| Single With Children: Babies become young adults in blink of Mom's eye Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 05/11/05 Mothers Day 2005 has come and gone. The degree of sentimentality attached to Mother's Day seems in direct proportion to the number of years you can count as a mom. It's obscene just how fast they accumulate. Motherhood begins innocently enough with a series of unending, diaper-filled, colicky days. Sometimes I remember times when I didn't think my first born and I would ever advance to the next phase of development. On lucky days, I would find myself in the luxurious exhilaration of a 10-minute shower. Unlucky days would find me pacing the waiting room of our pediatrician's office with a screaming child suffering the pain of another ear infection. Soon, her brother followed and long, lonely days were punctuated by juggling the activities of an infant and a 3-year-old. The track started moving with more speed. The transition from being a new mom with a new baby to a more experienced mom with a new baby and a preschooler, can best be illustrated in pacifier sterilization techniques: When Katie dropped her pacifier, no matter what I was doing, I would either pop a brand new binky in her mouth or carefully boil the fallen one in a pan of hot water for at least five minutes. By the time Justin was 6 months old, I would pick up the binky, make an inspection and, depending on my access to running water, either give it a quick rinse or simply stick the thing in my mouth to remove the dog hair and pop it right back in his. He was usually on the verge of a major meltdown by this point. Justin wasn't interested in my sterilizing method. He was learning a very important lesson of advanced personhood - it's all about instant gratification, baby. I'm not exactly clear when or where we crossed the space-time continuum, but somewhere along the way, we wound up on the high-speed, broadband track, long before the term "Internet" was in our lexicon. There were times the mere act of "blinking" was a risky proposition. There are moments when I look back at the beginning of this motherhood journey and wish I had spent less time wondering if I were in suspended animation and more time knowing it for the precious commodity that it is. I listened when people told me repeatedly that "they grow up so fast!" and I wondered what species of baby these people were raising because the ones I had were taking their sweet time about forwarding their development. Though you could never have convinced me in the middle of it, my mind now often goes back to the very days I wasn't sure I would survive. Days of walking the floor, wiping down feverish foreheads, playing activity director through two bouts of chickenpox and long stints of entertaining croupy kids in a steam-filled bathroom and trying to convince two skeptical kids to pretend we were in some exotic, imaginary fog. Nursing my kids as ear tubes were put in and tonsils were taken out. Routine vaccinations, field trips, class parties, school projects assigned way in advance but started and completed in the early morning hours before they were due. Casually being told at bedtime that I had been volunteered to bake 4 dozen cupcakes (with confetti, please!), the night before they were expected, in the pre- Super Wal-Mart days, when the only thing still open was a convenience store. If you are a mother of a child at least 10 years old, I would bet that, just like me, you could claim you have been there, done that and collected a couple of T-shirts, maybe even decorated with tiny handprints pressed in paint. If you are a mother, I bet those memories elicit two overwhelming thoughts: "How did I manage to get through it all?" followed by, "I'd give anything to do it all over again." I hope your Mother's Day was filled with the kind of memories that made your heart feel warm, even if those same memories made your eyes leak, just a little. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@ec.rr.com, visit her blogspot at: www.susiewrites.blogspot.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166.
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11 May 2005
"Single...With Children" - Publication Date: 11 May 2005
04 May 2005
Boomerang Bronchitis And A Saturday Celebration
I am finding more and more that good things can come from potentially unpleasant situations. Last week, I had the unhappy prospect of visiting the doctor. I am never happy to go to the doctor and it's not because I don't like the guy. He's seems like a wonderful person. It's just that the last place you feel like going when you're sick is, well, to the doctor! Who wants to be around a lot of sick people when you're a sick person? Oh wait, that sounded a little tinged with hypocrisy, didn't it? :-)
I am one of those people that by simply being lead to an examination room, my pulse and BP can leap at least 20 - 30 points. It's nearly reflex. I always preface any attempt to record my vitals with the fact that I have serious "White Coat Syndrome", but being the paranoid person I can be in what I perceive to be threatening situations, I'm sure that whoever is getting ready to slap a blood pressure cuff on my arm has already decided that I should be in a psychiatrists office, rather than taking up the valuable time of an internist dedicated to treating ill people who can actually be fixed, cured, whatever.
Last week, however, was a totally different ballgame. When my number came up...err, my name was called and I was lead back through the medical maze of exam rooms, offices, labs and a few rooms I don't even want to think about what might be going on in there, I was the charge of such a kind and wonderful nurse. I had never seen her at my doctor's office before. She exuded calm, understanding and emitted this foreign feeling that everything really WAS going to be just fine and that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't sporting the early signs of some deadly form of a rare and impossible to treat pneumonia, the likes of which has never been seen by anyone working at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. For as much as I dread any contact with medical types, I had to admit that I already liked this woman, even if she was about to stick a thermometer in my mouth and that darn BP cuff on my arm.
She engaged me in conversation and not the benign kind where the person feigns interest, but couldn't care less about the response. This lady really seemed to listen and she even went so far as to actually make eye contact with me as I was talking. She asked me questions, not exclusively of the medical variety, and seemed to listen to my responses. Listening can be a very powerful act, particularly when it's exercised with care and concern.
As she checked to see if I was febrile and evaluated my pulse to see if it was charging off the charts, I made my perfunctory disclaimer that, though it was nothing against her, I would probably be elevated more than a few points. Pulse included. She smiled and invited me to relax. What was this new approach to healthcare I was in the presence of and where had this woman been all my life as I had historically been handled by careless interrogators, asking a litany of questions, nearly making me feel guilty for succumbing to whatever bug brought me to the doctor in the first place? Exactly what planet was I on???
I really became suspicious when she didn't scowl upon loosening the cuff and gently releasing my wrist, rather than shaking her head, as so many have done before, and annoyingly informing me we would need to try this again, because the reading ascertained couldn't possibly be right. Because of her gentle manner and kind countenance, it would seem that my BP was well within normal limits and my pulse was under 90. I got so excited I bet my BP shot up and my pulse quickened at the mere pronouncement of being in the strange range of normal! Thank God it was after she had penned in her findings on my chart.
What you are about to read, could be labeled "Confessions of a dangerous mind", but I don't think my mind is so much dangerous as it is just plain tinged with a bit too much misplaced imagination and looking for signs that simply don't exist. I used to do the same thing when I was flying and would hear something like the wing flaps being repositioned. A perfectly normal occurance, but back when I used to be terrifed of flying, I was pretty sure we were about to crash and burn. Now don't get me wrong, I think it's a fine thing to have an active imagination and I really wouldn't trade mine in, even if it does fire off a few miscues now and again, but here's a tiny peek into where my mind can go when I am sick and feel a little more vulnerable than usual. They say confession is good for the soul, so my soul will surely feel even better after publishing the following few paragraphs.
Along with some of that gray matter I am purported to have, I think there must be some silly putty mixed in.
So there I am, finally alone with my thoughts in the examination room. Not a safe place for me to be - alone with my thoughts! And I start thinking, "oh wait, I "get it". They could probably tell instantly, as I walked in the waiting room, that I was about to be diagnosed with some horrible tropical illness found only in the African Congo* and that I wasn't long for this world. That had to be it. That was the reason for the "special treatment" and why they left Nurse Ratchet with the folks who had a prayer of recovering. I was obviously paired with the nurse that gently buffered the speech delivered by my kindly doctor that begins with, "Well, I have bad news and I have bad news. Which do you want first?". That would be the cue for my newfound Florence Nightingale, who would squeeze my clammy hand as I learned that I had, at most, another six hours to live and that I had better get my affairs in order and update the will that I have never made. I've always meant to have a will made, it's just hard to decide which debts to assign to which kid.
But back to the point: My 18 year old son and 21 year old daughter were about to become, ORPHANS! OH NO!!!!!! I would never live to see them finally straighten out their lives, graduate from Ivy League Universities (of course, complete with full academic scholarships!) with several advanced degrees, invent several mind-boggling creations and acquire a plethora of patents, marry highly successful, independently wealthy, old money, social registry recognized heirs to some kind of American Dynasty, moving into a homes complete with mother-in-law quarters where I would be taken care of for the rest of my very long life, reaching at least until I was in my mid-100's. Of course I'd have all my faculties when my time finally came, that's not to say that I have them now at the tender age of 45.
The handwriting was on the wall of the place where they give you that special plastic cup and request that you "go" when you've already "gone", never mind that you've had ten supersize iced teas (with lemon) and about a half gallon of very caffeinated coffee and maybe a couple of double expressos tossed in for good measure. I could see it all so clearly. The doctor was about to tell me that my lab results from 2 years ago had just been rechecked and when the person they had mistakenly informed outlived the two months s/he was told s/he had left, they got busy and rechecked the charts, only to find out that it was ME that should have been given the "we've got some bad news" speech. The fact that I just happened to make an appointment that morning because I had a cold that seemed to be evolving into a light, hardly worth mentioning, tiny case of bronchitis, was mere coincidence because they were, at the very moment I called in requesting an appointment, poised to dial my number and invite me in for "the talk".
It only took a nice nurse and about five minutes of sitting alone in an exam room to figure all of this out. I'm clever, I tell you, even though I never saw any of this coming...
True to form, I'm always the last to know.
My doctor finally walked in after a few minutes, well practiced in looking cheerful and promising even though the news was not good. He went through the motions of writing down my symptoms, asking me to sit on the examination table and pointlessly checking my ears, throat and listening to my soon-to-be stilled heart, just for old times sake. He even made it all look so routine by asking me to lay back so he could palpate my tummy and tossed in a few reflex checks, probably to keep his skills sharp for the people left out in the waiting room who still had a life to resume after they wrote a check for the co-payment demanded by their particular insurance company.
Sweet man that he was, he told me that I had "a little bronchitis" going on, nothing a nice antibiotic and maybe a few full nights of rest wouldn't take care of. How sweet he was. He even went to the trouble of renewing the prescriptions I take, for a whole year, probably to help me keep my chin up and let me pretend I was going to be just fine.
He disappeared for a few minutes, probably to collect himself and dab the inevitable tears that must have threatened to take over as he treated me like a "normal" person with a pedestrian case of garden-variety bronchitis, no doubt spawned by the thick pollen so prevalent in Eastern North Carolina this time of year. But wait! He returned with a brown paper sac which, at first, I thought might be to control the hyperventilation I was probably going to suffer in just a few minutes, but it turned out to be filled with samples of stuff like Omnicef and Allegra-D.
"Here you go, Susie. Take these, try and get some rest and I bet you'll be feeling better in just a few days.", he cheerfully offered.
Huh? That's it? Was he actually telling me I was going to live to see another day, brimming with more chances to annoy and disappoint friends and family, and that I would be coming back? Those really WERE antibiotics and antihistimines in that little paper bag of his, which was now mine? It WAS just bronchitis? I was, not about to buy the proverbial farm?
GET OUT OF TOWN! OH MY GOSH! All that coughing and hacking and congestion was merely allergy induced and not some harbinger of really bad things to come? Home Health wasn't about to deliver an O2 tank? Am I to understand that I wasn't DYING? Because I gotta tell you, when I lost sleep the previous few nights from coughing every time I tried to lay down, rather than my normal losing sleep over way too much caffeine, I started to think I just might have something seriously horrific and quite possibly fatal.
I trudged into that waiting room at 3:00, but I was skipping out with a brown sac of magic pills just 45 minutes later. So that nice nurse really was, well, just plain nice for no other reason than she's obviously a very special person who makes the people she takes care of feel very wonderful long before any prescriptions are written. Even the ones who are a bit on the melodramatic and highly imaginative hypochondriacal types.
I left there loving life. Had the sky always been that particular shade of "Carolina Blue" (a UNC-Reference for all of you strange and misguided "Duke" or "NC State" fans. Ok, so I have a special fondness for Chapel Hill and yes, the fact that James Taylor's father, Isaac Taylor, used to be Dean of the Med School at the prestigious University of North Carolina - Chapel Hill, has EVERYTHING to do with it. That, and the fact that Chapel Hill is one of the best places to sit on any given afternoon and people watch. It's a great show and you can see just about every facet of humanity represented in one form or another. Sometimes several forms combined in the body of one person. Those CH folks are a bit "out there".
But back to my health update and really, it's all about me, isn't it? I came home and immediately went to Google and looked up the meds my doctor had so graciously given me samples of because I needed to find out what side effects I could pick and choose from by researching every piece of information available. This is where the Internet becomes a particularly dangerous tool. Oh sure, when I wandered into my favorite CVS and casually asked the pharmacist to tell me everything she knew about Omnicef, she couldn't possibly think I'd buy that spiel about it being a fairly side-effect free drug, could she? Stomach upset? Not usually. Seizures? Nope. Possible coma? Unheard of. Obviously she didn't understand the finer points of Google and my proclivity for creating symptoms out of thin air. Sure, I know, if just ONE person reports an out of the ordinary side-effect, it has to be documented, but let's face it, I AM terminally unique. Right?
So I read the pharmacology-speak and I even understood a few of the really long words, after consulting 3 or 4 medical reference dictionaries. Finally, it was time. I held that first capsule of Omnicef and I rolled it around in my hand as if it were a dose of pure cyanide. What if it makes me sick? Wait! I AM sick! Dr. B gave me 14 of them so I must need them, right? But just a darn minute. What if my bronchitis is viral in origin? This stuff won't touch it and I'd be risking, well, according to my pharmacist and the stuff I read on Google, very little. I mean, the drug had a pretty clean rap sheet. But gosh darn it, what if I have a reaction that mimics anaphylactic shock and I can't get my hands on the benadryl in time? Huh? What then, Mister Doctor?
I screwed on my courage and somehow, after holding the capsule for about 15 minutes and realizing it was starting to melt in my sweaty hands, I managed to swallow it. And then I waited, constantly assessing my respiration, my heart rate, checking my skin for signs of hives or worse! Eventually I got bored with the whole thing and forgot about waiting to see if it would kill me. It's not always a bad thing to have a short attention span. I like to think of it as one of the many perks of being blond.
After taking about 3 of those Omnicef capsules, I started to feel like a new woman. Cured I was! Besides, wouldn't it be better to save the rest for when I'm REALLY sick, you know, too too sick to go to the doctor, rather than waste them on something silly like this little bronchitis episode that seemed to respond almost instantly to my brilliant physician's choice of drug? If anyone else told me they were going to stop taking the prescribed course of medication, I would tell them they were nuts. Crazy. I mean, why bother going to the doctor if you're not going to follow their orders? How impossibly stupid is that? Besides, everyone knows that if you stop taking the meds, and if the infection isn't truly arrested, the relapse is always worse than the initial infection. Of course I KNEW that. I'm a Mom for goodness sakes!
Just because I've delivered the "take all of your medicine" speech many times, doesn't mean I listened to myself. I stopped taking the pills. Yes, I am THAT blond. Plus, I had my roots redone a few days ago so it's only made things that much more dumb, and it may well have nothing to do with the fact that I'm originally from West Virginia. (My mother is going to hate that remark...because she still sticks to the story that she and my father aren't truly cousins...WhatEVER!)
But about stopping that medicine - I felt so GREAT...for a few more days and then, well, I started to feel not so great. I had a small soiree in honor of a very special person's very special tenth anniversary - celebrating something that a few people said could never be done. But did it he did and he's stayed the course, so this unexpected accomplishment demanded a party!
Saturday Afternoon, my good friend and personal caterer Mitch, came over with his knife kit, his special utensil set, cooler full of ice and turned right around and went back home for his wooden cutting board, after he discovered that mine was too small and too plastic. He worked culinary magic and the house was soon brimming with warm, spicy aromas that I would love to have taken credit for, but since I'm supposed to be working a program of rigorous honesty, I just couldn't do it. Besides, too many people would have choked on all that great food laughing at the idea that I could make anything look and taste as scrumptious as Mitch could without even trying.
The guests arrived, the guest of honor was shining and looking his usual handsome self, and one friend even brought his 12 string guitar while two other friends used my two acoustic six-strings and we had instant, melodic entertainment as we sat out by the pool, enjoyed the music and prayed for no rain, because it wasn't invited. The chicken was cooking on the grill, the conversation was nice and I surveyed the scene and felt myself lucky to know every single person in attendance. No, not lucky. Incredibly blessed. That's what I felt.
After the party was over, the guests had gone home and the left-overs had been put away, I chatted with my buddy Mitch while the guest of honor snoozed in the living room, one of my cats curled up in his lap - I guess neither one of them are party animals any more. Mitch truly out did himself and without his contribution, we might have celebrated and had plenty of coffee and iced tea, but our stomachs would have been either empty or unsettled, should I have been forced to fill them. Thank you Mitch, on behalf of the honoree, our company and the staff of New Hanover Regional Medical Center. :-)
Unfortunately, the next day I started feeling a lot like I did when I went to see my doctor a few days previously. My chest started feeling tight and my cough was back with a vengeance. Hmmmm...I wonder why? Could it be due to the fact I stupidly stopped taking my antibiotics? I got back on track the next day and today I am happy to report that my head no longer feels as if it's in the grip of a vice and it would seem that I can breathe again! I wonder what made me think I knew more than my doctor? I have a lot of things framed and hanging on the walls of my office, but a medical degree is not one of them. I need to remember that.
I promised new photos of the Waxbills and I intend to follow through on it. We're going to take some new pics tonight because the waxbills are getting much more acclimated to their new digs and I do believe they are becoming a little more fond of each other. Check back tomorrow for up-to-the minute photos of Julianna Banana and Nicholas Picklus. I would even venture to say they might have sprouted a few new feathers. Can eggs be far behind?
One more thing...Congratulations on ten whole, darn years. I'm very proud of you and yes, you KNOW who you are.
*The reference to African Congo should not be confused with Congo African Grey Parrots. While I would not welcome some viral disease that originated from the Congo, I have owned two African Grey Parrots. Sadly, I moved and had to leave them behind. Someday, I want another African Grey Parrot and if you know where I can find one at a fairly reasonable price, by all means let me know! Feel free to E-mail me at SusieWrites@ec.rr.com. I'll even name it after you! :-)
I am one of those people that by simply being lead to an examination room, my pulse and BP can leap at least 20 - 30 points. It's nearly reflex. I always preface any attempt to record my vitals with the fact that I have serious "White Coat Syndrome", but being the paranoid person I can be in what I perceive to be threatening situations, I'm sure that whoever is getting ready to slap a blood pressure cuff on my arm has already decided that I should be in a psychiatrists office, rather than taking up the valuable time of an internist dedicated to treating ill people who can actually be fixed, cured, whatever.
Last week, however, was a totally different ballgame. When my number came up...err, my name was called and I was lead back through the medical maze of exam rooms, offices, labs and a few rooms I don't even want to think about what might be going on in there, I was the charge of such a kind and wonderful nurse. I had never seen her at my doctor's office before. She exuded calm, understanding and emitted this foreign feeling that everything really WAS going to be just fine and that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't sporting the early signs of some deadly form of a rare and impossible to treat pneumonia, the likes of which has never been seen by anyone working at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. For as much as I dread any contact with medical types, I had to admit that I already liked this woman, even if she was about to stick a thermometer in my mouth and that darn BP cuff on my arm.
She engaged me in conversation and not the benign kind where the person feigns interest, but couldn't care less about the response. This lady really seemed to listen and she even went so far as to actually make eye contact with me as I was talking. She asked me questions, not exclusively of the medical variety, and seemed to listen to my responses. Listening can be a very powerful act, particularly when it's exercised with care and concern.
As she checked to see if I was febrile and evaluated my pulse to see if it was charging off the charts, I made my perfunctory disclaimer that, though it was nothing against her, I would probably be elevated more than a few points. Pulse included. She smiled and invited me to relax. What was this new approach to healthcare I was in the presence of and where had this woman been all my life as I had historically been handled by careless interrogators, asking a litany of questions, nearly making me feel guilty for succumbing to whatever bug brought me to the doctor in the first place? Exactly what planet was I on???
I really became suspicious when she didn't scowl upon loosening the cuff and gently releasing my wrist, rather than shaking her head, as so many have done before, and annoyingly informing me we would need to try this again, because the reading ascertained couldn't possibly be right. Because of her gentle manner and kind countenance, it would seem that my BP was well within normal limits and my pulse was under 90. I got so excited I bet my BP shot up and my pulse quickened at the mere pronouncement of being in the strange range of normal! Thank God it was after she had penned in her findings on my chart.
What you are about to read, could be labeled "Confessions of a dangerous mind", but I don't think my mind is so much dangerous as it is just plain tinged with a bit too much misplaced imagination and looking for signs that simply don't exist. I used to do the same thing when I was flying and would hear something like the wing flaps being repositioned. A perfectly normal occurance, but back when I used to be terrifed of flying, I was pretty sure we were about to crash and burn. Now don't get me wrong, I think it's a fine thing to have an active imagination and I really wouldn't trade mine in, even if it does fire off a few miscues now and again, but here's a tiny peek into where my mind can go when I am sick and feel a little more vulnerable than usual. They say confession is good for the soul, so my soul will surely feel even better after publishing the following few paragraphs.
Along with some of that gray matter I am purported to have, I think there must be some silly putty mixed in.
So there I am, finally alone with my thoughts in the examination room. Not a safe place for me to be - alone with my thoughts! And I start thinking, "oh wait, I "get it". They could probably tell instantly, as I walked in the waiting room, that I was about to be diagnosed with some horrible tropical illness found only in the African Congo* and that I wasn't long for this world. That had to be it. That was the reason for the "special treatment" and why they left Nurse Ratchet with the folks who had a prayer of recovering. I was obviously paired with the nurse that gently buffered the speech delivered by my kindly doctor that begins with, "Well, I have bad news and I have bad news. Which do you want first?". That would be the cue for my newfound Florence Nightingale, who would squeeze my clammy hand as I learned that I had, at most, another six hours to live and that I had better get my affairs in order and update the will that I have never made. I've always meant to have a will made, it's just hard to decide which debts to assign to which kid.
But back to the point: My 18 year old son and 21 year old daughter were about to become,
*The reference to African Congo should not be confused with Congo African Grey Parrots. While I would not welcome some viral disease that originated from the Congo, I have owned two African Grey Parrots. Sadly, I moved and had to leave them behind. Someday, I want another African Grey Parrot and if you know where I can find one at a fairly reasonable price, by all means let me know! Feel free to E-mail me at SusieWrites@ec.rr.com. I'll even name it after you! :-)
27 April 2005
Waxbills Winging It And The Never-ending Search For Wisdom
"Ah, as we prayed for human help; angels soundlessly, with single strides, climbed over our prostrate hearts." ~ Ranier Maria Rilke
These past two weeks since my last entry have proven to be quite challenging. I usually enjoy challenges, but the ones that hold the most lessons, the important life stuff, aren't necessarily the most fun to experience and walk through. And that's just what I've been doing, stumbling a bit, perhaps, but walking through - one day at a time or, as Anne Lamott might say, I've been taking life "Bird by Bird".
I am a bit short on time, but I wanted to get this brief post out and I plan on "filling in the blanks" later this evening when I have had more coffee and more time to collect all of those swirling thoughts flitting about my head.
Here are a few highlights since last I blogged:
I'm happy to report that Julianna Banana and Nicholas Picklus Waxbill are doing fine and seem to be fitting in quite well in the aviary. Their initiation hasn't been too tumultuous and I have caught them in various empty nests, resting, perhaps trying them on for size and seeing if one of them feels like home. No, we don't have any eggs from our new feathered pair, but I remain very hopeful that in time we will have little "banana and picklus" waxbills enrolled in flight lessons and trying our their new wings. I am quite certain that our pair of Canadian Inspired Waxbills are, in fact, male and female, which is a good step in the right direction. They sit together, preen each other, hang together in the plants and share their meals at the same millet stand. So far, so good. Feathers haven't been flying and that's always a good sign. They are still beautiful and seem to interact as if on "fast-forward" or rather, birds who've had too much coffee! Since I don't give my birds coffee, I would say they are simply a bit hyperactive. They're great fun to watch. I'll post a couple of new photos of them later today.
In other aviary news, we have one pair of Zebra Finches who are sitting on a clutch of four eggs, probably less than a week away from hatching and we have another pair of Zebras who are sitting tight on five eggs that were laid in the past week. In other words, should things go according to plan, within the next 3 weeks, we should have at least 8 Zebra Finch hatchlings. Mind you, we still have 6 week old babies from the last clutch who are now accomplished flyers and who's beaks are in transition from black to orange. In a few days we will be able to tell if they are male or female.
They grow up so fast!
Speaking of growing up, my house is rampant with growing pains. The column I wrote that was published in today's newspaper was probably meant more as a reminder for me than for my readers. I am working assiduously to bite my tongue, my cheek, my whatever, in order not to explode and that's not a very comfortable state to find oneself in. Not at all. I repeat "The Serenity Prayer" about a thousand times a day, in order to keep me in a prayerful state which will hopefully remind me of what I can and, just as importantly, what I can NOT change and, oh yes, Please God, the wisdom to know the difference! Wisdom is such a precious commodity but it is usually a by-product of mistakes made and lessons learned. If that IS the case, I must be stock-piling all kinds of wisdom (in it's raw, as yet unrefined state). One of these days I just might break out in a huge case of wisdom, given the landscape I am traversing just now, and I welcome the time when I will feel a little more wise and less confused than I do at this moment.
I have to close right now, but I did want to get this out, rather than keep putting off a post. I'll elaborate later. One thing about it, it's NEVER dull in this house. Right about now, dull looks pretty enticing.
Wish me well, and I'll wish the same right back to you.
Peace out!
I am a bit short on time, but I wanted to get this brief post out and I plan on "filling in the blanks" later this evening when I have had more coffee and more time to collect all of those swirling thoughts flitting about my head.
Here are a few highlights since last I blogged:
I'm happy to report that Julianna Banana and Nicholas Picklus Waxbill are doing fine and seem to be fitting in quite well in the aviary. Their initiation hasn't been too tumultuous and I have caught them in various empty nests, resting, perhaps trying them on for size and seeing if one of them feels like home. No, we don't have any eggs from our new feathered pair, but I remain very hopeful that in time we will have little "banana and picklus" waxbills enrolled in flight lessons and trying our their new wings. I am quite certain that our pair of Canadian Inspired Waxbills are, in fact, male and female, which is a good step in the right direction. They sit together, preen each other, hang together in the plants and share their meals at the same millet stand. So far, so good. Feathers haven't been flying and that's always a good sign. They are still beautiful and seem to interact as if on "fast-forward" or rather, birds who've had too much coffee! Since I don't give my birds coffee, I would say they are simply a bit hyperactive. They're great fun to watch. I'll post a couple of new photos of them later today.
In other aviary news, we have one pair of Zebra Finches who are sitting on a clutch of four eggs, probably less than a week away from hatching and we have another pair of Zebras who are sitting tight on five eggs that were laid in the past week. In other words, should things go according to plan, within the next 3 weeks, we should have at least 8 Zebra Finch hatchlings. Mind you, we still have 6 week old babies from the last clutch who are now accomplished flyers and who's beaks are in transition from black to orange. In a few days we will be able to tell if they are male or female.
They grow up so fast!
Speaking of growing up, my house is rampant with growing pains. The column I wrote that was published in today's newspaper was probably meant more as a reminder for me than for my readers. I am working assiduously to bite my tongue, my cheek, my whatever, in order not to explode and that's not a very comfortable state to find oneself in. Not at all. I repeat "The Serenity Prayer" about a thousand times a day, in order to keep me in a prayerful state which will hopefully remind me of what I can and, just as importantly, what I can NOT change and, oh yes, Please God, the wisdom to know the difference! Wisdom is such a precious commodity but it is usually a by-product of mistakes made and lessons learned. If that IS the case, I must be stock-piling all kinds of wisdom (in it's raw, as yet unrefined state). One of these days I just might break out in a huge case of wisdom, given the landscape I am traversing just now, and I welcome the time when I will feel a little more wise and less confused than I do at this moment.
I have to close right now, but I did want to get this out, rather than keep putting off a post. I'll elaborate later. One thing about it, it's NEVER dull in this house. Right about now, dull looks pretty enticing.
Wish me well, and I'll wish the same right back to you.
Peace out!
"Single...With Children" - Published April 27, 2005
| Single With Children: Avoid being hurtful when answering the big 'Why?' Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 04/27/05 If you are a divorced parent, chances are a tough question is looming in your future. It's a question no one looks forward to, but eventually is going to pop up. And no matter how ready you may think you are to handle it, there's still a very good chance it might blindside you. "Why did you and (insert Mom/Dad) get a divorce?" Talk about a loaded question! Taking the Fifth Amendment may placate a judge and jury, but it doesn't work if the interrogator has your eyes and your spouse's nose and smile. You might be given a little time to prepare because it's usually one of those "lead up to" questions. Depending on the child's age, the query may come in different forms, such as "Why don't you and Daddy live together anymore?", "Why don't you love Mommy?", or "Why did Dad move out?" The only thing more difficult than pondering the question is giving serious consideration to your answer. Obviously, the child's age and maturity level must be considered. The answer should be delivered with sensitivity, consideration and as much gentle honesty as possible. In particularly nasty divorces, this might seem like a rich opportunity for character assassination. As tempting as it may be to get your side of the story out, take a deep breath and collect your thoughts. Before you open your mouth, remember you are not simply addressing the faults of your former spouse. You also are preparing to answer an important question posed by someone you love with all your heart. It's one thing to dredge up every horrible, unkind action your ex-wife/husband committed to your friends, parents, siblings, cable guy, meter reader and anyone else who is cornered and has no choice but to listen. It's something else entirely to paint a negative, biased and one-sided portrait of someone who is the mother or father of that child. Indulging in the chance to get everything off your chest serves no purpose and will lead to unnecessary hurt feelings and confusion in the mind of your child. And those bullets used in character assassination attempts more often than not have a nasty way of ricocheting. Great divides are born of this. It may take months or even years, but eventually something more along the lines of the truth will eventually surface and, if you have depicted your former spouse in a particularly unflattering light, it's important to remember you might not look so glowing and pristine under that same harsh, flaw-revealing light. Nothing about a divorce is easy. Hearts are bruised, and if kids are involved, the collateral damage can be devastating. While kids deserve an honest answer to the question of "what really happened?" the court proceedings are over. Nothing is gained by making your child's other parent into someone whose faults and transgressions are so disreputable you might next be explaining what you were thinking to marry such a monster in the first place. When the question of why the marriage broke up is posed, remember the very same thing probably will be asked of that person you used to be married to. Remember you are discussing a sensitive topic. Full disclosure may be required in a court deposition, but it's not essential OR appropriate when discussing the character of a child's mother or father. When you sit down and answer your child's question, incorporate the Golden Rule and answer it in a way you hope your former spouse will, when his/her turn comes around. Even if that other person takes the low road and gives an unfair, unflattering account of why things went wrong, stay on that high road. The truth may seem like it's taking forever to come out, but it will arrive eventually and, just as we're reminded, the truth really will set you free. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at SusieWrites@ec.rr.com, write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166 or visit her diary at www.susiewrites.blogspot.com. |
11 April 2005
"I Report - You Decide: Can YOU Guess Who The REAL Freaks Are?"!
Photo "borrowed" completely and unapologetically without permission from Terry Banana Josephson. (Sorry Terry, better to beg forgiveness than ask for permission, eh?)
"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me."
~ Emily Dickinson
Can it be mere coincidence that Emily Dickinson, by utilization of a metaphorical device, compares the concept of "hope" with the miracle of a bird? I choose to believe it's a "Godincidence". But that's just me...
And there is new life in the aviary. I have two lovely new orange-cheeked waxbills.
It has been my experience and observation that most new introductees into an aviary, fly in quite timidly and keep to themselves. Newcomers try and hide in a corner or appear unobtrusive in a ficus tree or fern, to scope out the scene and see whether the other inhabitants are friendly fowl or scowl fowl.
I know the two Owl Finches I received as a birthday present, were shy, quiet and tried really hard to "blend in" and stay out of the way, even going so far as to wait and eat after the resident zebra finches, who had been in the aviary for a full six weeks, plucked the best, tastiest, juciest meal worms. The Owl Finches wanted acceptance and clearly they didn't want to "ruffle any feathers". Only in the past couple of weeks have the Owl Finches acted as if they had passed their feathery "hazing" by the Zebra Finch Fraternity.
But these two new Orange-Cheeked Waxbills? Timid? Unobtrusive? Backward? Shy?
Four words: I DON'T THINK SO!
When Dan introduced our latest celebrity acquisitions to the aviary this past Friday Afternoon, these two birds flew in and acted as if THEY were the owners of the aviary, not simply the new kids in the flock! They flew in the face of each "old-timer" as if to say, "We're here! Let the party and games begin!". I mean, it was as if they were letting everyone, bird and human, know in no uncertain terms that they, by virtue of being the most colorful, showy and expensive, were the very reason this Aviary came into existence in the first place!
How in the world could we NOT name these two feathery, fun, mirth-makers of mischief JULIANNA BANANA and NICHOLAS PICKLUS?
After they made their maiden flight into their new home, I hovered, as all parents do when their kids visit a new playground, to see if the Zebra Finches would dive bomb them into submission and remind them of their "NKITA" (new kids in the Aviary) position in the pecking order. After all, I saw the male Zebra Finches buzz around the Owl Finches and I looked on helplessly as we saw Mr. and Mrs. Owl Finch have to endure the "not so welcome" to the neighborhood. For the first week or so, I'm pretty sure the Owls only ate after the lights were off to avoid the incessant harassment. Hundreds of times a day I would walk by and see the male Zebras bobbing and weaving circles around the timid Owl Finches, serving notice that, while membership may have it's privileges and even though everyone knows Owl Finches are way more exotic than Zebra Finches, the ticket to avian acceptance was not so easily earned.
So of course I was a little giddy and apprehensive as my two new "kids" flew in the aviary front door, hoping for safe passage and a minimum of flying feathers. I even tried to occupy the established residents with about 30 of the 1000 count meal worms that arrived the same day as the Orange Beaks joined our family. Maybe the old-timers wouldn't notice the newcomers if they were scarfing up everyone's favorite form of protein - MEALWORMS! Tell the truth, how many of you were thinking of "Ensure"?
You can just imagine how my aviary anxiety was turned to avian admiration when I saw Julianna and Nicholas fly in and take their perch, FRONT AND CENTER BABY, diving right into the bowl containing the squiggly, slimy meal worms - served up in a piece from my wedding china collection - the first time my wedding china was ever used, which will tell you that I am nothing close to a cook. I KNEW that someday I would find a use for that Noritake I registered for and own 8 place settings of - never understanding that it would take almost 25 years before it would come in handy as a feeding dish for the birds. A reminder that everything, even dusty old, forgotten wedding china, has a purpose. :-) Call me crazy, and more than a few people have, but the simple, yet elegant "Tahoe" pattern make the mealworms look extra tasty.
That crazy pair came in strutting their stuff, kicking tail feathers and taking names. You could just imagine what was really being communicated in their chirps - Here's what I overheard about an hour after the flight landed...
"Wow Julianna - that looks like a lovely Tuscany nest - doesn't it look like a great place for us to settle in?".
"It does, Nicholas, so what if there are 3 zebra finch babies being fed and nurtured in there, who are not quite ready to leave the nest - let's call the Realtor and move in STAT! Tell those babies it's fall or fly time, kiddo!".
"Get Martha Stewart on speed dial, good thing she's no longer a jail bird! It's time to decorate!".
"Two words, Nicholas. Think Pink!"
I swear, it sounded a lot like that. I have never seen Zebra Finches back away or back down but let's just say they retreated to their corners and watched - beaks wide open, feathers puffed out in an attempt to look bigger than they really are. The Orange-cheeks were so not impressed. You have to admire that.
Three days later and it's "Home, Sweet, Home". Interestingly, they have befriended the Owl Finch couple and, though it may simply be my overactive imagination, the Owls seem to behave as if they are more settled with the introduction of the newcomers. Before Friday, they still seemed to behave as if they were intruders. I think the Zebras have been told to Zip It! There's a new pecking order and (O)range comes before (Z)ebra. Get it? Got it? Good!
The only problem I can see is that it's so interesting and animated in the aviary, I am spending way too much time watching the birds and too little time writing and figuring out how to sell more work to buy more birdseed and meal worms. This is way better than The National Geographic Channel. Even my four cats seem to sense a change in the line-up.
Can nest-building be far behind? I'll keep you posted...
I think I'm going to have to petition Mr. Terry Banana-Picklus for two wish bracelets for his grandbirds. :-)
I wonder if they'll start chirping with that signature "eh" and singing "Oh Canada!"?
It has been my experience and observation that most new introductees into an aviary, fly in quite timidly and keep to themselves. Newcomers try and hide in a corner or appear unobtrusive in a ficus tree or fern, to scope out the scene and see whether the other inhabitants are friendly fowl or scowl fowl.
I know the two Owl Finches I received as a birthday present, were shy, quiet and tried really hard to "blend in" and stay out of the way, even going so far as to wait and eat after the resident zebra finches, who had been in the aviary for a full six weeks, plucked the best, tastiest, juciest meal worms. The Owl Finches wanted acceptance and clearly they didn't want to "ruffle any feathers". Only in the past couple of weeks have the Owl Finches acted as if they had passed their feathery "hazing" by the Zebra Finch Fraternity.
But these two new Orange-Cheeked Waxbills? Timid? Unobtrusive? Backward? Shy?
Four words: I DON'T THINK SO!
When Dan introduced our latest celebrity acquisitions to the aviary this past Friday Afternoon, these two birds flew in and acted as if THEY were the owners of the aviary, not simply the new kids in the flock! They flew in the face of each "old-timer" as if to say, "We're here! Let the party and games begin!". I mean, it was as if they were letting everyone, bird and human, know in no uncertain terms that they, by virtue of being the most colorful, showy and expensive, were the very reason this Aviary came into existence in the first place!
How in the world could we NOT name these two feathery, fun, mirth-makers of mischief JULIANNA BANANA and NICHOLAS PICKLUS?
After they made their maiden flight into their new home, I hovered, as all parents do when their kids visit a new playground, to see if the Zebra Finches would dive bomb them into submission and remind them of their "NKITA" (new kids in the Aviary) position in the pecking order. After all, I saw the male Zebra Finches buzz around the Owl Finches and I looked on helplessly as we saw Mr. and Mrs. Owl Finch have to endure the "not so welcome" to the neighborhood. For the first week or so, I'm pretty sure the Owls only ate after the lights were off to avoid the incessant harassment. Hundreds of times a day I would walk by and see the male Zebras bobbing and weaving circles around the timid Owl Finches, serving notice that, while membership may have it's privileges and even though everyone knows Owl Finches are way more exotic than Zebra Finches, the ticket to avian acceptance was not so easily earned.
So of course I was a little giddy and apprehensive as my two new "kids" flew in the aviary front door, hoping for safe passage and a minimum of flying feathers. I even tried to occupy the established residents with about 30 of the 1000 count meal worms that arrived the same day as the Orange Beaks joined our family. Maybe the old-timers wouldn't notice the newcomers if they were scarfing up everyone's favorite form of protein - MEALWORMS! Tell the truth, how many of you were thinking of "Ensure"?
You can just imagine how my aviary anxiety was turned to avian admiration when I saw Julianna and Nicholas fly in and take their perch, FRONT AND CENTER BABY, diving right into the bowl containing the squiggly, slimy meal worms - served up in a piece from my wedding china collection - the first time my wedding china was ever used, which will tell you that I am nothing close to a cook. I KNEW that someday I would find a use for that Noritake I registered for and own 8 place settings of - never understanding that it would take almost 25 years before it would come in handy as a feeding dish for the birds. A reminder that everything, even dusty old, forgotten wedding china, has a purpose. :-) Call me crazy, and more than a few people have, but the simple, yet elegant "Tahoe" pattern make the mealworms look extra tasty.
That crazy pair came in strutting their stuff, kicking tail feathers and taking names. You could just imagine what was really being communicated in their chirps - Here's what I overheard about an hour after the flight landed...
"Wow Julianna - that looks like a lovely Tuscany nest - doesn't it look like a great place for us to settle in?".
"It does, Nicholas, so what if there are 3 zebra finch babies being fed and nurtured in there, who are not quite ready to leave the nest - let's call the Realtor and move in STAT! Tell those babies it's fall or fly time, kiddo!".
"Get Martha Stewart on speed dial, good thing she's no longer a jail bird! It's time to decorate!".
"Two words, Nicholas. Think Pink!"
I swear, it sounded a lot like that. I have never seen Zebra Finches back away or back down but let's just say they retreated to their corners and watched - beaks wide open, feathers puffed out in an attempt to look bigger than they really are. The Orange-cheeks were so not impressed. You have to admire that.
Three days later and it's "Home, Sweet, Home". Interestingly, they have befriended the Owl Finch couple and, though it may simply be my overactive imagination, the Owls seem to behave as if they are more settled with the introduction of the newcomers. Before Friday, they still seemed to behave as if they were intruders. I think the Zebras have been told to Zip It! There's a new pecking order and (O)range comes before (Z)ebra. Get it? Got it? Good!
The only problem I can see is that it's so interesting and animated in the aviary, I am spending way too much time watching the birds and too little time writing and figuring out how to sell more work to buy more birdseed and meal worms. This is way better than The National Geographic Channel. Even my four cats seem to sense a change in the line-up.
Can nest-building be far behind? I'll keep you posted...
I think I'm going to have to petition Mr. Terry Banana-Picklus for two wish bracelets for his grandbirds. :-)
I wonder if they'll start chirping with that signature "eh" and singing "Oh Canada!"?
08 April 2005
It's About The Blessings - And Pink Wish Bracelets
"Love is like infinity: You can't have more or less infinity, and you can't compare two things to see if they're "equally infinite." Infinity just is, and that's the way I think love is, too." ~ Fred Rogers, taken from "The World According To Mister Rogers - Important Things To Remember".
I've been following the progress of a very special young lady who hails from "The Great Far North". I had been perusing some websites, trying to find some inspiration for a newspaper column that, almost five years later, still refuses to write itself. Sometimes, that is a wonderful license to catch a wave and surf the Internet, all under the guise of "research", in the most loose definition of the word.
One day while I was doing some "research", I happened upon the website of someone named "Julianna Banana". The name instantly drew me in, but it's the content, the style in which it is written - from Julianna's perspective even though the hands on the keyboard belong to her father Terry, is what keeps me coming back. Since the day I stumbled upon Miss Julianna, I have been a faithful follower and her little spot on the web instantly became one of my most favorite places.
Julianna has "sick blood" or, as those folks in white coats tend to refer to it, acute lymphoblastic leukemia, standard risk, pre-B. It's just easier to say "sick blood" but that doesn't make the treatment any easier to handle. It's tough stuff, this sick blood, but Julianna is a ray of sunshine that cancer is incapable of casting a shadow upon and it's the inimitable spirit of her family, the determination, attitude and oh yes, the irreverent sense of humor that makes this these folks the kind of people that you would want to know.
I've never failed to leave Julianna's website without reading something that inspired a smile, respect and most of the time an audible giggle. I've also dropped a few tears, because for all of the humor and spirit, there is a poignancy that reminds all of us who follow her life, of just how fragile each of us truly are.
In her book, "It's Always Something", Gilda Radner wrote that "cancer is just about the most unfunny thing in the world", and Gilda felt that it needed someone to come in and lighten things up. Julianna and her family must have heard that. This family doesn't simply "endure" life, they do exactly what we're all supposed to do - they LIVE it. With GUSTO! Even when those curve balls come at us from so many unexpected and, at times, unwelcome directions, it's still worth the price of a ticket. Although life can be messy, there's still a lot of fun to be had, chores to do, birthdays, Thanksgiving (Canada Style!), Halloween!, Christmas, Valentine's Day and of course, the Josephson Family Favorite - April Fools Day!
As I have written about previously, I recently received an aviary and it is now home to four zebra finches (2 couples - married with children), a pair of Owl Finches (married and trying to have children) and this weekend, we will be adding a pair of rowdy, rambunctious orange-cheeked wax bills. We've named the first members of our avian family after close friends and people we admire, so when it came time to think of names for our newest acquisitions, there were only two clear choices: Julianna Banana and Nicholas Picklus!
Yesterday, I wrote Terry (Julianna's personal assistant/typist/legal advisor/public relations contact/father) seeking permission to name my common birds after his celebrity kids. After a long, protracted conference with his dazzling daughter and savvy son, they kindly granted permission for us to use their names, with the stipulation that they would in no way be obligated to care for, clean, feed or even look at bird droppings and that any untoward behavior our new birds might exhibit could not be traced back to who we were naming them after.
The list went on and on, but after reading 30 minutes of the contract their people sent my people, well, I kind of fell asleep. I think there was something in there about royalties, Oprah guest shots, scheduling guest appearances for the kids...I mean birds, on David Letterman's "Stupid Pet Tricks" segment...It was kind of complicated and I am, lest we forget, a blond of very little brain. To be honest, the contract began looking very much like a proposed script for "Legally Blond 3 - More Pranks - More Peroxide!". I kind of got a little suspicious when the E-mail arrived in Pink. It could be a coincidence, but I'm thinking not.
Last night, before turning in, I checked Julianna's website, as I usually do to collect my smile for the day, and Julianna's rep (her father Terry), granted me permission to reprint his post in it's entirety: It's best viewed in Pink-vision.
Reprinted With Permission From Julianna's Website: Thursday, 7 April, 2005
I've been following the progress of a very special young lady who hails from "The Great Far North". I had been perusing some websites, trying to find some inspiration for a newspaper column that, almost five years later, still refuses to write itself. Sometimes, that is a wonderful license to catch a wave and surf the Internet, all under the guise of "research", in the most loose definition of the word.
One day while I was doing some "research", I happened upon the website of someone named "Julianna Banana". The name instantly drew me in, but it's the content, the style in which it is written - from Julianna's perspective even though the hands on the keyboard belong to her father Terry, is what keeps me coming back. Since the day I stumbled upon Miss Julianna, I have been a faithful follower and her little spot on the web instantly became one of my most favorite places.
Julianna has "sick blood" or, as those folks in white coats tend to refer to it, acute lymphoblastic leukemia, standard risk, pre-B. It's just easier to say "sick blood" but that doesn't make the treatment any easier to handle. It's tough stuff, this sick blood, but Julianna is a ray of sunshine that cancer is incapable of casting a shadow upon and it's the inimitable spirit of her family, the determination, attitude and oh yes, the irreverent sense of humor that makes this these folks the kind of people that you would want to know.
I've never failed to leave Julianna's website without reading something that inspired a smile, respect and most of the time an audible giggle. I've also dropped a few tears, because for all of the humor and spirit, there is a poignancy that reminds all of us who follow her life, of just how fragile each of us truly are.
In her book, "It's Always Something", Gilda Radner wrote that "cancer is just about the most unfunny thing in the world", and Gilda felt that it needed someone to come in and lighten things up. Julianna and her family must have heard that. This family doesn't simply "endure" life, they do exactly what we're all supposed to do - they LIVE it. With GUSTO! Even when those curve balls come at us from so many unexpected and, at times, unwelcome directions, it's still worth the price of a ticket. Although life can be messy, there's still a lot of fun to be had, chores to do, birthdays, Thanksgiving (Canada Style!), Halloween!, Christmas, Valentine's Day and of course, the Josephson Family Favorite - April Fools Day!
As I have written about previously, I recently received an aviary and it is now home to four zebra finches (2 couples - married with children), a pair of Owl Finches (married and trying to have children) and this weekend, we will be adding a pair of rowdy, rambunctious orange-cheeked wax bills. We've named the first members of our avian family after close friends and people we admire, so when it came time to think of names for our newest acquisitions, there were only two clear choices: Julianna Banana and Nicholas Picklus!
Yesterday, I wrote Terry (Julianna's personal assistant/typist/legal advisor/public relations contact/father) seeking permission to name my common birds after his celebrity kids. After a long, protracted conference with his dazzling daughter and savvy son, they kindly granted permission for us to use their names, with the stipulation that they would in no way be obligated to care for, clean, feed or even look at bird droppings and that any untoward behavior our new birds might exhibit could not be traced back to who we were naming them after.
The list went on and on, but after reading 30 minutes of the contract their people sent my people, well, I kind of fell asleep. I think there was something in there about royalties, Oprah guest shots, scheduling guest appearances for the kids...I mean birds, on David Letterman's "Stupid Pet Tricks" segment...It was kind of complicated and I am, lest we forget, a blond of very little brain. To be honest, the contract began looking very much like a proposed script for "Legally Blond 3 - More Pranks - More Peroxide!". I kind of got a little suspicious when the E-mail arrived in Pink. It could be a coincidence, but I'm thinking not.
Last night, before turning in, I checked Julianna's website, as I usually do to collect my smile for the day, and Julianna's rep (her father Terry), granted me permission to reprint his post in it's entirety: It's best viewed in Pink-vision.
Reprinted With Permission From Julianna's Website: Thursday, 7 April, 2005
Thursday, April 7, 2005 - Fruit, Finches & Texas
When you have cancer, there are so, so many things that just seem wrong and unfair about life. I didn’t need to actually get cancer to figure that one out. But in some ways, I think that I DID need to get cancer to realize that there are so, so many other things that are just plain wonderful about life! So, so many things I have come to appreciate thanks to my trials and tribulations over the last year and a half. It’s pretty ironic how you have to fall so low in order to see to high. Today is just one of those days that I can’t keep all these things that I have become grateful for all to myself, and for fear of bursting, I’m just going to have to share some of them with you.
Today, I am grateful for the Great State of Texas!
I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but I’m going there one day. I’m actually grateful for a whole bunch of different places around the world that are just full of compassionate people. But today, I tip my Disney princesses hat to the kind-hearted folks of the lone star state. I got a pleasant surprise in the mail from there the other day. It was the audio version ‘Too Pooped To Pop,” the awesome children’s book written by The Drama Queen herelf, Samantha Pinder and her talented dad (Hint: if you follow Samantha’s link, you can get the book for yourself!). William Dufris and Red Sox great Johnny Damon’s future girlfriend Emily gave their time and expertise to take that fantastic book and bring it to audio life. And man oh man oh MAN, did William and Emily ever do a wonderful job!!! Seriously, I've heard more than my fair share of books on tape, and the job they did was absolutely top notch.
On the weekend, when things were surprisingly quiet on the banana front, dad put the audio book on for me and my stinky brother. While we were listening, dad was puttering around in the kitchen doing the dishes. He was concentrating in on the CD, so he didn't notice me sneak up on him. I pulled on his leg, looked up at him with my too-cute little brown eyes and said "Daaaad...I have cancer too." That was the very first time that I actually connected me being sick with the ‘c’ word to him before…and he did all he could not to cry. That understanding, that moment, that father-daughter connection never would have happened if not for a father-daughter writing team in Texas, a father-daughter audio production team in Maine, and the caring human spirit.
Today, I am grateful for kick-tushie counts!
Yup, I had clinic on Tuesday, and my counts keep rocking on (everybody, please look around you, find some wood and touch it for me, ok?).
Today, I am grateful for baby zebra finches!
Susie from the must-read ‘Susie Writes’ blog writes…Since he installed this aviary (my Christmas present last year), we have now had two generations of new baby zebra finches. I am pleased and proud to announce that, after waiting the appropriate amount of time to see if they were male or female and, fortunately for us, we have one of each, we have decided to name our new wax bill acquisitions - Julianna Banana and Nicholas Picklus! We decided to name the waxbills after your celebrity daughter and son because these waxbills are easily the most colorful of our new birds to date. Plus, the pet store manager told us they
were rambunctious, rowdy, had tons of personality and didn't take static from the other birds.
Did you hear that, Cathie? BIRDS!! Toooo cooool, baby! I hope you’re all bird lovers, because those birds are going to grow up on this website. Susie, make sure you name the stinkier bird after Nicholas.
Oh, did I mention that Suzie writes a newspaper column called “Single…With Children” for (among other) a newspaper in Amarillo, TEXAS?
Today, I am grateful for fruit, vegetables and Nonna’s home made soup!
Man, was my tummy ever sore this morning. It was bad enough that I had “The Bucket” by my little nappy spot. I thought that I was sick, but my ever-instinctive Nonna knew better. With a little TLC, the right foods, and a trip to the potty later, and I was feeling much, much better! Thank you Nonna, you always know just what to do.
Today, I am grateful for my Auntie Tammy’s aching hands!
As you probably already know, April is cancer Awareness Month (oooh man, I came this close to capitalizing the ‘c’ word…shame on me!). A reporter from my home-away-from-home, Brandon, Manitoba, chose to do a story for cancer Awareness Month on my Auntie Tammy and all those calluses and blisters that she gets from making and mailing out my Pink Wish Bracelets for me. I can’t think of a more deserving person to interview! Manitobans, you can hear it on the CBC radio news this Sunday, AM and FM (at least I THINK it’s just here in Manitoba).
Today, I am grateful for you!
My family is truly blessed to have wonderful support as we try to be ordinary through my extraordinary circumstances. I regret that I do not take the time to properly acknowledge everyone who DOES take the time to sign my guestbook, drop me an email, wear a bracelet of support for me, or even send me something in the mail. You carry me, people, and I wish I had my act together enough to return that favour to the extent that I should. You’re the ones walking the walk that I aspire too, and I’m the one sitting here soaking up the benefits from it…and there’s something quite fair about that to me. Am I any more or any less deserving of all this love than any other child fighting for a future? Not really. I’m just Julianna Banana, 4 years old from Winnipeg, Canada. And I have one rich karma account, and that is thanks to you. I’m not sure how or when I am going to be able to unleash some of that good karma back to you, but we’re a pretty schemey crew, we WILL find a way when my life isn’t so crazy. Until then, I just want you all to know how much I appreciate you all being there for me, my stinky brother and my parents! When I say “luv”, I really mean “love”.
Luv,
Julianna Banana
P.S. – Thanks for the beautiful song, Andrea! In case you are interested, the song is called “Your Little Girl” by Courtney C. Patty. And you guessed it, Andrea is from the Pflugerville suburb of Austin, TEXAS.
This might be a great time for you to see if you are "Pink Wish Bracelet" material and if you qualify for membership in the S.S.P.W.B.S or "Spwubba-wubba", as we members in good standing refer to it. Should you find yourself accepted, you could find yourself posted on the super cool "PINK WALL OF FAME!" Just imagine adding that to your resume and tell me you won't find yourself on the fast track! To be honest, many people ask about my Pink Wish Bracelet and I'm pretty darn proud to say I haven't taken it off since my own Wall of Fame Induction last July. Each bracelet is a little different and mine has the word "Love" on the beads. Fortunately, I've found that anything bearing the word "love", seems to enhance and make better just about anything I wear. :-)
Check back tomorrow for the first photos of our newest aviary add-ons - who will be known as Julianna Banana and Nicholas Picklus! Proceeds from any offspring produced will be donated to the "Friends of Julianna Banana". Let us hope my new birds go forth and multiply!
Today, I am grateful for the Great State of Texas!
I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but I’m going there one day. I’m actually grateful for a whole bunch of different places around the world that are just full of compassionate people. But today, I tip my Disney princesses hat to the kind-hearted folks of the lone star state. I got a pleasant surprise in the mail from there the other day. It was the audio version ‘Too Pooped To Pop,” the awesome children’s book written by The Drama Queen herelf, Samantha Pinder and her talented dad (Hint: if you follow Samantha’s link, you can get the book for yourself!). William Dufris and Red Sox great Johnny Damon’s future girlfriend Emily gave their time and expertise to take that fantastic book and bring it to audio life. And man oh man oh MAN, did William and Emily ever do a wonderful job!!! Seriously, I've heard more than my fair share of books on tape, and the job they did was absolutely top notch.
On the weekend, when things were surprisingly quiet on the banana front, dad put the audio book on for me and my stinky brother. While we were listening, dad was puttering around in the kitchen doing the dishes. He was concentrating in on the CD, so he didn't notice me sneak up on him. I pulled on his leg, looked up at him with my too-cute little brown eyes and said "Daaaad...I have cancer too." That was the very first time that I actually connected me being sick with the ‘c’ word to him before…and he did all he could not to cry. That understanding, that moment, that father-daughter connection never would have happened if not for a father-daughter writing team in Texas, a father-daughter audio production team in Maine, and the caring human spirit.
Today, I am grateful for kick-tushie counts!
Yup, I had clinic on Tuesday, and my counts keep rocking on (everybody, please look around you, find some wood and touch it for me, ok?).
Today, I am grateful for baby zebra finches!
Susie from the must-read ‘Susie Writes’ blog writes…Since he installed this aviary (my Christmas present last year), we have now had two generations of new baby zebra finches. I am pleased and proud to announce that, after waiting the appropriate amount of time to see if they were male or female and, fortunately for us, we have one of each, we have decided to name our new wax bill acquisitions
Did you hear that, Cathie? BIRDS!! Toooo cooool, baby! I hope you’re all bird lovers, because those birds are going to grow up on this website. Susie, make sure you name the stinkier bird after Nicholas.
Oh, did I mention that Suzie writes a newspaper column called “Single…With Children” for (among other) a newspaper in Amarillo, TEXAS?
Today, I am grateful for fruit, vegetables and Nonna’s home made soup!
Man, was my tummy ever sore this morning. It was bad enough that I had “The Bucket” by my little nappy spot. I thought that I was sick, but my ever-instinctive Nonna knew better. With a little TLC, the right foods, and a trip to the potty later, and I was feeling much, much better! Thank you Nonna, you always know just what to do.
Today, I am grateful for my Auntie Tammy’s aching hands!
As you probably already know, April is cancer Awareness Month (oooh man, I came this close to capitalizing the ‘c’ word…shame on me!). A reporter from my home-away-from-home, Brandon, Manitoba, chose to do a story for cancer Awareness Month on my Auntie Tammy and all those calluses and blisters that she gets from making and mailing out my Pink Wish Bracelets for me. I can’t think of a more deserving person to interview! Manitobans, you can hear it on the CBC radio news this Sunday, AM and FM (at least I THINK it’s just here in Manitoba).
Today, I am grateful for you!
My family is truly blessed to have wonderful support as we try to be ordinary through my extraordinary circumstances. I regret that I do not take the time to properly acknowledge everyone who DOES take the time to sign my guestbook, drop me an email, wear a bracelet of support for me, or even send me something in the mail. You carry me, people, and I wish I had my act together enough to return that favour to the extent that I should. You’re the ones walking the walk that I aspire too, and I’m the one sitting here soaking up the benefits from it…and there’s something quite fair about that to me. Am I any more or any less deserving of all this love than any other child fighting for a future? Not really. I’m just Julianna Banana, 4 years old from Winnipeg, Canada. And I have one rich karma account, and that is thanks to you. I’m not sure how or when I am going to be able to unleash some of that good karma back to you, but we’re a pretty schemey crew, we WILL find a way when my life isn’t so crazy. Until then, I just want you all to know how much I appreciate you all being there for me, my stinky brother and my parents! When I say “luv”, I really mean “love”.
Luv,
Julianna Banana
P.S. – Thanks for the beautiful song, Andrea! In case you are interested, the song is called “Your Little Girl” by Courtney C. Patty. And you guessed it, Andrea is from the Pflugerville suburb of Austin, TEXAS.
This might be a great time for you to see if you are "Pink Wish Bracelet" material and if you qualify for membership in the S.S.P.W.B.S or "Spwubba-wubba", as we members in good standing refer to it. Should you find yourself accepted, you could find yourself posted on the super cool "PINK WALL OF FAME!" Just imagine adding that to your resume and tell me you won't find yourself on the fast track! To be honest, many people ask about my Pink Wish Bracelet and I'm pretty darn proud to say I haven't taken it off since my own Wall of Fame Induction last July. Each bracelet is a little different and mine has the word "Love" on the beads. Fortunately, I've found that anything bearing the word "love", seems to enhance and make better just about anything I wear. :-)
Check back tomorrow for the first photos of our newest aviary add-ons - who will be known as Julianna Banana and Nicholas Picklus! Proceeds from any offspring produced will be donated to the "Friends of Julianna Banana". Let us hope my new birds go forth and multiply!
31 March 2005
"A New World Came Into View..."
"Either God is everything or else He is nothing. God either is, or He isn't. What was our choice to be?" Page 53, The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous
"But without Faith, it is impossible to please Him: for he cometh to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of them that diligently seek Him." Hebrews 11:6
Have you ever noticed how important we suddenly find the notion of growing closer to God when we're scared, confused, uncertain and basically more clueless than usual? I know I have. When I think of how many "God thoughts" I've had in the past two weeks, how often and urgently my mind has chased after my Higher Power, (even though I've always been the one doing the running away), I can't help but compare it to sidling up next to someone that's always been around, but has kind of gone unnoticed, until it is determined that the formerly overlooked person can do me a huge favor. I think it's one of my less endearing human traits. You know, the kind of person who says, "You are my new best friend!". Mostly because they want something.
I can't make the claim that everyone I know operates like me, because I know many people who keep the connection to God open and, unlike my Road Runner Internet Connection, these folks seem to stay "online" with God, regardless of what's going on in their lives. I want to be more like those people.
I wonder if God looks at me like that? Does He notice how much more attentive I am to His Will, His direction, when things get a little too rough for me to handle? And if He does notice this and, why wouldn't He, He is God, after all, it only stands to reason that God surely must notice how I slink away when the events of my life start going my way and I don't find myself in dire straits or uncomfortably tight spots. If that doesn't escape my attention, I'm quite sure it doesn't fly over God's head. From what I can tell, He has a reputation for being pretty sharp.
These past two weeks have been among the most challenging of my entire life. Challenging must not be confused with horrible or unbearable. There have been moments when I have felt both of those things, but there have been just as many, if not more, moments when I have felt myself stronger than I previously believed myself capable. I am walking through something that is testing me, and if I turn the control of the outcome where it belongs, which is in God's Hands, I will most certainly emerge on the other side intact. The funniest thing is that all of the previous times when I have worked so hard to "control" things, to be so "hands on", it was all such wasted energy because I have never had the power to honestly control anything or anyone, other than my own behavior. God truly knows I have my hands full simply keeping me in check.
These past two weeks have found me working very hard at "letting go" and giving the outcome up to "a power much greater than myself". I have felt pain and there's a reason for that. Pain is such a dependable motivator and it's a very effective way of eliciting my attention. I do feel as if I am growing and growth, by it's very definition, involves change and stretching; stretching sometimes hurts, but it is necessary because this human being/Single Mom/daughter/recovering alcoholic is very obstinate (kinder, gentler way of saying stubborn).
One of the most amazing things to me is that, even in the midst of personal turmoil and chaos, life does go on and when the self-centered part of me thinks that unexpected and unwelcome events in my life should trigger a sudden halt in the rotation of the earth, thankfully, it does not. The world keeps right on spinning and I have to spin right along with it. I must remember that I can't fight gravity or potent centrifugal forces, and I certainly can't stop the passage of time. If I remember my limits, there is a comfort to be found in the fact that I have those limits and constraints and that my power is nil. As I have witnessed both personally and through observation in AA, the admission of powerlessness invites protection.
Children need the protection of limits and boundaries set forth by their parents. As a child of God, I know for a fact that I need the same protection and boundaries. When I give thanks for the gifts God gives me, I need to remember to say extra thanks for not granting many of the requests that I "think" I need. If I had been given everything I asked for or wanted, I would be in terrible shape.
This past Easter Sunday, I had the immense honor of chairing my very first AA meeting which was held at the Wilmington Hilton as part of the week-end long conference of EACYPAA (Eastern Area Conference of Young People in AA). I had made a commitment to chair the final meeting of the conference and the final meeting was to be held at 7:00 AM, Sunday Morning. I woke up at 6:24 AM. YIKES! I tossed on some clothes, ran my hands through my hair, managed to brush my teeth and off we ran, arriving at about 4 minutes past 7:00.
I immediately bumped into the very kind man who had enlisted me to take on this duty, and then I did what I do best - well, that is to say that I tried to do what I used to do best; I told him my friend would be taking over for me because I just didn't think I was ready. This gentleman, for whom I was already nursing a resentment because he had just returned from skiing (and a business trip) to Italy, would have none of my protestations. He just squeezed my hand and said, "Susie, we'll be here for you - we're your support group!". I know that his intention was to make me feel more confident, but I felt hopelessly inept. What I wanted to do was shake some sense into him by telling him that I make a GREAT audience, but I'm a really lousy leader.
Can you feel how overwhelmed and underprepared I was? What was with this guy? He looked intelligent and was pretty wide awake for such an obscene hour of the morning, but he didn't quite get it. So what if I changed my mind about chairing a meeting? No worries, I was offering up a very seasoned pinch hitter. It's not like this was any skin off his nose.
I forgot the one thing I noticed back in January 2004 when I joined this elite organization; AA people are an extremely hard-headed lot. This must be why I immediately felt at home when I walked into my first AA meeting. These were MY people, and I love them, except when they don't take "No, I changed my mind" for an answer. Totally exasperating.
As I was making what I personally thought was a fairly strong case for post-poning my first chairpersonship, I was being lead by the hand to the front table by the nice man who had just returned from Italy under the thinly-veiled guise of "business trip", and basically told to sit down and start the Serenity Prayer already. I realized that, either way, I was screwed. I could stay up there and clumsily lead an Open Discussion meeting, in front of people from several different states, or I could just stand up and walk out which wasn't really a good choice at all because, though I might never see most of the folks in that meeting again, I would still have to face the people I see at practically every meeting I attend and the thing of it is, I really respect and care a lot about them' Then, of course, the whole "you should never decline a request made for the good of AA" thing kept playing in my subconscious and, well, I reluctantly made the only viable choice I could. I invited everyone to join me in saying The Serenity Prayer.
I don't know why I thought I might not be able to handle this because I can practically recite every component of an AA meeting in my sleep by rote. Every meeting begins the same way and ends the same way, the only difference being what happens in between those two points, and what usually occurs in the "body" of any given AA meeting can only be labeled magic. Even when I am distracted and only passively listening, I usually manage to come away feeling much stronger than I felt when I went in. It never fails.
Being the last-minute, fly by the seat of my pants, messy haired blond that I am, I hadn't given the first thought to a topic because I was sure I wouldn't need one, given that I was supposed to back out of fulfilling this obligation in the first place. Now I was front and center and I needed a TOPIC! I hadn't even had a sip of coffee, which meant I was running on fumes. My friend, the one I planned to cajole into taking my turn at chairing, had taken off down the hall to fetch us a cup and he certainly was taking his time to return.
I looked around the room at these young men and one young lady and couldn't believe they were attending a meeting at 7 in the morning, and looked quite happy to be there, completely unaware that they were part of my extremely shaky AA chairing debut, so I figured someone in this rather Zen looking group might have something in mind in terms of a topic. At least I was hoping.
Of course, I got an immediate offering and it was so dead-on perfect, delivered in a sweet Boston accent belonging to a young man I had chatted with briefly before things got started and I was still fighting to get out of chairing. He had heard this was my first "at bat" and he must have felt my pain, so he posed a topic and asked us to share what our Higher Power had done for us in the past year? OK, so my first thought was - My Higher Power sure didn't help me get out of this situation so I won't be sharing about that little miracle that didn't take place, but to be honest, the question hit intimately close to home.
I've been to a few meetings where the clock is the only sound to be heard as we have waited for someone to share something. I hate those long, awkward silences and while it's never been my business to fill them, I dearly hoped we wouldn't spend the next 50 minutes looking at each other and shifting nervously in our seats, minds racing for something to offer that might touch the topic. As it turned out, I had nothing to fear at all.
I wasn't the only one who loved the topic and just like a prairie fire spreading across the beautiful High Plains of West Texas, folks began speaking of their own "experience, strength and hope...". I don't think more than five seconds passed between voices and then I made the most astonishing realization; It wasn't about me at all. It never was. Once again, those well-oiled AA gears started turning and something wonderful and inexplicable was being presented to me. Another offering of unmerited grace.
I listened intently, most of the time with genuine wide-eyed interest and awe, as each person spoke of how the "God of their understanding" had done for him/her what s/he couldn't do for him/herself. I heard so much wisdom, openness and most of all gratitude, as each and every single participant reconfirmed for me what I inherently knew to be true, but so easily forget, about God truly being the only One with anything resembling control. Though each story was different, the same thread was present and so easily discernible. I love thinking of it as "uniquely universal experiences" which may sound like an oxymoron, but it isn't really at all.
Story after story, I quietly realized that each of us had traveled a different path to arrive at a 7:00 AM AA meeting, in downtown Wilmington, on a very rainy, gray Easter Morning drinking really rancid coffee. I'd be willing to say that most of us felt profoundly blessed to have had some defining moment that changed our course and gave us the opportunity to head in a much better direction and last Sunday Morning, for me, that direction lead me to a conference room with a group of young strangers that I had more in common with than many of the friends I have who I have known for years.
Not only did these conference attendees give me the gift of their experiences, but they reminded me of something I desperately needed to understand; Not one person in that room just woke-up one day and decided to become spiritually-centered and live a different, more positive life; We had to walk (sometimes crawl) through some pretty scary situations, literally get brought to our knees and pretty much out of options, in order to focus on the ONE that would offer us a course correction toward a much better destination. Maybe we just needed to find the path to our own personal "Ithaka". Fortunately, Bill W. discovered the map and blazed that trail back in 1935, shared it with Dr. Bob in Akron, who refined it and helped keep it real, and 69 years later, over 2 million of us are all the better for it.
After recovering from the terror of chairing a meeting to being a small part of a wonderful experience among some very special people, I felt a lot of peace and so much optimism. I wondered how many of those kids' parents knew where their offspring were that morning. I hope they did and I hope they were somehow able to let them know how very proud they were of the way these people from all over the East Coast, had turned things around and who they were growing into being. I know I felt quite honored to be in their company.
I even managed to clear up that resentment toward my AA buddy who talked me into chairing that meeting in the first place, but I'm still working on the Italy resentment. Time takes time...
One time I heard my sponsor share at a meeting, that when she sees people, particularly young adults, drinking way too much, she tries to find comfort in thet fact that it took every drink she tossed back to get to the point that she asked for divine assistance (and the phone number for Intergroup). When I worry about my own kids, I try and remember that thought. I hear people share that if they had been introduced to AA and sobriety one week before coming in, they wouldn't have been ready, and if they had waited one more week, they would probably have been dead. It's all about timing. You can't talk anyone into accepting this gift if they aren't at a place where they have made the realization that they not only need it, but are ready to admit the powerlessness I wrote of earlier which, by no coincidence, happens to be the first of the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous.
"But without Faith, it is impossible to please Him: for he cometh to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of them that diligently seek Him." Hebrews 11:6
Have you ever noticed how important we suddenly find the notion of growing closer to God when we're scared, confused, uncertain and basically more clueless than usual? I know I have. When I think of how many "God thoughts" I've had in the past two weeks, how often and urgently my mind has chased after my Higher Power, (even though I've always been the one doing the running away), I can't help but compare it to sidling up next to someone that's always been around, but has kind of gone unnoticed, until it is determined that the formerly overlooked person can do me a huge favor. I think it's one of my less endearing human traits. You know, the kind of person who says, "You are my new best friend!". Mostly because they want something.
I can't make the claim that everyone I know operates like me, because I know many people who keep the connection to God open and, unlike my Road Runner Internet Connection, these folks seem to stay "online" with God, regardless of what's going on in their lives. I want to be more like those people.
I wonder if God looks at me like that? Does He notice how much more attentive I am to His Will, His direction, when things get a little too rough for me to handle? And if He does notice this and, why wouldn't He, He is God, after all, it only stands to reason that God surely must notice how I slink away when the events of my life start going my way and I don't find myself in dire straits or uncomfortably tight spots. If that doesn't escape my attention, I'm quite sure it doesn't fly over God's head. From what I can tell, He has a reputation for being pretty sharp.
These past two weeks have been among the most challenging of my entire life. Challenging must not be confused with horrible or unbearable. There have been moments when I have felt both of those things, but there have been just as many, if not more, moments when I have felt myself stronger than I previously believed myself capable. I am walking through something that is testing me, and if I turn the control of the outcome where it belongs, which is in God's Hands, I will most certainly emerge on the other side intact. The funniest thing is that all of the previous times when I have worked so hard to "control" things, to be so "hands on", it was all such wasted energy because I have never had the power to honestly control anything or anyone, other than my own behavior. God truly knows I have my hands full simply keeping me in check.
These past two weeks have found me working very hard at "letting go" and giving the outcome up to "a power much greater than myself". I have felt pain and there's a reason for that. Pain is such a dependable motivator and it's a very effective way of eliciting my attention. I do feel as if I am growing and growth, by it's very definition, involves change and stretching; stretching sometimes hurts, but it is necessary because this human being/Single Mom/daughter/recovering alcoholic is very obstinate (kinder, gentler way of saying stubborn).
One of the most amazing things to me is that, even in the midst of personal turmoil and chaos, life does go on and when the self-centered part of me thinks that unexpected and unwelcome events in my life should trigger a sudden halt in the rotation of the earth, thankfully, it does not. The world keeps right on spinning and I have to spin right along with it. I must remember that I can't fight gravity or potent centrifugal forces, and I certainly can't stop the passage of time. If I remember my limits, there is a comfort to be found in the fact that I have those limits and constraints and that my power is nil. As I have witnessed both personally and through observation in AA, the admission of powerlessness invites protection.
Children need the protection of limits and boundaries set forth by their parents. As a child of God, I know for a fact that I need the same protection and boundaries. When I give thanks for the gifts God gives me, I need to remember to say extra thanks for not granting many of the requests that I "think" I need. If I had been given everything I asked for or wanted, I would be in terrible shape.
This past Easter Sunday, I had the immense honor of chairing my very first AA meeting which was held at the Wilmington Hilton as part of the week-end long conference of EACYPAA (Eastern Area Conference of Young People in AA). I had made a commitment to chair the final meeting of the conference and the final meeting was to be held at 7:00 AM, Sunday Morning. I woke up at 6:24 AM. YIKES! I tossed on some clothes, ran my hands through my hair, managed to brush my teeth and off we ran, arriving at about 4 minutes past 7:00.
I immediately bumped into the very kind man who had enlisted me to take on this duty, and then I did what I do best - well, that is to say that I tried to do what I used to do best; I told him my friend would be taking over for me because I just didn't think I was ready. This gentleman, for whom I was already nursing a resentment because he had just returned from skiing (and a business trip) to Italy, would have none of my protestations. He just squeezed my hand and said, "Susie, we'll be here for you - we're your support group!". I know that his intention was to make me feel more confident, but I felt hopelessly inept. What I wanted to do was shake some sense into him by telling him that I make a GREAT audience, but I'm a really lousy leader.
Can you feel how overwhelmed and underprepared I was? What was with this guy? He looked intelligent and was pretty wide awake for such an obscene hour of the morning, but he didn't quite get it. So what if I changed my mind about chairing a meeting? No worries, I was offering up a very seasoned pinch hitter. It's not like this was any skin off his nose.
I forgot the one thing I noticed back in January 2004 when I joined this elite organization; AA people are an extremely hard-headed lot. This must be why I immediately felt at home when I walked into my first AA meeting. These were MY people, and I love them, except when they don't take "No, I changed my mind" for an answer. Totally exasperating.
As I was making what I personally thought was a fairly strong case for post-poning my first chairpersonship, I was being lead by the hand to the front table by the nice man who had just returned from Italy under the thinly-veiled guise of "business trip", and basically told to sit down and start the Serenity Prayer already. I realized that, either way, I was screwed. I could stay up there and clumsily lead an Open Discussion meeting, in front of people from several different states, or I could just stand up and walk out which wasn't really a good choice at all because, though I might never see most of the folks in that meeting again, I would still have to face the people I see at practically every meeting I attend and the thing of it is, I really respect and care a lot about them' Then, of course, the whole "you should never decline a request made for the good of AA" thing kept playing in my subconscious and, well, I reluctantly made the only viable choice I could. I invited everyone to join me in saying The Serenity Prayer.
I don't know why I thought I might not be able to handle this because I can practically recite every component of an AA meeting in my sleep by rote. Every meeting begins the same way and ends the same way, the only difference being what happens in between those two points, and what usually occurs in the "body" of any given AA meeting can only be labeled magic. Even when I am distracted and only passively listening, I usually manage to come away feeling much stronger than I felt when I went in. It never fails.
Being the last-minute, fly by the seat of my pants, messy haired blond that I am, I hadn't given the first thought to a topic because I was sure I wouldn't need one, given that I was supposed to back out of fulfilling this obligation in the first place. Now I was front and center and I needed a TOPIC! I hadn't even had a sip of coffee, which meant I was running on fumes. My friend, the one I planned to cajole into taking my turn at chairing, had taken off down the hall to fetch us a cup and he certainly was taking his time to return.
I looked around the room at these young men and one young lady and couldn't believe they were attending a meeting at 7 in the morning, and looked quite happy to be there, completely unaware that they were part of my extremely shaky AA chairing debut, so I figured someone in this rather Zen looking group might have something in mind in terms of a topic. At least I was hoping.
Of course, I got an immediate offering and it was so dead-on perfect, delivered in a sweet Boston accent belonging to a young man I had chatted with briefly before things got started and I was still fighting to get out of chairing. He had heard this was my first "at bat" and he must have felt my pain, so he posed a topic and asked us to share what our Higher Power had done for us in the past year? OK, so my first thought was - My Higher Power sure didn't help me get out of this situation so I won't be sharing about that little miracle that didn't take place, but to be honest, the question hit intimately close to home.
I've been to a few meetings where the clock is the only sound to be heard as we have waited for someone to share something. I hate those long, awkward silences and while it's never been my business to fill them, I dearly hoped we wouldn't spend the next 50 minutes looking at each other and shifting nervously in our seats, minds racing for something to offer that might touch the topic. As it turned out, I had nothing to fear at all.
I wasn't the only one who loved the topic and just like a prairie fire spreading across the beautiful High Plains of West Texas, folks began speaking of their own "experience, strength and hope...". I don't think more than five seconds passed between voices and then I made the most astonishing realization; It wasn't about me at all. It never was. Once again, those well-oiled AA gears started turning and something wonderful and inexplicable was being presented to me. Another offering of unmerited grace.
I listened intently, most of the time with genuine wide-eyed interest and awe, as each person spoke of how the "God of their understanding" had done for him/her what s/he couldn't do for him/herself. I heard so much wisdom, openness and most of all gratitude, as each and every single participant reconfirmed for me what I inherently knew to be true, but so easily forget, about God truly being the only One with anything resembling control. Though each story was different, the same thread was present and so easily discernible. I love thinking of it as "uniquely universal experiences" which may sound like an oxymoron, but it isn't really at all.
Story after story, I quietly realized that each of us had traveled a different path to arrive at a 7:00 AM AA meeting, in downtown Wilmington, on a very rainy, gray Easter Morning drinking really rancid coffee. I'd be willing to say that most of us felt profoundly blessed to have had some defining moment that changed our course and gave us the opportunity to head in a much better direction and last Sunday Morning, for me, that direction lead me to a conference room with a group of young strangers that I had more in common with than many of the friends I have who I have known for years.
Not only did these conference attendees give me the gift of their experiences, but they reminded me of something I desperately needed to understand; Not one person in that room just woke-up one day and decided to become spiritually-centered and live a different, more positive life; We had to walk (sometimes crawl) through some pretty scary situations, literally get brought to our knees and pretty much out of options, in order to focus on the ONE that would offer us a course correction toward a much better destination. Maybe we just needed to find the path to our own personal "Ithaka". Fortunately, Bill W. discovered the map and blazed that trail back in 1935, shared it with Dr. Bob in Akron, who refined it and helped keep it real, and 69 years later, over 2 million of us are all the better for it.
After recovering from the terror of chairing a meeting to being a small part of a wonderful experience among some very special people, I felt a lot of peace and so much optimism. I wondered how many of those kids' parents knew where their offspring were that morning. I hope they did and I hope they were somehow able to let them know how very proud they were of the way these people from all over the East Coast, had turned things around and who they were growing into being. I know I felt quite honored to be in their company.
I even managed to clear up that resentment toward my AA buddy who talked me into chairing that meeting in the first place, but I'm still working on the Italy resentment. Time takes time...
One time I heard my sponsor share at a meeting, that when she sees people, particularly young adults, drinking way too much, she tries to find comfort in thet fact that it took every drink she tossed back to get to the point that she asked for divine assistance (and the phone number for Intergroup). When I worry about my own kids, I try and remember that thought. I hear people share that if they had been introduced to AA and sobriety one week before coming in, they wouldn't have been ready, and if they had waited one more week, they would probably have been dead. It's all about timing. You can't talk anyone into accepting this gift if they aren't at a place where they have made the realization that they not only need it, but are ready to admit the powerlessness I wrote of earlier which, by no coincidence, happens to be the first of the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous.
25 March 2005
My Latest Column - Published March 23, 2005
| Single With Children: Whittle down problems a day at a time Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 03/23/05 I thought I understood the notion that parenting isn't for wimps, but until this past week, I had no real clue. I've learned a few mothering techniques over the past 21 years. I know to apply kisses to skinned knees and elbows, lie in bed with a feverish youngster and watch the same video at least 17 times. I learned other things too. I respect my kids, but I am one of those parents who launches the occasional search of my kids' rooms. I am the Mom, and that affords me a lot of latitude. If my instincts tell me something isn't right, I have learned to heed those feelings. Last Friday, my instincts told me something was amiss. My son was out with his friends, so I took the opportunity to look around his room. It didn't take a lot of detective work to find some things that made my heart sink. It was one of those experiences where your eyes are delivering a report to your brain, but your heart is screaming, "REJECT!" I realize teenage years are the most tumultuous period of life any of us ever have to navigate, and I don't know too many people who would care to revisit that period. Hardly any of us breeze through those years without making a few mistakes, and sometimes mistakes can cross an invisible line and become life-threatening. I never expected my kids to whiz through post adolescence without making a few bad choices. Obviously, my son had done a little experimenting and made a questionable choice. What I found wasn't earth-shattering, nor atypical for someone his age. But it rocked my world. I gathered up the evidence and took the time to carry out six bags of trash, put fresh sheets on the bed and dust. When I get stressed or upset, I can't be still. What to do? It was apparent to my son by the condition of his room that I had made more than a passing inspection, and this was not welcome news. After his initial expression of outrage came a flood of excuses. I listened. When it was my turn to talk, I told him I appreciated the fact that this didn't disqualify him to run for president, but it was a very serious matter. "Please don't tell Dad," he said. Of course I had to tell Dad. I dreaded making the call, but I did. I didn't know how the news would be received. Would it be the perfect time to list the ways I have failed as a parent? Maybe charge me with not paying enough attention? Would he blame me for years of overindulging the kids? Fortunately, he did none of that. He expressed concern, offered no blame and within 48 hours, he flew 2,000 miles to check out the situation. I invited my kids for dinner at a specific restaurant and when we walked in, I spotted our out-of-town visitor. After the kids recovered from the shock, my former husband's impromptu visit let my son know that this was serious business. The four of us talked for an hour before ordering. We laughed and we cried. Though initially reticent, my son looked relieved. The jig was up and a lot of walls were instantly dismantled, along with the bravado. It was a productive, honest and warm dinner. Serious decisions were made because serious situations require them. Nothing was easy. A couple of people said we over-reacted to what is nothing more than a youthful rite of passage. If we did, that's just fine. Though it was a long, uncomfortable evening from where my son sat, he had to know he is loved. Everything said, every action taken, came from a deep, shared love for our son's safety and well-being. Divorce and distance didn't change our focus and devotion as parents. He wasn't pleased with the changes and reduction of privileges. He feels as if he's under a microscope. That's because he is, and will continue to be, for quite some time. Trust and credibility can be lost in a second, and it takes a long time to earn those things back, but everything is possible on the "one day at a time" plan and knowing that you are loved, even when you make those inevitable wrong turns. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at SusieWrites@ec.rr.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166.
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10 March 2005
Single...With Children - Publication Date: 9 March 2005
| Single With Children: Growing up can be fearful business for 'Twixters' Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 03/09/05 There are five new babies in my home. I have a new aviary, and just days after introducing two pair of zebra finches, they went forth, laid eggs and multiplied. And within the abbreviated span of 21 days, Mom and Dad Finch are pushing all of those juniors out of the nest! Amazing, finches accomplish in about 21 days what takes parents increasingly longer to achieve: Independent offspring who actually go out and do what they're supposed to do on a rather predictable schedule. Watching the progression from hatchling to full fledging is fascinating, and perhaps the most fascinating aspect of this avian circle of life is that around day 21, the parents begin to introduce the concept of flying and nudge those babies to try out their wings. Mom and Dad still keep an eye on things and deliver the occasional meal, but by sheer instinct, these new finches catch on to the idea that independence is not a choice, but a matter of course. Apparently they didn't catch the recent cover story in Time magazine, "They Just Won't Grow Up!" The article discusses the puzzling phenomenon of "Twixters," the term coined to describe young adults who seem to be mired in permanent adolescence and confused as to how to move forward and become full-blown adults. Perhaps these "Twixters" aren't as confused as they are reluctant to embrace all that being an adult entails. The prospect of growing up, which looks so deliciously enticing at 12 or 14 years of age, evolves into something more ominous when one reaches 21. New studies reveal that the process of leaving the human nest can take a few years and is a rubbery sort of affair with the "Twixters" bouncing back and forth between short bursts of independence and retreating to the comfort and lesser responsibilities of living at home. This transitional stage between age 18 and the late 20s isn't so transitional. Researchers cite such factors as prematurely incurred debt, courtesy of credit cards and student loans, a stiffer job market, fear of divorce, having lived through one as a child, and "so many options, so little time." Basically, it reminds me of the time I was 12 years old and wanted more than anything in the world to jump off the diving board into the scary deep end of the pool. My dad nearly sank from treading water for more than an hour, coaxing, encouraging, cajoling and promising me, if I just made that leap, I would pop up and remember how to swim, even though the water was very deep. I wanted to dive so bad that I could taste it. I could also taste the fear, and it took a lot of patience, understanding and support before I finally trusted my dad. Just like he said, I bobbed right back up and swam effortlessly to the side. He had to drag me out of the water well after dark. The thing I remember most about that small milestone is Dad never gave up on me. No matter how many times I needed to hear it, he promised me I would be just fine. Thirty-three years later, I never forget who believed in me and loved me through that scary first time. I've seen some symptoms of this "Twixter" phenomenon in my own kids. My 21-year-old daughter sometimes moves back in for a few weeks at a time and hasn't the first clue about what she wants to be "when she grows up." My 18-year-old son doesn't seem any too eager to graduate from high school and make the serious decisions that will affect a future that is getting closer by the minute. There are days when I have to remember the patience my own father demonstrated that hot, summer day back in 1972. I find this period of life my kids are navigating to be just a little confusing. Every now and then I study those finches, trying to glean some kind of feathery wisdom, wondering why my kids are so reluctant to choose a direction and try out their wings. Whether it's 21 days or 21 years, growing up is a flighty, often fearful, frustrating business, but in the end, love, encouragement and patience will carry the day. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at SusieWrites@ec.rr.com, write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166 or visit her diary at www.susiewrites.blogspot.com.
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08 March 2005
"The Child Is In Me Still...And Sometimes Not So Still." - Fred Rogers
"All my life I've been harassed by questions: Why is something that way and not another? How do you account for that? This rage to understand, to fill in the flanks, only makes life more banal. If we could only find the courage to leave our destiny to chance, to accept the fundamental mystery of our lives, then we might be closer to the sort of happiness that comes with innocence." Luis Bunuel, (1900 - 1983)
Can I ever relate to the above quote! Questions, questions and more questions! I seem to be brimming with them and even when I don't want them, wish they would just go away, leave my head alone and let me find some peace, they obstinately remain and niggle at my psyche. I have questions about everything. What I don't seem to have in abundance are answers. Those are so much more difficult to come by than queries. Curiosity may not have killed the cat, but I bet it drove him a little crazy.
I'll probably never unearth the answer to all of the questions that fight for space in this organ I affectionately refer to, on more lofty days, as my brain. Are all of my questions the sign of a healthy, active, fertile mind or are they symptomatic of a fetid, lonely and slightly troubled soul? I choose to think that it's just part of being human. Sometimes, it seems I question everything and flatly refuse to accept "I don't know" or the very Clinton-esque, "I can't recall". You know, former President Clinton seemed to be troubled by a question himself which, on the surface, seems pretty obvious to a few of us; "What is the definition of is?". At least I can take solace that I am in pretty heady company!
Of course, these never-ending questions tie into the concept of "trust", and I can be very anemic in the trust department, both of a bank and between human beings. I look at people who have trusted and have suffered emotionally disfiguring burns, more than a few times, and yet they find some way to walk through it and somehow manage to trust again. I'm not sure if I pity or envy those people. Maybe I feel a little of both?
I know that the amazing poet, Ranier Marie Rilke, advised us to "Be patient towards all that is unsolved in your heart, and learn to love the questions themselves." When I read words like that, wisdom wrapped in such beautiful, simple eloquence, I just can't help but wonder if the esteemed Rilke ever grew tired of a dearth of questions and did he ever find it difficult to muster the ability to trust? What mechanism, or magic, did he use to discern who merited his trust? Did he have a set of parameters or perhaps a super secret formula? Did Rilke have a finely-tuned "BS/Snow job" detector and, if he did, what brand was it and is this something I can find on eBay or Radio Shack? I really do have a Pay Pal Account, but it's pretty useless because I'm a little on the broke side.
I've noticed something, well, a few things in fact. I guess you don't get to be 45 years old without catching onto a thing or two. It seems as if the hardest people for me to trust are the ones who exhibit the same qualities and as me. What I find suspect in one person is usually something that I wrestle with myself. Things I abhor in others are usually characteristics I possess. So what does THAT say for me? That I hate myself? Am I caught up in some mangled mess of self-loathing? I don't think so. I have vast room for huge quantities of self-improvement and I'd be the first person to admit it, followed by a chorus of folks who know me well, vigorously nodding their head in agreement. But I don't hate myself, even though I find it harder to forgive me than I do just about anyone else. I'm very gifted at building walls. It's learning how to tear them down that I find so daunting. Is it the same for everyone?
I'm not sure where these walls come from. I'm the love child of Ward and June Cleaver. I had the obnoxious great fortune to have never heard my parents have the slightest heated argument. Voices were rarely raised in my home and when they were, it usually invoked my full name and was wholly due to something I knew better than to do, but did anyway.
My divorce wasn't particularly nasty or uncivilized, as divorces go. I mean, the term "friendly divorce" strikes me as such an oxymoron, but if you're into oxymorons, I guess you could use that one in categorizing the break-up of my marriage. The phrase "friendly divorce" always reminds me of "friendly fire". "Ooopssss, we have some collateral damage here. Sorry about that! I'm sure you'll be just fine - years from now. If the planets are in a rare alignment, the cow jumps over the moon and pigs begin to take to the sky." Friendly fire always seems to come with just such an apology.
Maybe this interpersonal relationship stuff just has to be learned, but I wonder where the classes are offered? What are the pre-requisites? Probably, it's one of those irritatingly slow and arduous "experience" deals where you just have to learn as you go through it, and mistakes will be made. Don't you just hate those things? I think the Internet has made me an "instant gratification" junkie. I want it and I want it the second I become aware that I want it. As usual, it seems like the really important lessons don't offer rapid returns, unlike suspect voting machines and H & R Block. In "The World According to Mister Rogers", he shares this story which seems to apply to just about any situation in life where trial and error are the order of the day;
"A young apprentice applied to a master carpenter for a job. The older man asked him, "Do you know your trade?" "Yes, sir!" the young man replied proudly. "Have you ever made a mistake?" the older man inquired. "No sir!" the young man answered, feeling certain eh would get the job. "There there's no way I'm going to hire you," said the master carpenter, "because when you make one, you won't know how to fix it."
There's just something about reading the above selection that gives me a lot of hope. For me and the rest of us. I'm a very "human" human being. I stumble and sometimes, I fall, but I have bootstraps and I do know what they are for and how to use them. Even on days I'd prefer not to. Here's to not making so many mistakes that things become inextricably tangled up, but making just enough mistakes to know how to make things right that invariably go wrong. Filling in all of those pesky blanks that punctuate the landscape of our lives is highly overrated. Luis Bunuel suggested that we "leave our destiny to chance, to accept the fundamental mystery of our lives, then we might be closer to the sort of happiness that comes with innocence."
Bunuel acknowledged that such a decision requires courage, and indeed I believe that it does, along with faith and a very durable trust. It does take courage to trust someone because you're essentially making yourself vulnerable. Its seems that when I am confronted with the invitation to trust, it never fails to reverberate back to me and I am forced to wonder if I merit the very trust I am requested to extend. Am I trustworthy? It takes courage, not simply to "entrust" someone else, but maybe even more courage to consider the question and examination of my own merit. Introspection can be a necessary and sometimes painful evil, a mirror reflecting an image I am intimately acquainted with and from which I cannot hide.
I wish I had known what a precious and valuable commodity innocence truly was and losing it is a lot like walking through the looking glass. It's hard to go back the other way and it's difficult to regain innocence once life has had it's way with you a few times but, even given those stiff odds, I still believe that striving for something close to lost innocence is a very worthy pursuit. I'm trusting that it is.
Can I ever relate to the above quote! Questions, questions and more questions! I seem to be brimming with them and even when I don't want them, wish they would just go away, leave my head alone and let me find some peace, they obstinately remain and niggle at my psyche. I have questions about everything. What I don't seem to have in abundance are answers. Those are so much more difficult to come by than queries. Curiosity may not have killed the cat, but I bet it drove him a little crazy.
I'll probably never unearth the answer to all of the questions that fight for space in this organ I affectionately refer to, on more lofty days, as my brain. Are all of my questions the sign of a healthy, active, fertile mind or are they symptomatic of a fetid, lonely and slightly troubled soul? I choose to think that it's just part of being human. Sometimes, it seems I question everything and flatly refuse to accept "I don't know" or the very Clinton-esque, "I can't recall". You know, former President Clinton seemed to be troubled by a question himself which, on the surface, seems pretty obvious to a few of us; "What is the definition of is?". At least I can take solace that I am in pretty heady company!
Of course, these never-ending questions tie into the concept of "trust", and I can be very anemic in the trust department, both of a bank and between human beings. I look at people who have trusted and have suffered emotionally disfiguring burns, more than a few times, and yet they find some way to walk through it and somehow manage to trust again. I'm not sure if I pity or envy those people. Maybe I feel a little of both?
I know that the amazing poet, Ranier Marie Rilke, advised us to "Be patient towards all that is unsolved in your heart, and learn to love the questions themselves." When I read words like that, wisdom wrapped in such beautiful, simple eloquence, I just can't help but wonder if the esteemed Rilke ever grew tired of a dearth of questions and did he ever find it difficult to muster the ability to trust? What mechanism, or magic, did he use to discern who merited his trust? Did he have a set of parameters or perhaps a super secret formula? Did Rilke have a finely-tuned "BS/Snow job" detector and, if he did, what brand was it and is this something I can find on eBay or Radio Shack? I really do have a Pay Pal Account, but it's pretty useless because I'm a little on the broke side.
I've noticed something, well, a few things in fact. I guess you don't get to be 45 years old without catching onto a thing or two. It seems as if the hardest people for me to trust are the ones who exhibit the same qualities and as me. What I find suspect in one person is usually something that I wrestle with myself. Things I abhor in others are usually characteristics I possess. So what does THAT say for me? That I hate myself? Am I caught up in some mangled mess of self-loathing? I don't think so. I have vast room for huge quantities of self-improvement and I'd be the first person to admit it, followed by a chorus of folks who know me well, vigorously nodding their head in agreement. But I don't hate myself, even though I find it harder to forgive me than I do just about anyone else. I'm very gifted at building walls. It's learning how to tear them down that I find so daunting. Is it the same for everyone?
I'm not sure where these walls come from. I'm the love child of Ward and June Cleaver. I had the obnoxious great fortune to have never heard my parents have the slightest heated argument. Voices were rarely raised in my home and when they were, it usually invoked my full name and was wholly due to something I knew better than to do, but did anyway.
My divorce wasn't particularly nasty or uncivilized, as divorces go. I mean, the term "friendly divorce" strikes me as such an oxymoron, but if you're into oxymorons, I guess you could use that one in categorizing the break-up of my marriage. The phrase "friendly divorce" always reminds me of "friendly fire". "Ooopssss, we have some collateral damage here. Sorry about that! I'm sure you'll be just fine - years from now. If the planets are in a rare alignment, the cow jumps over the moon and pigs begin to take to the sky." Friendly fire always seems to come with just such an apology.
Maybe this interpersonal relationship stuff just has to be learned, but I wonder where the classes are offered? What are the pre-requisites? Probably, it's one of those irritatingly slow and arduous "experience" deals where you just have to learn as you go through it, and mistakes will be made. Don't you just hate those things? I think the Internet has made me an "instant gratification" junkie. I want it and I want it the second I become aware that I want it. As usual, it seems like the really important lessons don't offer rapid returns, unlike suspect voting machines and H & R Block. In "The World According to Mister Rogers", he shares this story which seems to apply to just about any situation in life where trial and error are the order of the day;
"A young apprentice applied to a master carpenter for a job. The older man asked him, "Do you know your trade?" "Yes, sir!" the young man replied proudly. "Have you ever made a mistake?" the older man inquired. "No sir!" the young man answered, feeling certain eh would get the job. "There there's no way I'm going to hire you," said the master carpenter, "because when you make one, you won't know how to fix it."
There's just something about reading the above selection that gives me a lot of hope. For me and the rest of us. I'm a very "human" human being. I stumble and sometimes, I fall, but I have bootstraps and I do know what they are for and how to use them. Even on days I'd prefer not to. Here's to not making so many mistakes that things become inextricably tangled up, but making just enough mistakes to know how to make things right that invariably go wrong. Filling in all of those pesky blanks that punctuate the landscape of our lives is highly overrated. Luis Bunuel suggested that we "leave our destiny to chance, to accept the fundamental mystery of our lives, then we might be closer to the sort of happiness that comes with innocence."
Bunuel acknowledged that such a decision requires courage, and indeed I believe that it does, along with faith and a very durable trust. It does take courage to trust someone because you're essentially making yourself vulnerable. Its seems that when I am confronted with the invitation to trust, it never fails to reverberate back to me and I am forced to wonder if I merit the very trust I am requested to extend. Am I trustworthy? It takes courage, not simply to "entrust" someone else, but maybe even more courage to consider the question and examination of my own merit. Introspection can be a necessary and sometimes painful evil, a mirror reflecting an image I am intimately acquainted with and from which I cannot hide.
I wish I had known what a precious and valuable commodity innocence truly was and losing it is a lot like walking through the looking glass. It's hard to go back the other way and it's difficult to regain innocence once life has had it's way with you a few times but, even given those stiff odds, I still believe that striving for something close to lost innocence is a very worthy pursuit. I'm trusting that it is.
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