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I really wish I were one of those people who dreamed at night of traveling to Tuscany, or of dancing on Broadway. Perhaps skydiving into the Grand Canyon. When I dream, it’s fairly jejune (love that word. It’s so fancy, for meaning something so dull!) although I do often receive what I consider to be words from Providence.

Just little reminders of what I already know but haven’t really taken to heart.

Here’s what I read last night:

You don’t plant weeds in your garden on purpose.

You don’t drink poison from a glass.

If you could pour regret into a glass and see it, you’d realize it was poison. You wouldn’t voluntarily drink it if it smelled noxious and tasted worse.

As I thought of something painful from the past just this morning, I realized that my stomach was in a knot. That’s when it occurred to me. Maybe that spare tire we all carry around our midriffs is really something else: Regret Storage. Poisonous pain we were meant to let go of, but held on to, and as a result, it seeped into our souls.

When I realized that thinking of painful things from the past was causing pain in my gut as I was standing there in the kitchen, I stopped thinking about those things. The pain went away. Right away. If only it were always that easy!

But at least I can remind myself that it’s more important to feel good and live well now than to deconstruct the past. I can’t change what happened, but I can decide that I won’t give away my joy to someone or something that has already hurt me once.

That’s why they call the present a gift. You can unwrap it afresh every day.

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It seems that even when a news story is about this wonderful time of year, it turns dark somehow. Christmas: Overspending Nightmare! Financial Ruin and Crass Materialism, Dead Ahead!

Lest we forget, this is a joyous and blessed season. No need to focus on the negative.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Philippians 4:8 NIV

Right next to all the bad news out there, I found some uplifting stories for the holiday.

A mother reported to the police that her son was missing, only to find out that he had secretly gotten a job so he could earn money to buy her a Christmas present. “I just wanted to do something for my mama,” he said.

Three-year-old Esme had been unable to walk until she had an operation. Her parents took her to see Santa and she told him, “Look Santa, I can walk!”

After surviving Hurricane Harvey, Scruffy the deaf dog had trouble finding a forever home. Ashley Pieterse came into the dog rescue and said, “We want you. You’re ours,” and took him home in time for Christmas.

Never forget: there’s just as much good going on the world as there is bad. You just have to curate carefully through the weeds to get to the flowers.

Here’s wishing all of you dear readers a joyous holiday and a happy, healthy new year!

I chose this photo for our friends down South where they are heading into summer.

This time of year, we can get a blue as we look back at all we did not accomplish.  Just a gentle reminder, don’t beat yourself up.  Instead use this as an opportunity to refocus on your dreams and goals.

–SueBE

 

Let’s see. What did I do this weekend?

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Well, I built a soapbox for the annoying schmoe in my life, so he can really annoy me in style.

Next, I created a showcase for the pesky things that bother me, so as to really accentuate them.

Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?

By pouring all of our energies into the things we stand against or get irritated by or just can’t even!, without realizing it, we’re tacitly saying: I don’t want this thing in my life, so I’m going to take a selfie with it and put it into a picture frame.

Stuff happens.

Don’t give it life.

Don’t say, this is my problem or my circumstance that can’t be overcome or my Achilles’ Heel.

Don’t put that pronoun on it. It’s not yours. It’s just a thing that happened.

Don’t invest in it in that way, because when you do, you’re crowdfunding the crud.

If gum gets stuck to your shoe, you don’t build it a shrine. You scrape it off.

Here’s what it really is: A moment in time. A thing that was. A speed bump on the road.

Of course, that’s not to diminish the trauma of things that really do set into the psyche and echo, even decades later. But not everything is of that magnitude. Sometimes it’s a matter of not getting out the Dymo Label maker (dating myself there!) and putting a name tag on it.

Letting go of all of that pain clears the way for what doesn’t cause pain. For the good stuff ready to come your way.

So, unplug from that source of “disempower” and get back to your good life. Dear readers, that’s a good place to park your pronoun.

On this humble blog, I talk about my health issues, since readers dealing with the same things may relate to my experiences. I’ve got MS,  so I move more slowly than most people. It also takes me longer to process information.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed while writing my post “Facebook Friends in High Places,” that our SueBE had logged in, drafted a post and put it up on the site while I was still finishing my draft! That lady sure gets stuff done.

Now, even after looking at my post for a while, I didn’t catch a glaring error until I was about to hit “publish.” I’d misspelled the name of the wonderful organization I wrote about.

The correct name is this: Skyline Urban Ministry.

What I’d written – twice, yet – was this: Skyland Urban Ministries.

So I got two of the three words wrong. Well, at least I got the word “Urban” right! Heck, I could’ve mis-named it as “Orbit” instead!

Skyland Orbit Ministries. Announcing our revolutionary new Outer Space Outreach! It gets cold on Saturn, even in August. Let’s send up some blankets and space heaters! Mission control? Let’s rocket those missionaries to Mars!

That’s one of the problems with having a condition that affects your mind. It takes longer for things to sink in. It takes longer to write a post. I can’t remember things sometimes, so I write myself lists. Of course, I can’t always remember where I put the list!

That same day, I wanted to find a prayer-poem for a friend, and remembered this one by our Lori. She can write such glorious poetry at the drop of the hat, while I’ll mull over the first line of a prayer I’m writing for days on end.

So even if I can’t accomplish a fraction of what SueBE and Lori can get done, we’re a team, so I’ll trudge along at my pace and ask God to take care of the rest. Mistakes may be made, but we’re all only human. When all is said and done, life really is a team effort.

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

Despite my beloved mother’s best efforts (God rest) and the hours she put in playing Bach on the piano, I’m still nowhere near as cultured and refined as she was. She’d quote Chaucer for me, in middle English. She’d school me on the origin of words.

Still, I’m just an easily-distracted, uncultured, good-natured gal from New Jersey.

Doesn’t matter if I’m looking right at you as you tell me your long-winded spiel. In my mind, I’ve gone to Carolina.

Watching this video of Hilary Hahn, I was reminded of my mother playing Bach on the piano.

I’m amazed at how beautiful even one note can sound in the right hands. At the same time, I’m also utterly distracted by the fact that her producer looks like a combination of Fred Mertz (of I Love Lucy) and Cheech Marin (of Cheech and Chong).

Then I realized that her conductor looks like Art Garfunkel (of Simon and Garfunkel). 😎

So whilst (little faux fanciness for ya) I try to be good at culcha, alls I can really do is appreciate it in my own New Jersey way. I’ll never have tea with the queen, p’raps, but I like to spin a yarn and have a good laugh.

I noticed that when Hahn plays, her whole body moves in a particular choreography. It’s as if she knows that she can’t reach the notes with her hands unless her feet move in a certain way at the same time.

Her whole body is her instrument.

In the same way, your whole life is your testament.

Most of the people you meet would never stand still and let you convert them to your beliefs.

All of the people you meet are seeing, hearing and feeling your beliefs every time you speak.

With all that’s going on in the world, all I can do is offer you this cozy corner where you’ll always be welcomed like a friend and we can share our stories. I don’t care who you are or where you’re from, kind people. You’re okay with me.

Here’s a picture of the singer, Pink, cooking in her home, carrying her baby in a sling in front of her. When I saw it, I was concerned that the infant was too close to the frying pan and might get splattered with grease. I also noticed that the child in the back, climbing on the counter, looks distracted and may fall.

Now, is having this opinion actually another way of saying that I’m “Mommy-shaming” the singer? I don’t mean it to be. I suppose it’s all about intention and tact. She’s obviously doing her best to take care of her kids, as we all do. It’s hard to know how much you should say to or about another parent.

Once when my son was three years old, we stopped at a local donut shop. I kept him right in front of me, pressed against the counter so that no one would snatch him. A lady nearby was just paying for her coffee and said quietly into my ear, “They put the coffee right there on the counter near your child…just saying the coffee is really hot.” And she left.

Of course, I was offended and shrugged her off with the body language equivalent of “Well! I never!” But you know what? She was right. There was a definite danger that my son could be scalded by the cups of coffee that were being placed inches away from where I was vigilantly keeping him safe from child abductors. Sometimes we’re so hard-wired to watch for large, looming boogeymen that we don’t see the small vipers in the garden in front of us.

If conversation is constructive and considerate, there’s nothing wrong with respectfully disagreeing. Pink is doing fine. Her kids will be fine. Trolls will live under bridges, as well as in the shadows of cyberspace. Life will go on, not to worry. I look at it this way. It’s better to be kind than right. It’s better to be blessed than to be a budinsky. For our younger readers, a “budinsky” is just an old-school way of saying “troll.”

So indulge me in a bit of reverie. Picture me one thousand years in the future, after science has unlocked the key to longevity, so that everyone in the world now has long life, prosperity and an uncanny knack for sassy accessorizing. Acc-sass-orizing, if you will.

This would be after science discovers that people like me with eyes that may be considered green or blue (depending on the comfy sweater we’re wearing) can actually see into the future, so we’re given government jobs sitting at the computer all day, surfing, and predicting stuff (sometimes correctly, sometimes not so much – but, like meteorologists, we still get paid.)

This would be far, far in the future, when I’ve finally learned that just because my Cosmic Cat is sitting at the back door of my mansion on Mercury, facing me with those big moon-pie eyes as if he wants to come back inside, he’s just window-shopping. I’ll ask my inventors to build an auto-cat door that scans his hologram retinas so he can open the door his dang self.

Maybe then my son will read my blog posts! This humble blog has become a time capsule of sorts, a snapshot of my life through the years. What’s important to me at the time. What’s in the news. What I hope for my son as he wends his way down the road of life.

Every so often, I’ll tell him I mentioned him in a blog post. Read it, would you, so I can be sure I’m not saying anything a teen-ager wouldn’t want his mom to mention. Of course, I do realize… That covers just about everything!

So in a thousand years, I’ll ask my son, About reading that blog, honey… How ‘bout now?

Sure Mom, I’ll get around to it. Just about to catch the shuttle to Saturn!

Oh well. If you only read this, Cole, just remember. I love you like nobody’s business. Wherever I am – New Jersey or some nebula in the night-sky – I’ve got your back. And if you call from Jupiter again, don’t call collect. It’s long distance!

Anybody remember Weebles? That little egg-shaped toy that would wobble back and forth but land upright? I felt like that two days ago, when I woke up leaning to the left. It’s one of the symptoms of MS that happens only rarely for me, but when it does, I focus on a fixed object, sit upright and wait for the dizziness to pass. The key is never to lie down; that’s when things really start spinning. I know it has to do with brain function, but I don’t quite understand the whole process.

The mind is a mysterious thing, isn’t it? Just yesterday, I thought of some terrible social faux pas I made in third grade, of all things, and it brought me down.

What’s the name of the ocean on the east coast? “Atlantic,” I wrote.

As I looked at it, I remembered that I’d gotten a simple answer wrong on another test the previous day and started to doubt myself. I crossed it out and wrote, “Pacific.” The teacher told the class I got it wrong and the other kids looked at me, shaking their heads and snickering.

And I wondered why something from so many years ago still echoes in my mind.

Balance is so important in life, isn’t it? Not just physical balance, but emotional balance as well.

As I went about making my coffee this morning I had an epiphany. If it were someone else, I’d say, Give yourself a break. You were just a kid. It’s nothing to beat yourself up about. I’m completely supportive of everyone else when they make mistakes, even complete strangers. But myself? Not so much.

So I’d like to propose that we think of ourselves in the past as another person entirely. Someone else, in a different era. That way, you’re more likely to regard yourself with compassion.

Maybe that’s the lesson of those days. Perhaps in releasing the need to have done everything perfectly correctly and within the bounds of social decorum, you’ll unclench and be less likely to make the same mistakes. And even if you do make mistakes, maybe you won’t see them that way. Maybe instead of mistakes we’ll call them human foibles. It sounds less painful. Almost cuddly!

Foibles. They could be the distant cousin of Weebles! They wobble, but they don’t fall down. This could be our motto: Foibles. We fumble but we don’t fall down. 😉

Okay. Maybe he’s not Adonis, I’ll grant you that. Hair growing out of his ears. Snores like a buzz-saw. Wears the same outfit every day: long black, mohair pants tucked into white socks. So why is he part of my life? Well, it’s my cat, of course! He’s one of the blessings that make my house feel like a home. I like seeing KitKat curled up on the couch, dreaming of the squirrel that got away.

I also like seeing my teen-age son with his headphones on as he composes songs the new-fashioned way: on the computer. Just knowing that he’s doing what he loves and that he’s comfortable here at home warms my heart.

So what is it that makes a house feel like a home? Well, of course, it’s the people and pets we love, but it’s more than that.

A little boy was lost at ComicCon and wandered around in tears until he saw two of his friends from childhood: Wonder Woman and the Flash. Soon, he was all smiles. It was like stumbling upon a little bit of the comforts of home: someone you know. Someone you can trust. Someone who will steer you in the right direction.

Of course, my idea of the comforts of home may be different from yours. For example, I love to see the process of houses being renovated. All of it. The tractor digging dirt in the yard, the drywall going up, paint color being chosen, deciding on the decor. That stuff may seem boring to most, but I like to see something being created out of nothing, so a blog like this one, “Enjoying the Simple Things,” feels welcoming to me.

This post about a trip to Ireland by the wonderful writer/artist, Jan Richardson, really conveys the sense of being greeted like family, even if you were a stranger when you walked in.

It’s what we’ve tried to do with this humble blog: create a place where you feel welcome, even if we’ve never met in person. So, feel free to consider this your virtual home away from home!

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