Treasure

December 14, 2011 By

“The truly rich person is the one who has a satisfied mind. The affluence of satisfaction comes from wisdom, not from external things.”

Lam Yeshe, When The Chocolate Runs Out

 It’s that season again. Rage seems to rule the roads and people are desperate to get where they were supposed to be three days ago. I’m laying low, trying to stay out of the frenzy. The gifts that will be passed out on Christmas day are wrapped and ready to go. Soon I’ll be on the road myself to North Carolina to be with my “kids.”

I wonder how much taller they will have grown.  Is eleven year old Zoe’s shoe size the same as mine yet?  It was getting close the last time I visited in August.  She has the coolest footwear and I can’t wait to be able to see how her pink high tops, studded with gems will look on me.  I think she’s afraid I’m going to run off with her shoes, but all I want to do is try them on and walk around the room once or twice pretending I’m her age.

That’s probably why when she was a tiny, little girl, just beginning to talk, she named me, Batty.  When she was born I claimed I was too young to be a grandmother and didn’t want to be called Grammy, Nana, Grandma or anything else that referred to me as “grand” and therefore “old.”  She apparently heard me and simply started calling me, Batty, when she decided I needed a name.  It has stuck. I’m also known to my little nieces as Aunt Batty.

I can relate.  There are claims that my Grandmother on my mother’s side was “crazy.”  I’ve always believed that all humans are a bit crazy, at least the ones I like to hang out with, so I think the name Batty is just perfect for me.   Zoe recognizes me for who I truly am!

I can’t wait to see Noah’s sunny smile and give him a great big hug. He always gives me a little gift when I arrive … maybe one of his tiny matchbox cars or a bracelet he made out of a pipe cleaner and the tabs from soda cans.  I wonder what it will be this time.  He has promised to perform his speech as he gave it one night at school when he took on the character of Edgar Allan Poe.  And maybe he’ll show me the ball room dance steps he’s been learning.  Maybe we’ll dance together.

Zoe and Noah are my treasure.  The ones I feel grateful for every morning when I wake up.  They are better than chocolate.  They are better than jewels, furs, fancy boats and all the stuff that people buy to keep up with the Joneses.  I could live without my computer and my Ipad.  But I could not live without my two grandchildren.

Filed Under: Childhood, Christmas, family, Life, The Seasons, Wise Words, wonderings

A Letter To Santa

December 6, 2011 By

Store window, New York City, several years ago.

Dear Santa,

I’m sure you don’t remember me.  The last time I wrote was just before my best friend in second grade, told me that you didn’t exist. I was horrified and when I asked my mom about it, she smiled and said my friend was right.  I got mad and locked you away in a little trunk where I kept the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy.  Way, way, way in the back of the attic.

I recently unpacked a few things from my last move, and found the tiny box I put you in so many years ago. There you were, covered with cobwebs, holding on tightly to the Tooth Fairy, and not giving the Bunny much room. I took you out, dusted you off and thought I’d bring you into my studio where I’d be able to look at you and rethink the idea of the giving of gifts and the spirit of the holidays we celebrate in December.

Yes, I know about baby Jesus and the great teacher he became. But when I got my knuckles wacked with a ruler in the religious instruction class my mom made me go to and the priest said my brothers and I didn’t exist in God’s eyes because our parents were married by a justice of the peace, I kind of gave up on all that.

Now I follow the teachings of the Buddha who never got hung up on the problem of who declared my parents married and whether or not you or I exist.  I concentrate on Loving Kindness and living in the present.  The Buddha has helped me see that behind every bit of darkness, there is light.  That I don’t have to jump through crazy hoops to be a good person. All I really need to do is be kind and never cause harm to others. Sounds like the same kind of thing Jesus taught, but got screwed up by a bunch of people who needed control over everything and everyone. What harm does a Justice of the Peace do by declaring two people who love each other married?  And what about if they are two women or two men instead of a man or a women? Who gets hurt?

I’m very discouraged by all of the hate in the world.  We seem to hate for such a wide variety of reasons … for who we love, the color of another’s skin, the religion they may follow, or wanting to win an election so that those guys lose control and us guys can come up with our own rules and make everyone do what we want them to do.

So Santa, I’m asking for your help.  Instead of bringing everyone all of the stuff they put on their wish lists, please give them the gift of tolerance for all of those we share our planet with.  Please include kindness, the ability to share, food for those who are hungry and a job for anyone who can’t find one on their own.  A roof to keep the weather out would also be a great idea.

With those kinds of gifts, everyone would begin believing in you again.  And the Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed and all of the other great teachers would love you and all of us too!

Joan’s Inner Child

Filed Under: Childhood, Christmas, Life, Matters of the Spirit, wonderings

Molly, 2001-2011

November 29, 2011 By

Miss Impy Molly !!

Molly came to us on November 22, 2003.  She was rescued during the middle of the previous night from a severely abusive living situation where she lived outside, chained to a cement block.  Her Home was made of 2 more cement blocks with a piece of ply wood fitted over the top.  Her food, table scraps, were tossed on the ground.  The same place where she pooed and peed.

She was delivered to us with a big pink ribbon tied around her neck and a brown paper sack filled with mats that my friend had clipped from Molly’s body.  We all fell head-over-heals in love with her, especially Sam who was her soul-mate right from the beginning.  My mother who was living with us at the time named her and spent hours massaging her as she herself was dying of lung cancer.

Molly was scared, ate as though she’d never been fed before and slept with us that first night.  We discovered she had heartworm. She mostly walked on three legs and found she needed both hind knees repaired so that she could walk and sit normally.  She was not spayed.  We attacked the heartworm first, then the knees, then the spaying, though now I regret that she never had a chance to have a litter of pups with Sam.  They would have been the world’s most perfect dogs.

We think she was a Maltese mix, perhaps a Malti-poo, meaning half Maltese, half Poodle.   She knew how to set your heart to beating very fast with love and how to sneak around and get the cat food when you thought you were looking, but apparently weren’t. She loved everyone, showed no signs of anger or victim behavior.  And she was great with kids.  When Noah, our grandson, was very small and grabby, he one day  took hold of her leg, looking as though he might try to pick her up that way.  Molly gently took his hand in her mouth and removed it from her leg, as I watched on in awe.

She constantly licked and cleaned Sam’s ears and eyes and anything that might hurt. When she sat in your lap she would clean every inch of skin that was not covered by clothing.  She would have made an amazing mother.

This past Sunday, at around ten years of age, after being sick on and off for several weeks, she passed, leaving this family totally bereft.

She had been doing well on Saturday, wagging her tail whenever she looked at me, went for her walks and ate well.  On Sunday her breathing became labored and she couldn’t walk.  We took her to the local emergency vet where she died on her own, as we hovered over her.  She was taken by a tumor on her spleen that suddenly split open on Sunday.  There was nothing to be done for her.  Sam came into the room after she died, sniffed at her, looked at her then sat down as if to say, “Yes, I knew she was dying.”  He is doing well, played with me this morning and later I watched Lily, our tuxedo cat, love him from head to toe as he slept on the floor.  He is very clingy though and does not want to be alone.  I know how he feels.

In my grief this morning, I was suddenly made aware that it is no mistake that Molly was sent to me and that my tendency to bring home abused animals is part of their and my own healing. Molly and all of the others who have passed, those still living, and those yet to come are my teachers, who have taught me how to parent myself and to find the light behind every cloud.

Lily, Sam and Molly

Filed Under: Animals I Love, family, Life, stories

Giving Thanks

November 23, 2011 By

Today is Thanksgiving Eve.  There is so much to celebrate and to be grateful for, I don’t know where to begin. But needing to begin somewhere, I am grateful for this lovely Iris that I planted last spring.

It is one that blooms twice a year, in spring and in the fall.  I’ve been admiring them in a garden that I’m familiar with for several seasons. Even entertained the idea of slipping in one moonless night with a shovel.  But of course that is stealing.  This bit of loveliness that I carefully set in my garden in May did not bloom at that time, but weeks ago I began to see signs that she was getting ready to present me with a glorious Thanksgiving gift.  It has been a fairly warm fall here, but we’ve had hard freezes and still she stayed the course.  I am grateful for this bit of color, as the rest of garden goes brown for the winter.

Peppermint

I am grateful for my veterinarian, Richard,  who is working with two of my pets who have been strangely ill these last weeks.  He’s promised to not charge me for rent because I’m in his office so often and kindly puts up with my panic when Peppermint, the cat, can’t walk without falling over or when sweet Molly, my little Maltese-mix , throws up all over the place and is in serious pain.  Both are doing better, but seem to have life long issues that they will need medication for.

Molly

I am grateful for all of my family.  My supportive husband who edits and helps me clean up most of these posts. He seems to know where I’m coming from and where I’m going before I do.  My children and grandchildren continue to be my teachers and sparkling rays of sunshine on dark, rainy days. For my brother, Zed, who has helped me through much loss.

I am grateful for all my helpers along the way.  Kevin, for recently agreeing to be my writing coach as I begin to cross treacherous seas and entertain the idea of a book.  He will be going off on a Semester At Sea, Around the World Cruise in the New Year. With his other coaching and writing jobs he may not be with me for long, but he is giving me phenomenal direction, not by telling me what to do, but by asking pertinent questions.

I am grateful to my dear friend, Sharon, who through her own pain, steadily holds the torch for me while I dig through layers of the past.  I can’t do it without the light she sheds on my life.

I am grateful to all of you who come to visit here and let me know what you think, whether by leaving a comment or sending an email.  I am grateful for all of you who don’t leave comments but come back again and again.  I know you are out there.

I am grateful for the richness of my life … my friends, those I find difficult, and the day-to-day comings and goings of people and creatures who cross my path.

May Peace Be With You All!

Filed Under: Animals I Love, family, Gratefulness, Life, stories, Thanksgiving, The Garden, The Seasons

Unseen Shoals

November 19, 2011 By

Fog over the South Fork Rivanna River Reservoir.

“We record unspoken experience in the mind and body, but unless we can story it out, experience remains inside us shrouded like fog hanging over water.  We may act on these unspoken tensions, but we act blindly.  We whistle bravely forward, a small, lost skiff, sounding a horn in the mist.  And often we crash upon unseen shoals.  Unarticulated experiences that are not allowed into the story can show up years later as trauma, disease, mental illness or a midlife crisis.  But when these same experiences  are shifted into language and successfully worked through in the healing power of story, they lay the groundwork for transformative personal development.”

Christina Baldwin,  Storycatcher, Making Sense of Our Lives through the Power and Practice of Story

I’ve found myself crashing into “unseen shoals” these past weeks as I begin to bring my hidden stories to light … the ones cached in deep mud at the bottom of the river.  The ones I really don’t want to live through again, but know I must in order to make sense of who I am and where I’ve come from.  I know the ending of my story will be a happy one. It’s how I retell the stories of what happened in the beginning and in the middle that will make it so. It is a painful and difficult journey.  For the time being those stories need a bit of protection before I share them.  I will keep writing here, sharing resources and timely stories that will balance out all the rest.

Christina Baldwin’s book from which I took the quote above, is powerful. I plan on rereading it as I move through the next months and bring to light more difficult times.  It’s a must read for anyone wishing to write memoir.

Filed Under: Books, Life, stories, Wise Words
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