When I was a kid...

I'm still young enough at 51 to appreciate "old people" jokes. Ed, 8 years older than I am, says they are too true to be funny. For instance, a cursory search of the Internet brought up these gems:

You know you're old when...

• Your friend compliments you on your new alligator shoes and you're barefoot.
• You don't care where your spouse goes, just as long as you don't have to go along.
  
• "Getting a little action" means, "I don't need to take any fiber today."
  
• You are cautioned to slow down by the doctor instead of the police.
  
• You realize that caution is the only thing you care to exercise.
  
• Your sweetie says, "Let's go upstairs and make love," and you answer, "Honey, I can't do both!"
  
• The gleam in your eye is the sun shining on your bifocals.
  
• You look forward to a dull evening.
  
• Your house is too big. Your medicine box not big enough.
  
• When you say something to your kids that your mother used to say to you (and you always hated it).
  
• When you step off a curb and look down one more time to make sure the street is still there.
  
• It takes twice as long to look half as good.
  

Now for me, I know I'm old when I find myself saying,"When I was a kid...." I grew up in Memphis, so I can't say I had to walk home from school in waist-deep snow, but I can say that I walked home from school, and it wasn't a short walk, either! I can say I was allowed to chew gum rarely, and even that meant the stick of Juicy Fruit was torn in half to share with my sister. I only had Cokes (or sodas, or soft drinks, or whatever you call them in your region) on the weekend. And - I have to reminisce here as the Christmas buying season is approaching - I had very simple toys.

Back when I was young, Chatty Cathy was the most technologically advanced doll one could have. You pulled the string and - magic - she talked! And she didn't even require batteries! Except for Chatty Cathy and Chatty Baby (my sister's doll), our other dolls and toys were pretty quiet.

One of our favorite games was jacks with a red ball made of real rubber that could bounce to the ceiling. It was our mother's jacks ball when she was a girl, and she guarded it as the precious entity it was. It was a grand occasion indeed when she gave us permission to play with it.

We played board games like checkers and Monopoly and Clue. We played gin rummy and slap jack. We played Password.

When we tired of our games and toys, we formed a club - The Tiffin Spy Agency (TSA), whose members were just the two of us. We had meetings and dues and a theme song and everything. We made up our own play - I have to laugh now, because our characters were two old people! We also created our own family Thanksgiving service, complete with sermon, hymns, and handmade bulletins.

Now I'm getting the Christmas catalogs in the mail, I am perusing them for ideas for Caroline, and Rachel tells me, "I want to steer away from things that make noise." I thought, well, that shouldn't be too hard. So I went through the catalogs and store ads and nixed everything with the warning "Batteries required." The remaining list was quite short. My head is full of memories of toys I had growing up, then toys my children had growing up, and now it's a whole new world. I believe when Matt (born in 1983) was young, Teddy Ruxpin was just hitting the market - the bear that held a cassette tape who told stories and his lips moved. Now it's amazing the things toys can do. Even books have buttons to push where you don't even have to read them - they read aloud themselves - complete with sound effects!

I look at the changing world with awe. And as much as Rachel was determined to stay away from batteries, she finally had to give in, I think. She just bought Caroline a play kitchen that makes bacon sizzling noises and "speaks" words in English, French, and Spanish.

Ed was determined to find a "simple" toy for Caroline and had to look through the Amish catalog. He found a spinning top. I think he ought to get it. Caroline would be the envy of her toddler group with such a unique possession; I think it would fascinate her little friends. And then Caroline will be heroine of the hour when the neighborhood homes run out of batteries and Caroline has the only toy on the block that they could play with!

(This post has been edited because my detail-oriented sister sent me a Hedda doll picture and insisted I post it (see her comment below). I thought the jacks ball was red; it must be the fact everyone tells me that I look at my childhood with rose-colored glasses!)

Aging Part 2: The numbers game

I have a followup appointment in February for a recheck on my cholesterol, which is, of course, currently too high. My doctor is a dear and very comprehensive, but I'm afraid right now my health care concern (besides the mysterious thyroid nodule) is essentially reduced to two numbers - total cholesterol 259 and LDL 179. Until February at least, that's where the focus will be.

I am intrigued by the commercials for cholesterol-lowering medications where the participants have their cholesterol numbers taped to their chests, especially the one where the man tries outrun his number but it catches up with him and attaches itself securely to his shirt.

In my profession of medical transcription, it certainly can be a numbers game. When dictators get going with lab tests and such, numbers and discussion of numbers can easily take up half a patient's report. In my case, it's the cholesterol and the size of the thyroid nodule. In Ed's case, it's blood sugar. The pronouncement of his hemoglobin A1c (the test that gives the doctor an idea of what his blood sugar has been running for the last 3 months) is the highlight of his office visit. Ed knows that a sense of jubilation or utter failure will descend on him when he leaves that office, according to the number. He can't hide from the number. It squeals on him.

Add to our specific problem numbers other important numbers - the numbers of temperature, blood pressure, pulse, respirations, and - of course, I wouldn't forget this one - the almighty weight, or the new variation thereof, BMI.

I am not suggesting that to our physicians we are only a conglomeration of numbers; on the contrary, the numbers are the tools they need to make diagnoses and plan care.

I am suggesting, however, that how we feel about our own numbers, specifically our ages, may have some bearing on how we make our own diagnoses and plan our own care. And here, my acquaintance Rod's favorite word comes in - judgment. Boy, it's not nice to make judgments about other people, but you can really get into trouble when making them for yourself!

On an MT site I frequent, there is a recent discussion of age and what it means to get older. It runs the gamut, of course, for everything is relative. I write about what life is like at 51, and another lady is scared of turning 40, and yet another lady is already disgusted with photos of herself at 36. (Message to Rod: As pretty as the sequoia trees are, and as peaceful as you are with the aging concept - those are trees and you are a male and it is somewhat different for women in our culture. This is not to say that is a good or bad thing, but it is different.)

However, numbers do not create our identities. Neither do a lot of other things.

I think the problem so many women have with empty nest syndrome is that their whole identities have been based on their role as "full-time mothers." All of a sudden, they have to find out their true identity not based on a role. We read about problems with women identifying only with their profession - then they lose that or retire and have to rethink who they are. She might be a wife and then the word "widow" suddenly defines her to the world. Even Hollywood actresses have a hard time with the transition from "cover girl" to "character actress."

Have you ever heard someone discuss aging and say, "At age ___ I came into my own"? I always thought that expression was strange. Came into my own? My own what? The more I think about it, the more it sounds like identity to me. She came into her own identity - she realized who she really was - outside of the numbers, the roles she played in life, the labels society had given her, the fears that had ruled her. She came into her own wisdom, her own sense of power and accomplishment, her acceptance of the past and contentment regarding the future. She came into the knowledge that she can flow with changes and transitions and come out with her true self intact.

"I'm coming into my own." I like that. Now to work on that cholesterol...

Getting old

OK, so 51 is not technically old. Neither is 35, but our son-in-law made a big point at his birthday party last night that he is now half of 70.

Every time we celebrate a birthday in the family, even if it's not mine, I'm still reminded of the passage of time. We have the "kids" (now adults) and their spouses over, with 2-year-old Caroline, and everybody has a great time. Then after they leave, Ed spends the next day in a pensive mood, reminiscing on how he misses the kids being young, where did the time go, etc.

I'm especially reminded of getting older when I see myself in a photograph. Normally I am the photographer in the family, which gives me freedom to avoid being in the picture. Then I remember how my dad was hardly ever in a picture because he was always the photographer, so I make an effort to have someone take a picture of me once in awhile. And, of course, to upload a picture to this site, as well as to MT sites I frequent, means I have to get a decent head shot. It takes me - I am not exaggerating - about 50 takes before I find a picture of myself I can live with. It got so bad that Ed, who used to do the honors at my request, refuses now to take my head shot, because after he took 4 or 5, I would find fault with them and ask him to take more. So I have to do it myself, holding the camera at what I estimate is the correct angle, and snap away. Over and over. Fortunately, I have a digital camera. I would hate to have taken a whole roll of film to find out an hour later when I picked up the prints at the store that I hated every photo. Now I just hate every photo digitally - it's much cheaper.

Why do I hate every photo? Because I'm old and it shocks me. When did that happen? Unlike some folks, it didn't bother me when I turned 40 or 50. It didn't bother me when the kids got married. It didn't bother me when I became a grandmother. But it bothers me when I see myself in a photograph. Every imperfection is there in full blazing color. Thank goodness for the "delete" key. Delete, delete, delete. Maybe? if I squint a little?....nah. Delete.

Reader's Digest, in their section Life in These United States, had an entry which hit home for me this week:

Fortunately, my husband found a fix for his midlife crisis: a new job. Unfortunately, it was in another state, which meant selling a house where we'd had eight happy years. Getting ready for bed one evening before the move, I said sadly, "I pictured us growing old together here." As he kissed me goodnight, he replied, "We did."

Simple?

In the latest issue of More magazine, there is article called "How Much Greener Is That Grass?" The premise of the article is to give the reader an overview of four women in their forties who live in four different areas - California, Kansas, Connecticut, and the Virgin Islands - and give details of how they live. They state their incomes, their mortgage payments, their property taxes, the reasons they love where they live, the hidden expenses, their splurges, and then a financial expert gives advice to each woman.

It is always interesting to see what a certain income level can buy in other areas, but I really had to take exception with the woman from the Virgin Islands, Beverly Banks Randall and her husband, Alex. She is an MD, a neonatologist, and her husband is a radio newsman and professor. They make $200,000 a year. Here is an excerpt from their story:

What that buys: An airy house and three rental cottages overlooking the ocean, along with a dock and a pool. Alex paid $250,000 for the property in 1995, and it's now worth $800,000.
Last year, they collected $50,000 from the rentals and put most of it toward capital improvements. They keep a new minivan and two cars on St. Thomas; transportation on Water Island [where they live] is of three golf carts and a secondhand boat. Food runs...$500 a week, since everything but fresh fruit has to be imported...Two children attend private school totaling $26,000 per year. The sitter gets $650 a week, plus an apartment. "We live well, but not extravantly," Banks says. "We bounce from paycheck to paycheck, sometimes dipping into savings."

Splurges: "We had to rebuild half of our house this year," she says, "so we went all out for a $60,000 kitchen." Vacations are a must..."If you live in a beach paradise, you travel to stateside cities with malls and museums," Banks says. The family goes north every Thanksgiving, paying $500 per person for plane tickets alone. And guess who recently spent $7,000 on a set of trains for the garden?

Hidden expenses: Home maintenance is a killer - the family spends $300 every month just for the pool chemicals..."

Why she loves where she lives: Sky, sun, and sea - Banks wouldn't dream of trading her lifestyle. But she admits it's not for everyone....Banks is usually home by 2:30 p.m. and although she's on call 24/7, emergencies occur only about once a week.

OK. I'm sitting here in a Victorian house in Ellsworth, Maine, wishing we had been able to sell this big house and move to our smaller one, and I ask you this: Am I the only one who thinks that they live an extravagant lifestyle? Am I not "getting" it? Well, the final moment of confusion hit me when she closes with this quote:

"You have to want a simple life," she says, "and I've discovered that it really suits me."

She is saying she lives a simple life? A $60,000 kitchen and $7,000 train in the garden and $300 a month for pool chemicals? Ergo, my previous blog. We all have to define simplicity for ourselves. There certainly seem to be a lot of strange definitions going around! It's not just income, it's not just money and expenses, it's not just what your house is like or what you eat or wear or how you spend your time - yet, it encompasses all of this. Reading stories like this make me want to do a survey somewhere, asking people what they think a simple lifestyle entails. The main thing I have learned from this article is this: Who am I to say that Beverly's life is not simple? Isn't that for her to decide? I need only to be looking at my life, with definition of simplicity for me and making changes accordingly. I think every time I find myself passing judgment on others, it is only a sign that I need to do some more thinking about my own life.
I consider myself reminded.

Definitions

When the subject of conversation is simplicity, the views will always be varied. People have their own ideas on what simplicity means in general, and what it would mean for their lives specifically. Many of these discussions end on the idea that simplicity is easy. It's life without the "bells and whistles." Life in the slow lane. Well, that can be debated.

Tasha Tudor is an individual who fascinates me in some ways. She is a well-known illustrator and painter, over 90 years old, who lives in a cottage in Vermont. Her lifestyle reeks of simplicity. She eschews many modern conveniences. She lives alone with a few pets. Her life is simple...or is it? Here is how her web site describes her life:

Her home, though only 30 years old, feels as though it was built in the 1830's, her favorite time period. Seth Tudor, one of Tasha's four children, built her home using hand tools when Tasha moved to Vermont in the 1970's. Tasha Tudor lives among period antiques, using them in her daily life. She is quite adept at 'Heirloom Crafts', though she detests the term, including candle dipping, weaving, soap making, doll making and knitting. She lived without running water until her youngest child was five years old.
From a young age Tasha Tudor has been interested in the home arts. She excels in cooking, canning, cheese-making, ice cream making and many other home skills. As anyone who has eaten at Tasha Tudor's would know, her cooking skills are unsurpassed. She collects eggs from her chickens in the evenings, cooks only with fresh goats milk, and uses only fresh or dried herbs from her garden. Tasha Tudor is renowned for her Afternoon Tea parties. Once summer arrives, Tasha Tudor leaves her art table to spend the season tending her large, beautiful garden which surrounds her home.

Milks her own goats? Cans? Makes cheese? Makes candles, soap, ice cream? This is the simple life? Sounds like hard work to me!

Which is more indicative of the simple life - loading a washing machine and turning it on, or going to a stream and beating clothes against a rock? Loading a dryer and pushing a button, or carrying loads of wet laundry outside and hanging it on the line, then taking it down later?

I don't think a simple life is necessarily easy. In fact, it can be more difficult to attain than a stressful life. So even though "easy" may be a synonym for "simple," I don't buy it.

So when people say they are striving for a life of simplicity, what do they mean? I can't even see where the definition of "less stressful" and "less harried" applies in a general way. I can't imagine a more stressful life than your intake of food being dependent on having healthy chickens (who haven't been killed by predators) laying eggs on a regular basis, which you have to collect on a regular basis. My husband Ed knows the stress of getting wood ready for the fire, as he does the sawing and splitting by hand. Imagine having to have the fire not only to warm the house but to cook the food!

I was thinking about all this now because my sister Joy has spent the week in Mississippi, helping to clean up and demolish houses that Hurricane Katrina destroyed. I haven't spoken to her yet, but through our mother I hear that she has performed some pretty gross and unappealing chores down there. She had been planning to spend her vacation week in the comfort of her home, and instead she felt led to travel to another state and sleep in a tent. I don't think she would consider her week of the "simple life" one of relaxation!

So what is a life of simplicity? I have concluded that it is a life with integrity. A genuine life. A life where you realize that every act you do - whether buying a new outfit or choosing a new car, whether recycling or disposing, whether acquiring or giving away, the use of your time, the use of your gifts, the use of your money, the stand you take on issues of poverty and injustice - affects other people. It's a life that feels right. It is a life of wisdom. A life where you make choices over and over that are based on your own idea of what a life with integrity and simplicity means for you, knowing that what you do will impact the world.

Maybe I'm not one for making my own soap. I can recycle, though. I can buy a car that uses less gasoline. I can give to those less fortunate. I can educate myself and others about quality of life and what it entails.

And, as I have said before, it's a journey without end. Maybe we should drop the word "simplicity" altogether in favor of "integrity." Hurray for Joy...she has complicated her life this week to help others!

Time draws near

I'm thinking about Christmas. I know it's early, but it is ingrained in crafters/quilters and other creative type people to think about gift-giving way before the gift is needed. This is due to the simple fact that for those of us who would like to make our gifts, we really need a few months in advance...or in my case, a few years, since I'm still working on Rachel's wedding quilt. In my ideal world, I would make every gift that I gave! If I didn't have a full-time job, I might make headway towards that goal, but as it is, my procrastinating self is setting records for project incompletion times.

My sister ordered me a great T-shirt for my birthday. It says, "Live simply so that others may simply live." She bought it on www.simpleliving.org, and shortly after I received it, I found some time to visit the web site.

I mentioned before that this will be the first Christmas since our attempt to start simplifying our lives. This will truly be the test. I considered the idea of not exchanging gifts at all, and instead giving to charity. But that is not what I want entirely either. Not to denigrate charity donations, but I have people in my life whom I love dearly and I want to give them something meaningful to celebrate Christmas. (Right now, I know one or both of our kids is thinking, "Money is always meaningful!" and at this stage in their lives, I totally understand!) Alas, we are into October and, since I am still working on the quilt for Rachel and Chris (its completion date was supposed to be June 2002), I don't really have enough time to make gifts for all my relatives (unless I get an early start for 2008). Nevertheless, I ventured forth on the simple living web site to read about ways to make Christmas gift-giving more meaningful. Here is what they say:

Consider how our consumer-oriented values have shaped our gift-giving practices:

• Conformity is prized over individuality. Despite society's rhetoric about individuality, the "if-you-don't-have-one-you-are-inadequate" message of mass culture relentlessly bombards the senses from the air waves and print media. Consumer society's emphasis is to create needs rather than to create products to meet needs we already have. This results in conformity in how needs are perceived and the ways we meet those needs. The more far-reaching result of our conformity, however, may be an absence of dissenting voices in today's mass culture.
• Whatever is bought and sold is better than whatever isn't. A broad assumption in the consumer society is that the only way to be happy is to accumulate things. Friendship, contentment, and security are significant only as they involve consumption. The way to express love and affection for another is by buying some "thing." By implication, gifts that are not "bought things" - including things made with one's own hands - are not worth much. The restrictive nature of this assumption rules out a whole host of wonderful ways to give, including the giving of time and skill. Not only does preoccupation with "buying to give" overlook other ways of giving, it also seems to make gift-giving less personal.
• More and bigger are better. Less and small are chintzy. In a society which produces consumer goods far beyond the needs of its members, consumption without restraint becomes an ideal. This society's extraordinary levels of consumption have resulted in unparalleled amounts of waste, thus earning the title, "the throw-away society." Unrealistic ideas that Earth has unlimited natural resources, cheap energy, and adequate means of waste disposal have undergirded our consumption and waste. Yet all three of these assumptions are known to be false. The issues raised by this knowledge are more than ecological. Recognition of our planet's limited resources forces us to address the question of a just distribution of goods and resources. New consumer values, ideals, and practices are urgently needed so that all people can share in what the world has to offer.

I thought about why I want ideally to make every gift I give. Here are some reasons from: uniqueprojects.com:

• You get involved in the gifts you give, or the things you live with. When you purchase, you are separated from the item; making items yourself yields a unique connection. As such, making things yourself is an antidote to the consumerism that seems to be plaguing our society.

• You can ensure that the item will be of heirloom quality. When you make something yourself you are in control of the entire production process. When you purchase an item you are putting your trust in a brand name that usually represents a distant manufacturing facility. Of course, there are high-quality manufactured products but these are often the minority and usually very expensive.
  
  
• Gifts that you make for others almost always have more meaning than those that you merely purchase. It is often said that the spirit of gift giving is not in the object itself but rather in the associated thoughtfulness. What gift is more thoughtful than one that is custom-made by you for the intended recipient? Such gifts indicate that you devoted some time and thought on a project to express an emotion or idea - therein lies true meaning.
  
  
• The process of making something yourself is intrinsically enjoyable. Furthermore this joy is often extended beyond the initial phase. Many make-it-yourselfers enjoy their projects forever because they feel a sort of connection to them.
  
  
• You can make truly unique things that are not available for purchase.

So there you have it - all the considerations swirling around gift-giving. And if you are ever shocked to receive a handmade gift from me - well, be honored! I probably started it in 1997!

They're baaaack!

My friends are back. They have been languishing in a storage facility with no one to love them. They are, of course, my books. At least, the books that we kept after we gave so many away. Our house was feeling strange without a ton of books.

Not only are the books back from storage, but everything else is too. When we rented a storage unit last spring, we assumed we would sell the house this summer and already be moved into our new house by winter, so we stored all our "clutter" and excess furniture, as well as winter clothes and Christmas decorations. Now that we've taken the house off the market until next spring, we decided we didn't need to be paying that $109 a month storage fee, when we need that $109 to help pay for heating oil this winter. So back everything came. Matt and Sarah were so sweet to help us do the hard work (after all, the boxes and furniture had to be carried up a flight, to a landing, up another flight, to the landing, up another flight, to the landing, then up the final flight, then the length of the house!). Our son-in-law Chris offered his help for the second day, but they had already finished up earlier than expected. Our daughter, Rachel, passed up the opportunity to help. What kind of excuse is being in the last few weeks of pregnancy, anyway?! She's so stuck out in front that all we would have done would have been to put a backpack on her and fill it up. It would even balance her better. Oh, well.

Even though we are inundated with boxes and furniture again, we are happy that our "stuff" is back in the house. We can access it, read it, wear it, decorate with it, or just plain admire it.

Even though we were disappointed the house didn't sell this past summer, we are happy it's off the market for the winter. I was reading a book about the sacredness of the home space, and I stopped to think about that. One of the reasons the constant showings were unnerving for us was that we have always considered home our sacred space, and the endless barrage of strangers traipsing in, through, around our sacred space just disoriented us in some way. It's different when we've had invited guests and led them on a tour through the house. That was fine. But total strangers usurping our home while they made their inevitable judgments on our decorating taste or lack thereof - that bothered us.

We know we will have to go through that again in the spring, when the house will be officially on the market once more. But for now, we are hunkering down for winter, satisfied that our clothes are not mildewing in a concrete storage unit somewhere, and inordinately pleased that that book we need to reference is just within reach.

It will be pleasant to have a few months of reprieve before we jump on the merry-go-round again in the spring.

A better way

At work, I have always been always on the lookout for a better, more productive way to do any of my daily tasks. The whole time I am transcribing, I am thinking, "Could this be faster? Could I make a macro for this? Could I combine some steps?"

I forget sometimes to keep that same inquisitive mentality when I'm at home. Lately I've been having problems with the TV schedule. We don't have digital TV, so to see what's on now and coming on later, we have to sit through a slow crawl of program lists on cable, and I usually time it just right so if I want to find out what's on channel 8, the list is on channel 9 and will crank on at a snail's pace through 3-digit channels before it starts over.

I get a Sunday newspaper every weekend for the little TV schedule booklet, but the Bangor Daily News stopped printing it, probably because everyone was passing up the daily paper and only buying the weekend paper like me. I read that the newspaper had a web site where I could see and print a schedule, but it apparently doesn't work with my browser or has technical issues with my computer.

I considered buying the TV Guide magazine every week, but I find it hard to navigate. Besides, I have to plow through tons of channels I don't even watch just to see what's on the channels I do watch.

At any rate, I finally had the common sense to mention my dilemma to Matt, and he told me about www.titantv.com, a site where not only can you get a TV schedule for your area, but you can customize it and omit all those stupid channels you never watch anyway. Wow - I knew there had to be a better way! That truly simplifies my life.

It's one thing to waste valuable time (isn't all time valuable?) sitting in front of the TV watching a mediocre program. It's more of a waste to sit there watching program titles scroll one at a time.

Sometimes when you are trying to simplify your life, all you have to do is ask for help. And hopefully, you will have access to someone brilliant like Matt when you do!

One year older

Yesterday was my birthday, and I had a fantastic time! I didn't want a lot of material, tangible presents. Instead I received what I wanted most - time with my family - wrapped up in laughter, good food, a few lame jokes, lots of picture-taking, and playing hide-and-seek with little Caroline.

Every year the kids want to buy me something special for my birthday, and every year I say, "All I want is time with the family." They never believe me.

If there is one thing I have learned from my journey to simplicity, it is the necessity of discovering one's priorities and everything else will land in its proper place. And truly, priorities consist of relationships - family and others that we love. I never know what is going to happen when we get together. On second thought, I do know.

I had already received a card from my mom, and an internet card from my friend Sally in California. When I checked into my MT web site, I saw they had started a thread to wish me a happy birthday. My sister had called with a clever poem about how I'm older than she is and it will be that way forever, or something along those lines, but at my age, I can't remember so well. I had phoned my mom, too, earlier in the afternoon. So already, my day was upbeat. After work, I was joyously anticipating the arrival of the kids. OK, so technically they are adults. They'll always be kids to me.

I started the evening out with a recitation of all the jokes in Reader's Digest. I laughed hilariously at them and Ed just rolled his eyes. I made him sit there and listen, because it was my birthday. Then our daughter-in-law Sarah and son Matt came in and we heard about her student teaching and how she's doing all the teacher's work with no pay. When Sarah's around, we always have to make fun of Matt in some way. Poor absentminded Matt. Such a dear.

Ed and Sarah and Matt were laughing about a knife commercial they saw on TV. They were pretty hilarious trying to reproduce it for me. Then I started to tell a story, which I can't remember now because I am so old, and Ed kept interrupting me (I guess he was "just jokin'"), so I begged, I pleaded with him, "just one day" - could he not be obnoxious, rude, crude, or any variation thereof?! So with Sarah laughing, (Ed amuses her), he went into the kitchen to supervise his special dish - a chicken stew, the recipe of which he got from a cooking show on TV.

Then daughter Rachel and son-in-law Chris and little Caroline popped in. I felt so warmed when the first thing Caroline said was, "Happy birthday, Grammy!" My Aunt June and Uncle Tommy called from Arkansas to give their birthday greetings. I opened a lovely card from Caroline and then a gift from Rachel and Chris, which was a corduroy jacket. Rachel was so sweet to remember that I wanted one. Unfortunately it didn't fit, but since Rachel had wanted one just like it, I told her to exchange it for one in her size. She balked, but I reiterated: I DON'T NEED PRESENTS. I JUST WANT MY FAMILY!!!!

We all praised Caroline for using the little potty which they brought with them. Then we sat down to a delicious dinner of chicken stew - except Rachel said it ought to have rice, so she got up and made some. I talked about my decision to give up any food that contained high fructose corn syrup, and this time Chris rolled his eyes. I believe we managed to get through the meal without discussing bodily functions or fluids, which must have been a first. Afterward, I took a photograph of Rachel and Matt standing back to back showing their bellies (Rachel being over 7 months' pregnant). After a few more pictures, we left Ed home and went to Friendly's for ice cream. There Sarah and Rachel got in a discussion over who was the most financially distraught. Rachel said, "I'm a stay-at-home mom!" Then Sarah said, "I have to pay to work!" We all agreed that Sarah had won. She is truly the poorest of the poor.

Someone brought up the topic of a black light that showed where urine was on a toilet seat, apparently a real product on the market, and Chris made the observation that maybe it wasn't always Ed's fault that we talk about bodily functions and fluid when we are eating together - since Ed wasn't with us at the time.

Matt insisted on paying for my ice cream, because he still didn't believe me that all I wanted was TIME WITH THE FAMILY!!! Then we all came home and Rachel and Chris took Caroline upstairs to get her teeth brushed and jammies on so that after she fell asleep in the van on the way home, she could just go straight to bed. While they were up there, Matt asked us, "Are they still up there?" After we said yes, he added, "Are they putting Caroline to sleep?" Oh, dear, Matt. I think he realized how it sounded right after he said it!

Right after everyone left, we found that Matt had forgotten a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a magazine. Lovable, absentminded Matt!

I'm sure there are many other things that happened last night, but since I am so old, they have slipped my mind. The only other thing that would have made my birthday complete is to have all the rest of the family up here with us. But other than that, it was a very special birthday, and it meant more to me than a whole room full of presents. I am so blessed.

Thank you, my dear, wonderful, quirky family!

Narrowing choices

In the past I have posted on how our seemingly unlimited choices make it hard to simplify our lives. It is only recently that I realized that the converse is true - limit your choices, simplify your life.

I absolutely love Coke and other "sodas," as they say up in Yankee land. Coke was my preferred source of caffeine in the morning (never drank coffee), and when I found myself not only drinking a can in the morning, but another can at lunch, and maybe another can at night, I knew I was out of control. After all, there is nothing redeeming about Coke. They call it "liquid candy."
At any rate, I decided to go cold-turkey and gives up the stuff. I left the "end Coke deprivation" time intentionally blank, because it was an experiment at first just to see if I could do it and how it would affect me.

After one week without Coke, I was surprisingly still alive and just as productive as ever. I was so pleased, I decided at that point to give up chocolate, too. Chocolate in all its forms. My family thought I was pushing it, but I was so enthralled with my Coke experiment that I thought I could do anything.

And apparently, indeed I can! I have been over 1-1/2 months without either Coke or chocolate now.

The reason for posting about my experiment is this: Do you realize that limiting your choices frees up your "decision-making" part of the brain? When Rachel and I were in Portland, we stopped by Mrs. Fields in the mall to get a cookie. In the old days, I would have pondered for several minutes on making my decision, as I always worry when making decisions that I will make the wrong one - even with a simple cookie! Anyway, I glanced over the cookies. Mrs. Fields had many, many delectable-looking treats in the display case - yet, I had to choose between 2 cookies. Because I have released chocolate from my eating repertoire, I only had to choose between sugar cookie and peanut butter cookie. Wow, that was fast! I didn't realize up until that point how limiting my choices could positively affect me.

Same with Baskin-Robbins. I stopped by there this week, and out of all the ice cream flavors (not counting sherbet), I could choose between vanilla and strawberry. Every one of the remaining flavors had chocolate in it. What a timesaver! I think it wouldn't take many trips to Baskin-Robbins before I was tired of vanilla and strawberry.

I discovered that chocolate is ubiquitous in our world. Giving up chocolate is not giving up ice cream, or cookies, or cake, or donuts, or this or that. It truly encompasses a wide berth of choices, narrowing them down tremendously. I don't even have to think. If it has chocolate in it, I decline. Such time saved in decision-making!

Now, I figured with all the time I'm saving, I could get in some quilting. So yesterday I made the 50th block of Rachel's quilt. Hey, I may be on to something!

First take a deep breath

I have to confess - I got a new book. I know, I know. Well, goodness, I gave up Cokes and chocolate; don't make me forsake all pleasure! The title of this book intrigued me: The Slow Down Diet. I didn't buy the book because of the word diet; I bought it because of the word slow. One of my many weaknesses is the inability to slow down. I walk fast, I talk fast, I eat fast, I type fast, I read fast, and I move fast. (This is why I have so many accidents.) This book by Marc David is all about eating, and slow is the operative word. You wouldn't think it would take a whole book to teach a person how to eat slowly, but apparently it does. He urges the reader that the worst thing one can do is eat under stress. He says the body under the stress response directs circulation away from the digestive system, releases the stress hormone cortisol, and remains on high alert as long as the threat is perceived. To alleviate this stress before eating, he offers a breathing exercise:

Sit in a comfortable position with spine straight, feet flat on the floor. Eyes can be open or closed. Deeply inhale, filling your lungs to approximately two-thirds capacity. Hold your breath for several seconds. Exhale fully. Repeat this cycle ten times.

As hard as it is to imagine the need for a book on teaching us how to eat, it is even harder to imagine the need for a book to teach us how to breathe. After all, breathing is what we do, all day, all night, without even thinking about it. Well, maybe it's time to think about it.

I was reflecting on this act of breathing when I realized that I was really thinking about inspiration. That's a strange word, isn't it? We usually think of inspiration with its more common definitions. GuruNet lists them as follows:

1. Stimulation of the mind or emotions to a high level of feeling or activity.
2. The condition of being so stimulated
3. An agency, such as a person or work of art, that moves the intellect or emotions or prompts action or invention.
4. Something, such as a sudden creative act or idea, that is inspired.
5. The quality of inspiring or exalting: a painting full of inspiration.
6. Divine guidance or influence exerted directly on the mind and soul of humankind.

And then there is this one:

1. The act of drawing in, especially the inhalation of air into the lungs.

Somehow all these definitions are interrelated. I remember Ed preaching several times on the book of Genesis...."and God breathed into his nostrils the breath of life." And I guess that means we have been inspired.

The more I practiced slow, controlled, purposeful breathing, the more I realized that I spent a lot of time holding my breath. I don't think I was aware of it before, but I am now. Since I am a medical transcriptionist who gets paid by production, I keep my body pretty much on "full alert" in open stress mode most of the day. In doing so, I hold my breath a lot, which has the effect of throwing my whole body into tension. I also noticed that I tend to sit in a slumped-over position, squeezing my diaphragm and making my breathing even more shallow.

I've never done meditation per se, but I have read about various forms of meditation, and I know that conscious breathing is a cornerstone of relaxing the mind, body, and spirit. I have never had difficulty breathing, but I transcribe reports of people who feel as if they are drowning. Their chests are full of fluid, they are gasping for the breath of life, they are totally dependent on oxygen tanks to be able to function in a way most of us take for granted. I can only imagine how horrible that must feel. And the more they panic, the more difficulty they have breathing.

We are meant to breathe, fully, deeply, and to be able to "inspire" in all its meanings.

On the site www.womenpriests.org, there is this observation:

Human beings are a mixture of matter and spirit, of rootedness in the earth while having their origin in God’s creative breath.

I like that. God's creative breath. I think that captures the nuances of inspiration.

My sister's favorite hymn is "Breathe on Me, Breath of God." May we learn to stop for a moment, breathe in, breathe out, consciously feel our lives relax just a little more, our spirits renewed, our hearts inspired.

A world of teachers

Our family has a lot of teachers. Our daughter is a teacher on a leave of absence to raise her kids. Her husband is a teacher. Our son Matt just married Sarah, who is doing her student teaching this semester. Of course, teachers are not the most well paid group of professionals. We laugh about it sometimes, and tell Matt that since he is the only one in the bunch who is not a teacher, we will depend on him to support the rest of us in our old age.

In fact, though, we all are teachers. Go in any store, parking lot, home, or restaurant, and you will see kids learning from adults. They learn how to act in a civilized manner....or not. They learn to say "please" and "thank you"....or not. They learn to open doors for people....or not. But they are definitely learning. And we are teaching.

Last weekend in Portland, Rachel and Caroline and I ate lunch at Olive Garden. Rachel was 7 months pregnant, her hip was hurting, the day was warm, and by the time we got to the restaurant it was way past lunchtime. Even so, it was crowded, with a predicted 25-minute wait. We took the little pager they gave us and walked outside into the crowd of people. There were all kinds of people sitting on the benches, some older adults, and several young adults with kids of various ages. Rachel stood there in front of everybody, and not one person - not one - offered to give their seat to her. Not one adult suggested to their children to give up their seats for the pregnant lady. I really was surprised. Maybe I shouldn't have been. Maybe I'm just naive and don't know that things have changed and most people are looking out only for themselves. Maybe this world has accepted the status quo for so long that no one notices when a pregnant woman (or elderly woman or man, or handicapped person) needs a little act of kindness.

We were finally driven inside the restaurant by a man who didn't seem concerned or aware that a pregnant woman and everyone else was breathing his cigarette smoke. Again, we stood, and again, no one in this group of people offered her a seat either. Finally a couple was paged that their table was ready, so when they got up, Rachel sat down. There was room for Caroline and me, too.

Then Rachel turned to her daughter and said, "Caroline, you may sit here, but on one condition. If an old person or a pregnant lady like me comes in and can't find a seat, you will have to get up and give them your seat, because that is using your manners. Do you understand?" Caroline nodded. A few minutes later a woman in her 70s or 80s walked in. She leaned against a post while she waited. Rachel bent down to Caroline and said something in her ear. Caroline looked over at the woman and then at me. I took her hand and together we got up and walked over to the lady and offered her our seats. At first she declined, saying thanks for the offer, but she could just stand. We insisted, though, and the lady did indeed walk to the bench, where she sat down beside Rachel.

I doubt if anyone else noticed the whole incident. Probably nobody cared anyway. But Caroline had the opportunity to begin what I'm sure will be a lifetime of learning - about manners, about civility, about empathy, about sacrifice, about what it means to live in community with one another. And if the other children present were learning anything, it was whatever the adults with them were teaching by their actions, or lack of them.

I began this post by saying that our family has a lot of teachers. Well, we have a lot of teachers with degrees, that's true. But I was reminded Saturday that you don't need a degree to be a teacher. The kids are watching.

Coasting

I was riding in our daughter's van the other day, sitting beside Caroline. Rachel wanted to demonstrate Caroline's intelligence (as if I needed a demonstration of what is obviously above normal!), so she was asking her some questions.
"Caroline, what is in your head?" Caroline didn't even pause. "A skull," she said.
"And Caroline, what else is in your head?" Caroline quickly answered, "A brain."
"And Caroline, what does a brain help you do?" Caroline thought for the briefest of seconds, then smiled. "It helps you think...about music and clappin'!" Then she laughed and applauded herself.

Ah, yes. Helps you think. Sometimes we do things by rote because we have always done them that way, not stopping to think that there may be a better and more efficient method out there.

My drive to the hospital where I work is all uphill, and the return trip home is all downhill. The distance is only a few long blocks. Yesterday I was thinking about the high price of gasoline, reviewing ways I could get better mileage, and I had a brilliant idea. I decided to experiment with the drive home. I pressed the gas pedal once to get started out of my parking space, and once more to get through the parking lot. I inched up over a little incline, then coasted down to the street to turn right. Since I had to stop at that point, I had to press the accelerator one more time to start down the street. I then coasted to the next turn, braked slightly to turn right and coasted down that street. The car slowed, then reached a downward incline in which it sped up again, over a short elevated area, then downhill again where I gained speed again. I braked just enough to turn left, then coasted to my driveway all downhill. I turned into my driveway, still without using the accelerator, and braked to enter my garage.

I drive that little drive every day, yet, knowing that it was downhill, I never thought of easing off the gas pedal and just coasting. Now I'm challenging myself to press the accelerator the least amount of times to get home and let gravity do most of the work. It makes me feel like a ball at the putt-putt golf course, trying to gain enough momentum to get over the little bumps, then using gravity to keep the car going until it lands in the garage. Such a simple idea; why haven't I thought of it before?

Having a brain is great. Actually using it - priceless!

Elephants in a Circle

I try to avoid driving at night, because at age 50, my vision takes longer to adjust to oncoming headlights and determine curves in the road. I usually just schedule my life so I am not driving after dark.

This weekend, however, Rachel and Caroline and I went to Portland to buy a nursery rocking chair. Caroline is trying to potty train right now, and this necessitated frequent stops. As luck (or non-luck) would have it, I found myself having to drive back home in the dark. I mentally drove the familiar route as I left Rachel's house. Let's see, there shouldn't be a whole lot of interstate traffic when I'm trying to get in the left lane there...There are stores still open on the highway, so I will have their illumination...Oh no! Construction!

Route 1A is under construction in several places. Orange cones are parked in wavy lines here and there to direct traffic around, over, in between the areas of repair. There are several places with no pavement at all. This area is hard enough to negotiate in the daytime, but at night I knew it would be treacherous, at least for me. I could feel my heart beat faster as I neared the construction zone. I slowed down to let others pass, so there were several cars in front of me as we approached. The cars that passed me were now crawling, not flying. Bumpity bump, bumpity bump, right, then left, then right, then straight, in no apparent pattern or rhyme or reason. Bumpity bump.

I found myself not looking so much at the road itself, or even the fluorescent orange cones. I hypnotically followed the red taillights of the car in front of me. At one curve, I noted there were cars in front of the one I followed. I pictured each driver following the taillights of the one in front of him. (I was in the middle of a large sandwich of cars going 10 mph, and I had nothing to do but philosophize.) Suddenly I got the mental picture of a circle of circus elephants. You can imagine them - each trunk holding onto the tail in front of it and each tail likewise holding onto the trunk behind it. There was no leader, there was no follower, yet everyone was a leader and everyone was a follower. Each depended on the other to be there as part of the chain.

Obviously, as I am writing this, I got home safely. But the elephant picture stuck in my mind.

Ed hates the expression "self-made man." He would say that nobody is "self-made." Every one of us learns from the other, and other people have helped us get where we are today. In turn, we help to show others the way. I am a medical transcriptionist. I never had formal schooling for MT, but I learned as I went. Not on my own, though. I had help, a lot of help. Even if I studied on my own, I had help learning which books to study. I learned about correct format from a more experienced MT who took time to educate me. I learned from an MT web site. I am still learning from people, books that people have written, and the web site where people post. In turn, I have helped MTs in my office learn how to format, how to do research on the Internet, and how to make shortcuts for that ever-elusive line count. We are all followers, all leaders.

I heard by the grapevine that several people whom I do not personally know read my blog on a regular basis. That seemed so strange to me. At first, I wondered why anyone would take perfectly good time to read my rambling words when they have their own life to live. I don't blog so much for "getting published" as for my own introspection, putting my thoughts down so I can make some sense of my life and remember where I am headed. I concluded, though, that if anyone is entertained by this, so be it. If anyone realizes a desire to simplify his/her life by reading this, even better.

We are all in the chain together.

Life examples

What is the ideal life? Well, that means different things to different people, I guess. Each person has to answer that question as it pertains to her/his individual experience and dreams. Ed and I have chosen to view our ideal life as one of living simply yet comfortably with less focus on material, tangible things and more concentration on other priorities. To some folks, though, the simple life means working less and having a lot of time to relax every day. Everyone can understand downsizing to a smaller house, or a smaller car, or a less expansive closet. But when the conversation turns more towards purpose, I notice several of my acquaintances become flustered. Isn't the purpose of a simple life to relax? Isn't that what, for example, retirement is all about? What do people mean when they say that they dream of a life of simplicity?

Occasionally on my journey I take time to think about role models for the ideal life. This morning I had a serendipitous experience when I sat down in the early hours of the morning with my cup of hot tea and flipped on the TV for a few minutes. I discovered that I was in the middle of a biography of Rosalynn Carter. What a remarkable lady! Would her life today be described as simple? No, I don't think so. Would it be described as compassionate, fulfilled, full of love, full of contentment, full of purpose? Oh, my, yes! She is one busy woman, and I would find it hard to maintain her schedule even at my age. She is vice chair of The Carter Center, where she functions as ambassador, mediator, human rights and peace promoter. She continues to advocate for mental health reform. She and Jimmy also are heavily involved with Habitat for Humanity and other community-minded endeavors. In addition to this, she is a devoted wife, mother, and grandmother.

Now, be truthful. If you looked back at the list of recent presidential administrations, would you include Jimmy and Rosalynn in the "glamorous" ones? Dazzling? Charismatic? Sophisticated? Elegant? No, they always have considered themselves simple, ordinary people. They are simple. But simple with a purpose. Their ideal life consists of reaching out through their ordinary lives to touch the lives of others in extraordinary ways. For them, simplicity and contentment does not mean relaxing. They are busy people. But they are busy in what counts in life - not busy to make themselves monetarily rich, not busy to make themselves look good. They give to the world and they value their family life. And in doing so they find their purpose.

Then there's my dad. Now, I feel obliged at this point to apologize for again bringing him into my posts, but for those of you who did not know him, you need to realize he was an exceptional human being, which, of course, made him an exceptional husband, an exceptional father, and an exception friend. My story is this:

When my sister and I were teenagers, we had the opportunity to usher for performances at the Auditorium, and after ushering, we were allowed to sit and watch the shows for free. We saw the Metropolitan Opera perform. We saw Fiddler on the Roof and other Broadway shows. We saw the Memphis Symphony Orchestra. We saw Van Cliburn, the concert pianist. All without paying a penny. After every show, late at night, Daddy would drive downtown and pick us up. Knowing he had to get up the next day to go to work or church, he still came. Without ever a complaint. When I became an adult, I would marvel at the sacrifice he had made for us for so many years, something I really didn't appreciate at the time. I asked him once, "Daddy, why did you let us do all that when it was so much trouble for you to get us there and pick us up so late?" He said, "I did it because I knew you girls would have never had the opportunity otherwise to see such things." In a way, doing that made his life more hectic, less simple, but to him his sacrifice had meaning. In the same way, he lived frugally so he could spend money on home movies. He lived frugally so he could give more money to the church and other charities.

Daddy and Rosalynn have one thing in common. It's their desire for simplicity and personal fulfillment and contentment, knowing that the first step is getting their priorities in place.

I want to live simply not for the sake of living simply, but to gain more time for my priorities. By accumulating less, spending more judiciously, and making wise use of time and energy, I am actually freeing up my life for the important things, like relationships. Simplicity is not the goal; it is the tool. It is not the destination; it is the means.

What is the ideal life? I think I'm made some progress answering that question for me. Now it's your turn.

Inside Story

The journey to simplicity and contentment takes a lot of discipline. As I have posted before, the world "out there" is betting that it can influence us to buy products that we don't need, and in the process "buy" into a lifestyle that we would be better off without. To figure out a way out of this mire, we look outside ourselves. We buy books, read magazine articles, search the web, talk to friends and family - all this to accumulate ideas concerning what we are doing right and what we are doing wrong. We especially are on a continual quest for those elusive things called willpower and inspiration. If only, we say, if only we had these, we would be set on this journey. And so we turn over every leaf and every rock, thinking today might be the day we find the pot of gold which holds the strength and wisdom we need. Alas, until we find it, we think, we will just struggle along.

Our daughter Rachel and husband Chris and toddler Caroline lived with us a few months last winter while their house was being built. Any move, of course, is stressful, but when you throw in two families moving in together, family helping you pack, and a toddler in the middle of it all, the stress really accumulates. This house looked overwhelmed with stuff. Caroline, little though she was, came with a bundle of things herself. Her books alone took up half the house. Her child-sized table and chair set was just ripe for tripping over. We kept diapers and wipes upstairs and downstairs...Wee Willy Winky himself would have been exhausted.

In the middle of all the chaos of moving, Rachel discovered she had lost her wallet. This understandably produced some tears and anxiety. She tried to remember when she last used it. I called a restaurant where we ate during the week of the move, but they had not found it. We searched everywhere. After they got settled in, she called to report her credit cards missing, got a new driver's license, and handled all the endless tasks associated with losing one's wallet. She was relieved to find out that the cards were not being used anywhere fraudulently, so she assumed the wallet had dropped into one of the numerous boxes that had been packed and put in the storage unit. There was no way to know for sure, but there wasn't anything that could be done about it other than opening all those carefully taped boxes to check.

In February they moved out.

When spring came, we were doing some cleaning in preparation for selling the house, when I grabbed a grocery store bag out of the corner of the kitchen. I saw some plastic cups inside, and I remembered that this was some stuff we kept unpacked for use on moving day - cups, napkins, some plastic utensils. Oh, and a wallet. Yes, her wallet was here. I called her immediately with the information. Even though it was too late to save her the trouble of changing her credit cards and IDs, it nonetheless was, as they say, "closure."

The wallet had been here all the time. For a week after that, I found myself whispering that phrase. It was unbelievable - right under our noses. If we only had known.

I think in some ways when we pray fervently for wisdom, discernment, self-discipline, and movitation/inspiration for our journey, God just says, "It's already there. I have already given you everything you need. If you become aware that you already have it, you can use it." Yet we still seek outside ourselves what is already in us. It was there all the time. Now we must activate it. The kingdom of God is within you.

Coming back again

As usual, my daily e-mail meditation gave me food for thought:

The man who succeeds in his inner exploration is the man who comes back. He comes back to more of the lessons he must learn. He returns in spite of discouragement, in spite of hearing blunt facts about himself. Some people do not come back. They go away sorrowfully or critically, therefore losing what could have saved them. We must be different. We must come back, a thousand times if necessary, until we reach the harbor we sense is beyond the fog.

Vernon Howard
Secrets for Higher Success

Our journey, as I have mentioned before, is a great deal more about the mind than about actions. It is returning our brains again and again to focus on the goal, the little steps, the big steps - facing frustration and disappointment, which invariably brings the uneasiness of second-guessing ourselves. Introspection is not comfortable. It is usually very uncomfortable. Yet the lessons need to be learned. And some of us are more stubborn than others.

We have seen this week how the hurricane has forced our country to do some introspection on subjects of race relations, poverty, preparedness, and need. This is in some ways paralleling our own personal introspection as we feel the first tease of autumn in the air and know some important decisions need to be made about our house. We have similar questions: Are we prepared for a change in plans? Are we willing to think ahead? Are we aware of the "what if" scenarios? Can we change our actions to fit the needs? Can we accept the change in plans that seems necessary and throw our full weight into implementing those plans?

We picked a very bad time to try to sell our house, especially now. It didn't help that the first few months the house was on the market were essentially lost because there was no advertising, for instance. Now that gas prices are soaring, everyone knows the home heating oil prices are next on the agenda, and some leaves on the tree at the end of our street have already turned a bright red orange. The leaves were inaudible but they might as well have been shouting, "Fall is almost here! Winter will follow! See that Victorian house for sale down the street? It is huge! It will cost a fortune to heat! Don't even think about it!"

In addition to the problem of selling the house, we have the other problem of running out of time to build the next house. They don't build much in the middle of a Maine winter.

So we have come to the realization (working on acceptance) that we will be spending another winter in this house. Basically the house will not be actively marketed until spring. In some ways, this will be a mighty challenge, because heating oil prices will probably be double those of last year, and we will have to make more sacrifices in other spending, as well as turning off some radiators and shutting off rooms. Ed has not sawed or split wood this summer, as he usually would have been doing, because we thought we would be spending this winter in our new house. So now he has to play catch-up. I am sure wood prices will soar too because the demand will be so high.

Staying here also involves our going to the storage unit and bringing back everything we took over there a few months ago - boxes and boxes and boxes. Heavy boxes. Then all of our hard work emptying the house and "staging" will be reversed. We will have boxes everywhere again.

In a way, this is a good thing - staying here this winter. I have been feeling in limbo so long that I haven't let myself do much except clean house and worry. Now I can relax just a little and work some projects.

But fall is also a dangerous time of year for us because we are evaluating our wardrobes again, and seeing what we might need for winter. (Ed has created the most remarkable guilt-free means of buying new clothes: He's lost so much weight his clothes don't fit anymore.) Meanwhile, the fall clothes catalogs keep coming and even the Christmas catalogs are here. $$$$ This will be the first Christmas since our determination to simplify and modify. It will also be the first Christmas we will have had two grandchildren. It's a veritable obstacle course on the road to simplicity!

And so we dutifully are reminded that the time for introspection has come. What have we discovered? Could we have done more? Did we make wise decisions? I believe they call it the "shoulda/coulda" syndrome. Now fall is on the doorstep. And the journey to simplicity continues. Through the frustration, through the disappointment, through the temptations, through the worry - we walk. Through the realization that we are so much better off than many others - we walk. Through fear of the unknown with "cautious optimism" we walk.
And hopefully we learn.

Always the Questions

(Photo from CNN)
I wonder what is going through the minds of these victims. Mostly they are just trying to survive right now, but in the future when they are, hopefully, back to a relatively normal life, they might be thinking along the same lines as I have been thinking since February, when I started this blog. They will have to come to their answers, as I have to come to mine.

This experience will have affected them in a major way. To be able to come to terms with it - physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually - will undoubtedly be a enormous project. Though I am not affected by the hurricane physically, it does give me pause to ask myself again the questions of my life, the questions and thoughts that have developed repeatedly as I have written about the journey to simplicity:

• What is precious to us in this life? What do we cherish? When it comes down to the nitty gritty, what is it we would try to save in an emergency? What is replaceable? What is not?
• What can I control in my life? What is out of my control? Do I know the difference? Do I have the ability to accept that which I cannot change while changing the things I can?
• Quote from March: The expression comes to my mind, "You wouldn't understand." "You had to be there." I think that says it all. As horrible as the images are on TV, we know we are only living vicariously through these victims. I have no idea what it would be like to suddenly have your existence reduced to a garbage bag of food and a blanket.
  
• How much "stuff" have I accumulated when there are so many people who don't have the basics of food and shelter?
• How much have I taken for granted in my life (house, family/friends, job, good health, etc.)?
• Quote from May: For awhile, however, I have been considering the waste we generate, as a family and as a society. Sometimes we don't think about it until we see the sewers are backing up, or we are thousands of people living in the Superdome.
• How much does it take for us to survive? To live sufficiently? To live comfortably? To live well? To live in a way to which we have become accustomed? What can we do without? What do we need? What can we share? How do we justify our lifestyle in the face of poverty and hunger?

I was going to blog about how discouraging it was to have not sold the house yet, but that will have to wait until another day. Today I cannot complain about anything that involves a roof over my head. Because I have a roof over my head.

Look up!

Sometimes all it takes to advance a few steps in the journey to simplicity is a change of perspective.

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite pastimes was to lie on the bed, look up at the ceiling, and pretend the ceiling was the floor of the room. I tried to imagine myself coming into the room, stepping over the door frame, and moving about the room in a whole new way. I could "look up" and see furniture hanging from the ceiling! I must have mastered this feat of imagination during my many required naps. (If Mama thought we were actually sleeping during those times, she was quite mistaken.) In another room, which we used as a bedroom at the time, we had one of those acoustic ceilings made of tiles with little dots all over them. Whenever I would find myself trapped in a nightmare, I would subconsciously try to wake up by forcing my mind's eye to see those dots, and all of a sudden I would really be awake, staring at the ceiling.

I think we spend a lot of time looking up when we are young. After all, we're little. We have to look up to see people's faces, to see on top of tables, to peer over the church pew in front of us, to watch the Christmas parade.

Now that I am an adult, I find myself mostly looking down. Now, there are perfectly good reasons for this. I am short, for one thing. Not quite as short as my sister, but short nonetheless. (Well, I'm two years older than she is, which she won't let me forget, and I have to remind myself that she too has shortcomings...oops, there I go again...sorry, Joy!) Because I am, as they say, vertically challenged, I find it easier to spot dog hair on the floor than cobwebs on the ceiling. When we clean the house for showings, I have to remind myself to look up and check the ceilings, corners, and tops of the walls for places that need dusting.

I also think my habit of looking down is a result of my tendency to trip over things. Lord knows I need all the awareness I can muster to compensate for my apparent neurological deficiencies.

This morning, I took our dog Babe outside before I went to work. It was dawn, still rather dark. While she was smelling some exciting scent in the yard, I looked up. It was an ordinary night sky, yet it was extraordinary in that moment to me. The glowing stars appeared as if they had been randomly flung across the heavens, but I knew that there were constellations and patterns, and I realized for just a few seconds that I was looking at the same stars people had seen countless years ago. For a few minutes I had forgotten I was in my yard in Maine, trying to keep Babe from unearthing a skunk somewhere. For just a few minutes I had glimpsed the awe-inspiring size of our part of the galaxy, and realized my struggles for simplicity were, in one way, totally unrelated to the scheme of things - and yet, in another way, they were joining my spirit to that of the universe. And the ceiling was the floor, and the floor was the ceiling, and they all blended together. I must really look up more often.

Know what you want

I think one of the most difficult tasks I have encountered in the journey to simplicity is trying to discern what I want. What I really want. It seems easy enough, doesn't it? It should be. But as I mentioned before, companies spend billions of dollars a year in advertising, trying to convince me that what I want is what they've got. Friends and acquaintances can influence me. And (I hate to admit it) sometimes I want to just "buy something" because I had a bad day, and darn it, I deserve it, whatever it is.

If I ever wanted to follow in my dad's footsteps, it is in this area. Daddy was very sure of what he wanted and what his priorities were. Every year a few weeks before his birthday, September 1, I would try to figure out something creative to give him, not the same old stuff. And every year, he would ask for the same old stuff. "You know what I want," he would say, with twinkle in his eye. "Ties, page protectors, and cashews." What a puny list!

And how did he come up with the (to me) boring "Big Three"?

In my opinion neckties have been maligned as one of the most unimaginative gifts ever. The kind of gift a man opens and says, "Uh...yes, thanks...I guess." Not Daddy. He was required to wear ties at his job at the bank, and he rarely bought any for himself, so he really wanted ties. No kidding!

Also one of his hobbies was writing letters and in the course of that, he received many letters in return. Some were from famous people; others were from people who were not generally known. Bishop or paper carrier - it didn't matter to Daddy. Each letter was precious to him and he kept them all in notebooks, each letter gently slid into one of those plastic page protectors. The protectors were fragile and sometimes needed to be replaced, but mostly he wanted more because he had so many more letters to document and save.

Then there are the cashews. The nirvana of nuts. Now me, if I want some cashews, I'll pick up a can at the grocery store. Not Daddy. They were expensive, and he did not spend that kind of money on himself. He was wholly dependent on his family to provide him with a can of the delectable snack whenever gift-giving time rolled around. The rest of the year he was content to enjoy Seessel's butter pecan ice cream and Aunt Bessie's peanut brittle. But his delicious cashews were a joy for him to receive. They were one of the "big three" on his list.

Well, being stuck with a wish list from him that short just made me frustrated. I usually made him a card, but I still felt a letdown when the gift that accompanied a creative homemade card was one or two of the "big three." Ties, page protectors, and cashews. But do you know what? Daddy didn't feel the need to beat around the bush. He knew exactly what he wanted. And it was worth it to see his eyes light up when he opened another tie, another box of page protectors, and one more can of cashews.

I hope we all can learn from my dad. Don't waste money, don't accumulate a lot of things you really don't care about. When you are the gift giver, find out what someone truly wants, even it sounds dull to you. And if you are the lucky recipient, think long and hard about what is important to you. Go for your version of the ties, the page protectors, and the cashews. Your smile will be genuine and you will be one more step closer to contentment!