Escaping Negativity

I woke up this morning with my shoulder aching, transferring into a headache, and my neck, which is a continuous battle here, anymore. The cat had not arrived yet, and I wondered, also, if I could see the northern lights, from the position I was in–the dale. I could not.

My mother called yesterday. She is in pain. I think she is psychosomatic. But those are my thoughts. Generally, she is “spot on” with her illnesses. She is 90. I am late 60’s here, with my own problems. Old people, God bless them, can drive us right through the roof, if we let them. So, how does one handle that?

I have resubscribed to Jon Katz Bedlam Farm Journal writings. I like Jon. He isn’t afraid to tell it like it is. Sometimes he has an edge, but I love reading about his own spiritual journey through this life at this stage of the game. I pay attention.

Thich Nhat Hanh, the famous Buddhist monk, who never did anything more than speak his heart and his training on the heart, leaves both Jon and I with fantastic quotes. Quotes that we wish to apply to our hearts. I cannot follow Jon’s path, everyone has the own.

Basically, it’s all about being mindful. A mindful person has to strive until it becomes a habit. Eat simply and think about preparation, think about dining, think about cleaning up. And do it with no thought, just the enjoyment of whatever it takes, sweeping the counter clean of crumbs, clearing out the coffee pot of grounds, leaving the water drip for Cat, whose habit it is to sit and get soaked before she takes her bath.

I received a letter from a friend. A hand written letter. In today’s day and age, the internet, email, etc., is so much faster! For some reason, I used the envelope slicer (as opposed to the daily ripping open the junk mail I have reserved with the index finger tearing at the envelope), carefully lifting the pages out. The letter, very carefully written, was with a pen nib, and how he came to love the pen. The permission to see inside a part of another’s soul is a very special unveiling, beneath a curtain of secrets that can be only kept by the owner of the soul. It reveals our humanity. It became precious.

During this time of the Advent season for many religions, if we take the time to be mindful of others: washing their dishes (as well as our own), taking them by wheelchair to a doctor even when we are partially disabled ourselves, and listening carefully, we can see the Kingdom of God. A lesson that needs to be subscribed to, especially by me, today.

YMCA

We’ve danced to the song, we’ve seen the facility, driving through downtowns and shopping malls. Here is the YMCA.

Started 1844 in industrial London, as a refuge for young men to escape the “hazards of the streets,” the YMCA has made its mark, internationally. In 1866, the New York YMCA adopted “The improvement of the spiritual, mental, social and physical condition of young men.”

Today’s YMCA meets community needs and is designed to help grow healthy children and young adults through programming and keeping the community safe by offering affordable programs.

But that’s only the beginning of my story. And today’s story focuses around what the YMCA has been able to do for me. Partnering with health insurances, I was able, as a senior citizen, to get a Y membership through my health insurance’s Silver Sneakers program. It can be difficult to maintain physical productivity as a senior. We are tired, we may not have the resources to find ourselves to be in an equitable position to do this, but it is there, if we search for it.

I was able to join this fall, and it has made a huge difference. Not only is exercise available, but camaraderie is a huge part of their success. Instructors and other “students” are very interested in everyone, I have felt included and embraced as someone who is just as important as the person standing or swimming, or walking. There are many activities, and classes, if you so desire. I was afraid of the pool, I had no interest, but based on my need to get active, and the arthritis that bothers me so much, I have found the pool to be my favorite resource when it comes to exercise. Today is floor yoga. It was very difficult the first day I went. It was easier the second time, and I have dedicated myself to 8:30 a.m. every Saturday that I can.

No, I don’t do much, but I do it, and sometimes I decide to add just a little bit more.

Stay tuned…

A Reminder

https://youtu.be/GO5FwsblpT8

Perspective

The Case of the Grilled Cheese Sandwich

My grandson likes grilled cheese sandwiches. More importantly, he likes it when we (Grandpa or I) make them.

I used to call them “toasted cheese.” Actually, I think that they are. After all, they aren’t made on a grill, they are made in a large pan, or perhaps (if you have one), a griddle. (What a mess if it were really cooked on a grill–right?).

A favorite way to eat them is to dip them into that creamy tomato soup, produced by Campbells. If you mix it with milk (the condensed soup), you can dip that corner of the sandwich in and the blend of the flavors really melt into your mouth, especially on a cold winter’s day. Or on any day when you want to feel the warm, toasty flavor, and call it love.

Anyway, my grandson enjoys cutting our lawn. Around and around the lawn he goes, and when he is done, he comes in and sits. “Would you like some ice cream?” his grandfather asks. “No, thank you,” he replies. “What can we get for you?” “How about a grilled cheese sandwich?” he says. Really? “One or two?” “Oh, I’ll start with one.” A few minutes later, “Actually, I think I will have two!”

It’s amazing how a grilled cheese sandwich can warm not only our tastebuds, but also our hearts.

Interior Management

Writer’s block. We all suffer from it, some more than others. Ideas and stories swirl around in my head. In the car. In the grocery store. Speaking with a friend. And then they simply disappear in the windmills of my mind. What was I going to say? “oh, that would make a good part of that story…” and later at my paper, I cannot recall what it is at all.

So, maybe I am not a writer after all! Gasp! I cannot even finish a chapter, and my 13 year old grandson just self-published an epic fiction novel and is selling it! Double gasp! Help me, grandson! “Just keep writing,” he says, “I wrote all day long,” he adds.

More self discipline is needed, I can see that. I keep looking for truths to add, and maybe I just need to knock it off. Maybe if it isn’t realistic enough, that’s okay. Fiction, right?

Talking myself up here, life is full of little ditty things that can be pushed into story lines. Maybe I need to satisfy myself with the short, one-page story, and let the chips fall where they may.

See? You, my audience, have perhaps inspired me, without even seeing this, but the anticipation is truly there.

Early Bird and Morning Thoughts

I’ve been sitting here, mindlessly at my WordPress board of white paper, coffee cup in hand. Two glasses of water, one for the cat, as she tends to steal my water cup every morning now (I switched it twice the other day and she managed to commandeer both).

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, let the birds sing and do not interpret what they say. Leave it to the morning, basically, I think. I love that first chirp of morning though. It’s the American Robin that I always hear first, the early bird! And, every morning this is the first song of the day.

My mom called. Her back hurts. “Mom, you are 90. You just have to shift. It’s a new mattress.” (Note: it was a new mattress a year ago that did not work. Finally took her at her word and changed mattresses and now, two months later, this new one doesn’t work either…). My back hurts too. It hurts when I wake up, it hurts when I go to bed. You just have to keep moving. Stretches. Mom can’t do them. She is 90. She can’t see good, it’s an age thing, we “suspect.” It’s not a mattress thing. She’s a brave soul. Just got an injection to try to keep her good eye good. All went smoothly, we are beginning Day 1. If all goes well (hold breath), it will happen again in six weeks. Keep going. Keep going.

A new day. Let’s explore (called finish planting the garden…)

And My Heart Stood Still

My 22 month old grandson suddenly runs over to kiss me…and my heart stood still…

My 13 year old grandson goes on a “trip to town” and has a Cubano with me…”it’s great!” He declares, and my heart stood still…

“Grandma, will you brush my hair?” Says my eleven year old granddaughter, and “can you tell me another story?” My heart stood still.

My 37 year old son gets up at 5:30 in the morning, so he can share in coffee and conversation with me, as we watch the sky light in its first light of day…talking of everything and nothing at all. My heart stand still.

It’s the little things we remember the most.

It’s a Holiness

Waiting for the night sky to arrive, here in the Dale. While I wait, I fall into the silence and nature that I’ve ignored all day, with life’s busyness.

I hear a variety of birds. Thanks to Cornell’s Merlin ID, I know to whom I am listening. The American robin, the Canada goose. A white breasted nuthatch puts in his two cents, and there is a chimney swift, an eastern starling, and the eastern kingbird. Merlin turns each listing yellow, so I know who is singing what.

This is holiness. Ralph Waldo Emerson often spoke of nature as the outpouring of God and how one can learn of God just through nature!

I lay here with my window open. Soon the birds will sleep, but perhaps there will be night sounds…

Sidewalks I have Known

Latest release on a book about the sidewalks, east side, of Oxford, New York. Every walker from Oxford will love this little ditty about the fashion of those old streets of Oxford: highlights of Albany Street, Washington Park, Main Street and Merchant.

https://www.blurb.com/b/1336340-sidewalks-i-have-known

The Grooming Stool

Ginger loves to be groomed. However, she has her standards! Who said pets cannot tell time? 7:30 a.m. she starts. “Me-ow-r!” her first time. Then the intensity grows a little bit longer. As soon as she has both of my eyes, she takes off down the hall! Where? To the “grooming stool.”

The Grooming Stool is simply a little square footstool that has become of no other purpose than Ginger’s own private stool, strictly for being close to her human, and get a good grooming out of it. This is a daily ritual. And when we miss it? We have to make up for time. This cat is in luxury when it comes to her grooming. She is very meticulous, like a cat should be: from bathing (only the right hand side of the kitchen sink, which we need to leave perfectly free for HER), to the grooming upon the stool.