Good and Bad

     Childhood trauma is funny. It never goes away. That wound shapes you, molds you, and if you're one of the lucky ones -that same wound will eventually scab over.

But it's always there.

     I stood in front of my grandparents house last week. I looked down that same sandy sidewalk I ran barefoot on, rode my bike on, and even colored on with my crayons. In fact, I went to bed that night without dinner because of that very unappreciated impromptu art session.

     The lawn was full of that same tall, silky grass that I was pretty sure would still feel like velvet between my toes. I bent down to breathe in that familiar smoky scent of the Boxwoods for good measure.

     I had an urge to hug that little girl and tell her everything would be okay someday.

     Because it finally was.

Phineas Goes Scary

PHINEAS GOES SCARY

     Every year his pug pack went out as a pack of pumpkins. Every year they heard the same thing.

     "Aren't those pugs the cutest?"

But Phineas didn't want to be cute. He didn't want to be adorable, either.

Phineas wanted to be scary.

"Phineas! Nope. We have to be pumpkins. That's what we are every year."

Phineas looked at the pile of pumpkin costumes and at his brother. Even his wrinkles wrinkled.

Everyone got their costume on. Phineas took his place in line but his curly tail drooped.

And then he saw the white sheet blowing on the clothes line and had a terrifying idea.

     "Trick or treat!" the pack of pugs yapped.

The door opened and revealed a smiling old man.

     "Esther! You gotta see this! There is the scariest, most adorable little ghost here."

A woman appeared behind the man. She was moving slowly with a walker.

     "Gerald, would you look at this ghost's stout little legs?" She bent down and dropped something in Phineas' bag. Then she scratched his head.

     Cute and scary?

     He looked down at the two bones in his bag.

     Phineas could live with that.

Cause and Effect

 

  I'm feeling so weird about this. I know I'm too sensitive, I know life and death interchange and they are part of life BUT. . . 

    This morning as I stood in my yard quietly nursing a cup of coffee before the sun rise I heard a hawk.  I smiled to myself because I'm a birder now. I have many bird feeders, I have a smart feeder, and and even a very clever app. I have identified over 20+ bird species in my yard, either by physical description or by their call.

   I use suet, hummingbird, songbird, and birdseed feeders

   Are you impressed?

   Well, I was.

   Later on this morning while doing dishes, and gazing out my window, I saw a whole bunch of white nestled in the grass. I knew instinctively what it was. I went outside cautiously, found the spot on the lawn, and crouched down.

   There in the circle, was as I suspected, the remains of a very small bird. A small bird who came to the Gersho yard for breakfast- not to be breakfast.

   I'm not blaming myself. I'm not even saying anything really.

   I'm just noticing the cause and effect in the world.

Sinking Feeling

 

   You know it hit me the other day. And I want to be very clear it had nothing to do with those popular  Progressive insurance commercials where the message is "Don't become like your parents," etc.

    I  remember that my dad always had a rubber band around his wrist. I don't know why? I guess to have one handy? His trusty kitchen was chock full of reused margarine tubs, free bank calendars, stacks of expired coupons, and of course a tub of the elusive rubber bands.

   Well, if you are wondering, as a matter of fact I did find one around my wrist the other day, and I'm not going to even mention what is in my utility drawer. 

    At least they are not in an old margarine tub.

      

Be Here Now

 

   I remember that stupid bumper sticker. I want to say it was in the 80's or 90's? Not sure, but I know I thought it was obnoxious and cliche. BE HERE NOW.

   Yes, to answer your question I do fall into the "too judgmental," category from time to time. I'm working on it. But, that's another slice.

     This morning wandering my backyard I was remembering George Harrison's quote (which I'm sure he borrowed from some philosophy- Indian or Buddhist) which is, "Yesterday is gone, tomorrow is the future, all we have is today."

  If you try to live in that. . . I mean really TRY and live in that- it's a beautiful space. It's magic at its' very core. Don't think of something else. don't try to hold on, and don't post a picture of it. You get where I am going? 

   If you can stay there the lens from which you see things can be life changing.

   Okay, now I sound like a bumpersticker. . . .

Star Jasmine or Honeysuckle

   If there were a walking, living version of Cliff Notes it would be my Dad. Or maybe this is better example for the Gen Z-ers, if Wikipedia were an actual person, it would be my Dad.

   My Dad knew something (and often a whole lotta something) about everything. And I'm not exaggerating.  Both his parents were doctors, He went to college when he was 15.  Education, and knowledge were highly valued in his home.

   When I spent time with him outdoors I had to listen to him identify every plant, rock, star, or insect.  If we were indoors topics might range from music, art, literature, history or even politics. The time frame could be anywhere from past to present.  As I grew older I quickly learned to ask him for the Cliff Notes version, and I'm talking about the summary at the front of the booklet. Out of necessity I became preemptive. 

    "Dad, I have to ask you something, and I need the 10-15 minute version."

   When he passed away (very quickly to cancer) i planted these fragrant bushes in front of our house to remind me of our walks when I was a child. Me, just wanting the soft serve at the end of our walk, and him pointing out all the constellations, and telling their stories. I  remember nodding an affirmation as he spoke when truthfully my mind was just fixated on that future vanilla creaminess.

    The hedge is so full and healthy now after 23 years, and so unbelievably fragrant. I love to stop and smell it, but honestly I can smell it right when I open our front door. I was never sure when I planted it  whether it was Star Jasmine, or honeysuckle.

    I know who would know.

The Doctor is IN

     I've been playing around, and researching the idea of the restorative powers of the outdoors. I fell upon it by mistake. I just happened to notice how much I was enjoying being outside in the mornings. And if I worked, had a responsibility, or traveled I really found myself missing it.

     Almost craving it.

     Then as I started to read, and research I discovered so much. 

     There is a healing impact. There are also therapeutic benefits. Think low stress and even improving mood.  Reconnecting with nature lowers both anxiety and depression. It can also make one feel connected and give a sense of belonging in the world. These are obviously two very important components to one's mental health. In addition being outdoors can provide a brief escape from our world, its' overwhelming intensity, and overstimulating screens.

    There is actually a science now called EcoTherapy.

    Did I mention being outside can improve cognitive functioning?

    I may just move into my backyard.

   

Light Bulb Lighted

   I've noticed a pattern lately in my retirement from teaching for 30 years that I think I am beginning to understand.

   My heart, my head, and my instincts now go out to the kids who are at risk, struggling, and can be behavior problems. When I am subbing these kids are easy to recognize, they materialize immediately, and I find myself gravitating towards them throughout the day.

    Now I want to clarify. It wasn't that I was ignoring them when I was in the classroom full time. I want to make that clear. However, when you are teaching you have SO many pots on the stove. You are that waiter who either is bringing out so many meals on a platter, or that busboy with the overloaded tray with all the dishes. So, I know this sounds horrible but these kiddos were just some of the many needs I was trying to meet. Trying to meet.

     Do you get what I mean?

     Educators wear so many hats.

     Educators wear too many hats.

     And so I have been noticing that these kids, these kids who are square pegs, who either don't "get" what is going on, or they don't want to "get" it. They are now like magnets for me.

    I kneel down and whisper. I check in with them throughout the day. Sometimes, I go and find them on the playground at recess,  or I try to strike up conversations with them when they line up, or even as we walk through the school grounds.

   And I understand now that I never had the time for this before. I never could have seen this before during my typical school day ( AND NIGHT).  And think I really understand now the absolute full scope, and depth of what is being asked of public school educators every day. 

    And I also forgive myself.

  

A Gift

 

Spending time with my adult daughter and discovering that I not only love my kid, but I also enjoy spending time with her as an adult is such a GIFT.

   I know it doesn't have to be that way.

   I also know I'm gonna love her no matter what.

   But sitting with her for dinner the other night and just taking her in was pure MAGIC.  I just reveled in her animated talk about her job, politics, the world, animal rights, etc. 

   I just wanted to drink it all in.

   In fact, I can't help but smile when I think of her.  And when I do, I think of her fiery spirit, her passion and her endless positive energy.

   And make no mistake- I know I am blessed.

Yet Another Layer

   I don'r presume, or claim to have the corner on sad moments in life but I gotta say that emptying out the storage space of an alcoholic is definitely up there.

   I also need to add that alcoholism is a gift that keeps on giving. And just when you think you have hit your threshold for pain you get a big surprise.

   I was dreading this task, and I was definitely not seeking it out. I thought it would be like cleaning out the garage, maybe? I thought it would be a physically taxing job.

    But it was that, and so much more.

     Each box held a memory. Each box held a feeling. Sometimes, the boxes held frustration or evidence of my sister's alcoholism. Mostly the boxes held items simply demonstrating a life that was no longer being lived. I took in rugs, wall art, and even refrigerator magnets that had all played a role in an active, and busy life. 

     I remembered those rugs. I sat at that table. I ate off those plates.

     Yet another new way the disease has impacted our family, and me.

     Still her younger sister but no longer anything else.

    

Small Moments

   

    I have been thinking recently about the whole idea of whether or not small moments are really big ones.

    Now hold on- here me out.

    I can't remember how I fell upon this concept but I must admit it really got me thinking.

    Now I'm not gonna bog my point down with a bunch of examples because that not only gets inside of your head but it also deflects from the power of this idea.

    How do you test this theory? I'm not there is a concrete way.

    But

    Just think of the typical milestones, or the biggest events in your life and let the idea rest there. Yes, they are important. Yes, they are significant. 

    But 

    Think of your child's first smile, think of a blade of grass covered with dew, the sound of the surf, the timber of a loved one's voice. . . . and on, and on. . . .

    Let that ruminate.

    So the next time you are out, and going about your day, try to take in a "small moment" with that different lens. 

    Slow down. Look closely.

   When you get in that groove, and stop and take things in this way, the results might be transformative.

Perseverance

   Can I just say we could learn SO much from nature if we only took the time to stop and listen? If we only took the time to stop, and bear witness. 

     I watched these guys from inside my warm and dry kitchen.There they are, in the pouring rain, devouring this songbird mix despite being pelted down upon in torrential rain. 

    I also watched them patiently waiting their turn. I don't know how they know when they are done, and  when it's the next bird's turn? They only take their share, and then they willingly let another bird have their turn. How do they measure this?

   I think of the world today. Maybe, you think I am reaching? How could I possibly be relating the behavior of birds to current events? Oh but I am. I'm looking at absolutely everything now. I'm trying to make sense of current events and basic human behavior that I have never witnessed in my lifetime.

   But I will confess that watching them take turns, persevere, and all the while implementing a sense of order is beautiful to behold.

Art Therapy?

      I spent my day yesterday like most of us I imagine- numb, shell shocked and sort of going through the motions. I did have some writing to do for a class so I did that, and then I ended up down a rabbit hole. As a former 5th grade teacher I suddenly found myself researching some U.S. history (Bill of Rights) to ease my mind.

   Not sure that happened BUT I did feel validated. Okay, Bill of Rights WAS created to balance government. Okay, Bill of Rights safeguards individual liberties.

   I digress.

   I read somewhere the power of the arts during times of despair and hopelessness.

   I think this is one of those times.

   Art therapy is producing art to release your pain, feelings, and push you out of paralysis.

   It brings about your well being and social change.

   Not sure about the last part.

   But I am going to keep writing, drawing, and doing what little I can to push back, but also being a "helper."

   That is when I'm not outside hiking, and taking deep, deep breaths.

Everyone's Perceptions

 

    My siblings and I gathered this past weekend In New Mexico for noshing, talking, outings, walking and more noshing. 

   Sadly, It had taken 36 years for us to get together and just simply hang out. We had no social events or rites of passage that drew us together this time. We gathered just for "us."

    After we sufficiently caught up on each other's family, our chatter inevitably fell upon the past. Childhood memories, talk of our grandparents, parents, and eventually a traumatic childhood event that we all shared was on the table.

   Each of us recounted our own perceptions of the chain of circumstances that led up to that event, and its' aftermath.

    A big take away that weekend for me was how each individual's perception could be radically different, somewhat different, or even similar to my own- yet all of our perceptions were right ones. All of our views of the event are correct simply because they are ours. 

     And all three versions can be true at once.

     I don't think I fully grasped this concept before this get together. I'm not sure I fully honored their lens. Almost like puzzle pieces, they all (equally weighted), fit together to create the event.

    I am also grateful for this past weekend because it not only helped me understand my brother and sister, but also love them even more.

      A second big takeaway is the fact it's both fascinating and tragic to see who in a family survives a childhood trauma and why.

      But that, my friends, is a topic for yet another slice. . . .