear of my heart is something I ever show to others.

Nursery rhymes, Dr. Seuss and Disney introduce us to catch phrases early in our lives.  Well crafted marketing campaigns, tag lines and the like continue that work, often, I’m sure, with the help of focus groups. A clever turn of phrase can sway our votes and where and how we spend our dollars. In literature I’m drawn to characters and plots where the flow of the words seems effortless while being intelligent, sharp and savvy. I believe it shows in my writing when I simply try to be clever but not when something on the page also comes as a surprise to me. The next time a clever turn of phrase causes you to notice it, pay attention to what about it appeals to you. Context or content? Topic or timing? Meanwhile, I challenge you to join me in trying to listen to others more with the ear of the heart; we’ll get to the core of what people are saying to us quicker. Oh, and by the way, this time of year, the perfume for my soul would be burning leaves or warm apple cider.

Marilyn

Semi. Retirement.

A musing in June used the meteorological terms isolated and scattered, which deal with the percentages of the likelihood of rain, in describing the potential for frustrations or joys at certain points during my day. Then I challenged readers to think about their own isolated or scattered issues. Here I’m focusing on the words semi (partly) and retirement (withdrawal from one’s position, occupation or activity) to describe a switch I’m making to what has been a routine aspect of my life for eight years. Perhaps you, too, will find something from which to experience a semi retirement, regardless of your age.

By my most recent calculations, this is musing number 384. Longtime readers may remember that my Monday Musing evolved from a weekly update email that I sent to people in my circle concerned about my recent layoff. But, my words quickly switched from assuring folks I was finding enough contract work to commenting on something that happened that week. Then the musings led to an opportunity to write a book. Soon someone told me my musing should be a blog, and here we are today. Some encouraged me to go for broader exposure with a different format, say FaceBook, but I’ve been content in my little world, composing for those who have been interested.

For the next couple of weeks I’m looking forward to some adventures. Travel, whales, turning 70, a celebratory gathering bringing people from all aspects of my life together, seeing if I’ll reach the goal of collecting 70 cookbooks. (BTW, if you are local and may have missed the invitation, please get in touch so you can stop by if you are able.) But, to finish where I was going, I am semi retiring from my Monday Muser role. As long as you remain subscribed, when I post a blog, which will be when I really have something to say, you should still receive it. Just don’t look for something every Monday morning.

It has been a joy for me to have this vehicle through which to realize my long suppressed aspiration to be a writer. It has been sometimes frustrating, nerve wracking, and always a surprise. Those musings which I sweated over and which I though would draw comments rarely did, while others that just flowed out of my fingertips often sent emails my way. I learned to deal with my inner critic whose voice would often emerge as soon as I hit ‘publish.’ My heart was frequently warmed when someone would say, “that was exactly what I needed to hear today.” I thank you for this opportunity to enter your inbox every week. You’ll still find me there sometimes, for this is only a semi retirement. Let me know if you also find something from which to semi retire, for new plans are always more fun when shared.

Marilyn

“Don’t underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can’t hear, and not bothering.” Pooh’s Little Instruction Book, inspired by A.A. Milne

The tangled webs we weave

For a few weeks this summer an industrious spider wove a nightly web that connected a bush on one side of the walkway to the back door on the other side. That meant every morning I had to destroy its work in order to get to my car. Finally it tired of that routine and traveled the length of the house to the front stoop, where it connected both railings, which again blocked my way. That spider’s daily work got me thinking about the threads that we send out and the threads that are sent our way. Those threads, those webs, connect us to people and things and often define where the control of our lives rests.

Some of the threads are actually strong sturdy ropes, steadying our feet and our view of the world, but with enough elasticity that grounds rather than confines us. Others are single threads, sometimes tiny and tenuous. Other threads may fray, never to be darned or repaired, or, if and when rewoven, can be stronger than the initial tie. Many have a push/pull tension, as both ends vie for control or when one side wants the connection to be stronger than it needs or should be. A few are burdensome and take attention away from ones where we would like to spend more energy. Some we’ve allowed to attach themselves to us willingly, knowingly. Others, not so much. And, it’s not just people. We sign mortgages, car leases, credit cards, student loan papers. We’ve allowed electronics into our web. We pursue passions, hobbies and windmills. 

In our seven degrees of separation world, it is prudent to take an occasional inventory of all the webs of which we are a part. To evaluate the tension, even the necessity or desirability of each thread. We can sever some, lessen the control on a few to make room for new outreach or to be available to new threads sent our way. It may be time for us to do that as we head into autumn. Perhaps like some trees, we can add color or let some connections fly away.

Marilyn

Unused words

While listening to a book on my way home from work one day last week, a character in the story mentioned that something had become their lodestone. I puzzled on that word in that context and liked it, and then thought that I was one hundred percent sure that in my eight years of writing these musings, I have never used that word. For the rest of the week I paid attention to see what other words might fall under that same umbrella. The list I compiled included clavicle, pagoda, bamboozled, turbine, camel, hickory, instagram, journeyman, weathercock, and pathos among others. 

I’ve always admired people whose vast vocabulary made the use of unusual but very apt words seem so natural.Those of us of a certain age may remember Word Power, a regular piece in The Reader’s Digest designed to help grow our vocabulary. Or, perhaps you are a fan of the word-a-day app or calendar, something to keep increasing our knowledge of and understanding of the power of words. A cursory google search told me that on average people speak 16,000 words daily, that we may know 50,000 words but commonly use only 2,000.

Then I looked at my list again and wondered how many of those I had never used. Ever. Even in conversation. And, you know what? I ended up back where I started. Lodestone. A thing that is the focus of attention or attraction. Like words. Maybe you’ll enjoy playing a similar game for a week and see what words start to intrigue you, but don’t let me bamboozle you into it.

Marilyn