The Offer

The woman boards the bus
Her hair white, face creased
Skin loose
Yet her step firm. Steady

Would you like my seat? I ask
My hair dusted pepper-gray

Is there a slight hesitancy
A pause
A flickered frown
As she considers my offer?

She glances down the aisle
To the overflowing seats
Negotiates with her inner voices

She exhales slightly
Turns back toward me
Her deep brown eyes reflect decades of living
Her lips hold a whisper of humor
Some understanding
Just beyond my grasp

Then, with a calm surrender, she accepts
Why yes, thank you

Photo source: Walk the Goats

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My Hand

Rivulets course
Over dry, fading skin
Ever-deepening furrows
Revealing age as the days pass

Two tiny mountain ranges
Stand firm in goose-flight formation
Crossed erratically by a thin, dark vein
A distended mar across the surface

A movement, and the shift
Smooths lines here
Scatters sand-patterns there
In crinkles of joy and sorrow

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Power in a Number

“What’s your phone number?” she asks.

“5226,” they answer.

She experiences a moment of confusion.

Then she remembers: everyone in this village has the same 6-digit area code and prefix. It’s been like that for years. If you’re a local and you’re asked for your number, you give just four digits.

When you’re a local, you know that.

When you’re a tourist, you ask for the rest of the number.

She nods, and says nothing, feeling grateful for the quiet implication that, having once lived in this village, she is still being treated like a local.

Or, she thinks darkly, maybe she is being tested as a tourist.

It was a quiet way to reveal those connected to the area from those just passing through.

Despite having roots going back generations, she hadn’t lived here for decades. She visited once-a-year; saw old friends; attended social events. But, in many ways, she was, really, always just passing through. Always slightly on the edge.

Yet, she yearned to belong; to feel the place like one feels their own skin.

In that brief moment of asking for a phone number, and the silence that followed, she understood. These local, childhood roots would endure forever within her; they would co-exist with her life thousands of miles away. They couldn’t be separated nor could they exist apart. In that, she belonged.  Both there. And here.

Photo source: 52663 on Pixabay

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The Chuck*-It Challenge

THE CHALLENGE: Pick 1 thing a day, 5 days a week, to chuck^*. Do this consistently for 52 weeks.

^*Chuck: 1) To gift, thrift, donate, sell, repurpose, recycle or, as a last resort, toss. 2) To clear your house, office or space of things you no longer use, like, need, want or wear.

THE REWARD: Your space will be cleared of, at a minimum, 260 things.

Why do it?

• It’s fun.
• It gets more challenging as time goes by. At the beginning, with so many low-hanging choices everywhere, you’ll have to pace yourself.
• Most people have too much stuff; this helps with that.
• You get to be generous. That cashmere sweater, unused lamp or drill you’re done with? Give it to someone who will adore it.
• It starts turning your mind toward disposing of stuff rather than acquiring it.
• Your kids–or the folks who have to deal with your stuff when you die—will be grateful.

The foundational rule is simple: 1 thing a day, 5 days a week, 52 weeks a year.

This is Not Good (again)

My dad, as a teen, hit a skunk at night while driving his father’s car past curfew. When he got home and climbed out of the Pontiac, the skunk smell was strong. He smelled of skunk. There was no chance of slipping unnoticed into the house. His father would ask questions.

This is not good, he thought. This is not good.

I’ve had that same thought, said the same thing when something went wrong.

This is not good.

We don’t say, this is bad, which is odd.

This is bad is shorter. Precise and to the point.

The opposite of not good is bad.

But this is bad somehow sounds worse than this is not good. 

This is bad is clearly bad.

This is not good subtly leaves open possibilities other than bad.

This is not good is maybe…OK? Permissible? Forgivable?

Not good interrupts a definitive and final conclusion of bad.

It gives wiggle room; buys time; offers hope.

Fuzzy logic? Probably. But it works for rice cookers and my dad, so it’s good enough for me.

How’d my dad’s story with his father end? I’ve no idea.

I just know he survived.

Photo source: OpenClipart-Vectors on Pixabay

I wrote a version of this in July 2019. This is similar, but I’m exploring style, voice and layout, so this reflects changes. If you read both and like one better than another, I’d love to know which one you like better and why. Me? I’m of two minds about it. Thanks :-).

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Anxiety and Unwinding It

If someone had asked you in early 2020 if you were an anxious person, what would you have said? I’d have probably said no.

And yet, in January 2021, I started using Unwinding Anxiety, an app-based behavior-change program developed by Dr. Jud Brewer.

Now, after two years of practicing many, small moments of mindfulness around uncomfortable behavior habits, I’ve concluded I was more anxious about more things than I’d realized.

And from what I read in the news, see on social media, and observe during weekly zooms with Dr. Brewer and program participants, I’m not alone.

If someone told you anxiety is a feeling of worry or nervousness or unease about an imminent event or something with an uncertain future outcome, you might be suspicious that anxiety is nibbling away at the corners of your calm.

Our world is full of opportunities to feel worried, nervous or uneasy.

Marie Kondo’s Magical Tidying Irks Me

There’s something about Marie Kondo’s joy-sparking-tidying-up success that irks me. 

Maybe it’s that she’s making a fortune as a Tidying Coach, a job that didn’t exist when I was younger. I might’ve embraced it, if it had, given my childhood tidying tendencies.

Maybe it’s because tidying up seems like something we should’ve learned along the hallways of life. Ok, maybe not joyfully, but still. Some adult in our life should’ve set some tidying standard for us to live up to so we could learn our tidying skills along the way.

Or maybe her approach reminds me of ambivalence around my own stuff. Given a society that encourages getting ever more, acquiring is supposed to be good.  And yet, have you ever felt confused overwhelm as stuff stacks up in closets, cupboards and garages? If buying stuff is supposed to feel good, why does being surrounded by all our stuff sometimes feel like crap?

Sometimes I think we like to buy more than necessarily own, but that’s just me.

When Kondo’s Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up book came out in 2011, the desire to declutter and organize wasn’t a new idea. There are bookshelves full on the subject, published over decades. Given that the theme and suggested solutions survive and thrive, I imagine we hope there’s a magic-bean solution to dealing with our stuff. We’re sure the next idea will be the path to the promised land.

Kondo’s book was the next idea. It hit at the perfect storm of opportunity: boomers getting older—facing their own and aging parents’ stuff—while simultaneously realizing their kids don’t want multiple-generations of accumulated stuff. Now what.

Now what is Marie Kondo: diminutive, cute, Japanese-speaking with an element of the exotic. She offers magic and joy and life changing results. How could we not fall in love this new idea? We are sure—absolutely positive—that this system—this approach from another culture, imbued with an eastern religion promise—will solve our clutter and disorganization problems. 

It could become our new faith.

And it’s easy, too, right? We love easy.  Ask the question: “does this spark joy?” Yes? It stays, No? It goes.

After we spend half a lifetime acquiring stuff, Marie Kondo promises to help us get rid of it. Not only easily and without feeling guilty, but—hallelujah—with joy!  We can be redeemed from our sins of overconsumption.  We can continue to enjoy acquiring stuff, knowing Kondo will help us enjoy getting rid of it.

No wonder she irks western-religion-raised me.  Where’s the guilt in that?

Photo source: stevepb on Pixabay

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Rapid Rabbiting on October 1st

If you’re a Rapid Rabbiter, we’re coming up to another first-of-the-month: October 1.

The day on which to practice the good-luck-rabbit-ritual of saying Rapid Rabbit before anything else.

Or Rabbit Rabbit.

Or Rabbit Rabbit Rabbit. 

It depends on who you ask.

My advice? Just pick one and stick with it.

And have fun.

Happy October everyone.

Photo source: Alexas_Fotos on Pixabay

A Conversational Pearl

Bubba and I have a handy two-word conversational pearl that lubricates our conversations; it affably suggests agreement while is simultaneously totally non-committal.  Even though we both know the truth behind our use of it, like flattery, it works.

Me: “I think the air quality is going to be good today.”

Bubba: “Could be.”

Could be.

No argument. So agreeable. Yet so much wiggle room for the possibility that Bubba doesn’t agree.

Bubba: “I think the couch would look better on the other side of the room.”

Me: “Could be.”

How lovely that you have that opinion. It’s possible the couch would look better there. But for now, while I mull it over, let’s just leave it be.

It’s an excellent response to an opinion or to anything that can’t be immediately proven.

It obviously doesn’t fit all situations, but when it does, it’s perfect. Used at the right moment, it has proven its brilliance at preserving our loving relationship, preventing conversations from hitting sandpaper, and usually making us laugh. 

Photo source: EliasSch on Pixabay

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To-mA-to, To-Mah-to, and People’s Names

Sometimes, not sure of a person’s name, I’ll ask them to pronounce it for me. I struggled for a while trying to remember if a neighbor’s name was Kristan or Kirstan.

Bubba declared his use of this approach.

“I went up to an acquaintance at a party and asked,”

‘do you pronounce your name Laura?…

…or Erica?’

Photo source: Radoan_tanvir on Pixabay.com

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It’s Not Just Words, It’s Also Tone

The word no sounds like a door being shut; yes like a door being opened. Yet meaning can be impacted by the tone used when speaking. A yes said with an eye-roll and resentment can cause distress, while a no spoken with gentle kindness can feel compassionate. Tone can change the emotional experience.

Bubba and I refer to that as the background music behind the words. As in the movies, it can set the stage for how an interaction feels or a scene plays out. Is the person swimming in the water about to be grabbed and hugged? Or grabbed and gutted? If Jaws music is playing, you’ve got a good clue.

Rapid Rabbiting on January 1st

If you’re a Rapid Rabbiter, I encourage you to try and remember to do it on January 1st. That way, if you miss other months, you’ve got the year covered with your good luck charm.

At least, that’s my story.

Even if my dad disagrees.

Happy New Year everyone.

Photo source: Alexas_Fotos on Pixabay

My Blog and I are Fighting Today

My blog and I have been fighting today. Ok, maybe just not cooperating. I’ve taken a stab at two different posts, and it ain’t happening. I’m bailing on both. I’ll come back to them in a day or so and see if I can herd some cogent thoughts and sentences together. Or start something new.

In the meantime, here’s a quote from my Headspace meditation app:

Maybe I’m obsessing or resisting too much.

Hope things are going easier for you! 😊

 

Photo source: Headspace

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Meditation Quote: Knowing Oneself

I like this quote, yet I’m having a hard time saying why. There’s something about it that encourages me to rely on myself more; to trust that I know who I am, even if I don’t know myself fully. Is it even possible to know oneself fully?

When I’m uncertain, there may be good cause to look to others for guidance. But there may be equal cause to sit with myself; to try and gain a clearer sense of my own being.

I like to think the quote is reminding me that my sense of self is actually there; that there is a knowing, and I can rely on it.

And to remind me that the opinions of others may, in fact, be clouded by their own not knowing.

Does this quote resonate for you? I’d love to get your take on it.

 

Photo source: Headspace

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Not Just a Car Crash. Also a Relationship Lesson.

Bubba and I were having a tiff. It was a Sunday night around 10 pm. We were in the house, face-to-face, quibbling about something.

Suddenly, from outside, the crunching sound of metal crashing into metal screamed at us.  Whatever Bubba and I were talking about, it stopped. We turned, in unison, and headed down the hall.  As we neared the front door, we heard a second crash.

Our neighborhood is filled with cars parked on the street; mine was one of them.

That doesn’t sound good, one of us said.

And how the ‘eff can there be two crashes?

My 5-year-old Nissan was in front of our house, shoved a couple of feet forward from where I had parked it. Slightly behind was a black sports car, askew and partially jutting out into the road. I walked over to my car. The rear, left corner was smashed, the tire and rim damaged; clearly not drivable.

Bubba walked over to the window of the black car and confirmed the driver was okay; dazed, but okay. License and insurance information was obtained. The driver, distraught over a fight he’d had with his wife, could barely hold back tears.

We asked questions: Had he hit my car twice? Yes. How had he managed that? He’d turned his steering wheel to drive his car around mine. Unbeknownst to him, his steering column had broken with the first crash, so his tires hadn’t turned. When he accelerated, his car ran into mine a second time.

Neighbors who had come outside upon hearing the crash drifted back in. Their cars were fine; it was a hiccup to their normal Sunday nights. I called my insurance company; this was more than a hiccup for me.

I drove a rental car while the insurance process proceeded. Someone advised me my insurance company would stop paying for the rental once my vehicle was either fixed or deemed totaled. The insurance adjuster hinted that totaled was likely; I felt an urgency to decide on a replacement car. Two weeks after my Nissan was totaled, I came home with a Honda CR-V.

I was initially ticked-off that my low-mileage, great condition Nissan was destroyed.  But it turns out I like my replacement car better. Plus, no one was injured, and I’ve since received multiple attorney letters claiming my old Nissan is currently on a lemon list.  Not my problem! I don’t own it anymore!

The best lesson for me was I got to see how quickly Bubba and I switched gears; how we went from being at odds with each other to uniting, joining together to take on whatever was out there. My car may have been totaled, but my relationship with Bubba was strengthened.

 

Photo source: Pixel-mixer on Pixabay

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Finding—Then Losing—Enlightenment

Sometimes Bubba or I experience a bright ah-ha moment, as if a curtain of confusion is pulled aside and some aspect of life suddenly makes sense. Akin to realizing the snake in the corner we’ve been scared of isn’t a snake at all, but a hose.

We explain our brilliant insight to the other, who nods in enlightened understanding. Yes, yes! That’s my experience too! What an awesome analogy!

We grab pen and paper, write down our insight—as best we can—and sigh with satisfaction.  This, we’re sure, will help us understand life and ourselves better; it will help us navigate the next, similar stress that comes our way. It’s an amazing doorway to self-knowledge.

A few days later we revisit our notes, excited to reignite the spark of awareness we captured; to build on it. We look at what we wrote: Scribble, scribble, “all a giant mustache,” scribble, scribble.

Huh? What the ‘eff does that mean? How is life a “giant mustache?”

Bubba and I look at each other across the table; neither of us has a clue.  It had seemed so clear, so concise, so self-evident at the time. We were sure our shorthand scribble would make sense when we reread it later.

Well, one of us will say, at least we enjoyed our moment of enlightenment while we had it.

Anyone else have cryptic scribbles that leave you puzzled?

 

Photo source: qimono on Pixabay

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Meditation Quote: Freedom of Mind

I recently wrote a two-part piece about navigating relationship when things aren’t going smoothly.  My kernel of understanding is reflected in this Headspace quote. Being okay with my mind—accepting it, even when it’s anxious—feels kinder than disapproving of it.   There’s freedom in that.

Here are my posts:

• Part 1: A Wretched Mess
• Part 2: Finding a Different Way

 

Photo source: Headspace

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Part 2: Finding a Different Way

I want to prepare meals with Bubba without getting defensive and having a tiff. But what if defensive is ok?

Bubba and I have relationship patterns that sometimes scuff up against each other. It can result in momentary relationship glitches. Or derail a day.

Some are random and rare; others, predictable and more frequent.

In A Wretched Mess, I wrote about a common kitchen scuffle we experience: Bubba offers to help me cook, and I resist it, experiencing his help not as help, but as a statement I’m doing it wrong.

Bubba wants to enjoy making meals with me. My getting snippy takes away the fun, so he leaves the kitchen, usually with disapproval.  His leaving means we’re not doing it together, plus we’re both upset. It all feels crappy.

Is Early Good?

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Part 1: A Wretched Mess

Do you ever respond to something—or someone—in a way you wish you didn’t? Yet you respond that same way repeatedly, butting heads in a familiar dance pattern?

When Bubba and I started living together, one place we ran into relationship speed bumps was the kitchen, usually when I was preparing food. I rarely work off a recipe, so my style is free-form. I don’t actually know if what I’m making will work, but based on having watched mom cook—and enough personal success of my own—I’ve been content with my approach.

Then Bubba moved in. He’s comfortable in the kitchen. Sometimes he cooks; sometimes I do. When I’m cooking, he often offers to help. But instead of welcoming his offers, I’ve often resisted them; gotten defensive.