We hear a lot about self-esteem these days. About how important it is in the development of a child's personality…and how easy it is to destroy with a few thoughtless words. But it's also just as easy to build up self-esteem in a child or teen. Two events in my life did it for me.
One Saturday night when I was about seven years old I'd gone to bed at my usual time, eight or eight-thirty. By nine p.m. I was into a sound sleep when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Pat, wake up," Dad whispered as he shook me gently. "Are you awake? Your mother and I want you to come out to the kitchen."
"Huh? Why, Daddy?"
"Well, we decided to have root beer floats and we don't want you to miss out. Come on, honey, there's a big brown cow out there for you."
I padded to the kitchen in my big pink fluffy slippers and flannel bathrobe and plopped down next to Mom at the old wooden table. I watched Dad scoop the vanilla ice cream into the large blue, yellow and brown stoneware antique mugs, only used on special occasions because they were treasures from my mother's childhood.
The foam from the root beer tickled my nose as I chatted with my folks about school. Then I listened and shared excitedly as Mom and Dad discussed plans for our family vacation.
"Need some more root beer on that ice cream, honey?" Daddy asked as he created a new mound of delicious suds in my mug.
I never felt more loved than I did that night in the kitchen as I groggily slurped root beer and ice cream with parents. Why? Because Mom and Dad wanted my company enough to wake me up so I could be there. Me! Just a kid! Wow, what a glorious feeling.
Is there a child or grandchild in your life who could use a boost of self-esteem? The best doses come when you simply let that child know, without a doubt, that you really, truly want to be with them and that you treasure their existence enough to share your most precious moments with them in person. It's all about the gift of your time…the best gift anyone can give to a child.
The second thing that helped form my psyche was an adventure I had in high school that I think taught me that stepping out of your comfortable small home-town environment makes all the different in the world as to whether or not you accept or deny opportunities that fall in your path. It helped me adopt the philosophy of "Never say no to an opportunity unless it's illegal or immoral." I've tried to follow it ever since this trip to New York.
Five kids from my Catholic high school were elected to attend the national CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) convention in Buffalo, NY. My friend Suzanne and I were the only juniors. We crammed into a train out of Chicago with hundreds of other delegates and made what seemed like a forever journey by rail.
I can't remember how many thousands of high school kids were there but on the last night they had the largest sit-down dinner ever served in the United States. Bobby Kennedy was the keynote speaker. At the end he walked right past my table and I fumbled with my camera, snapped two shots and got the most unbelievable double exposure shot of him that you can imagine. It's still in a magnetic frame on my refrigerator.
I don't remember much else about that convention, however. Oh,yes, we figured out how to take the mirror off the bathroom medicine chest in the big fancy hotel so we could talk to the boys in the room below us. They did the same with their mirror and we could actually see each other and drop stuff down to them. Ah, youth.
But the point is, I went, unchaperoned, attended classes, met teens from all around the country, behaved myself (except for the mirror incident) and learned a lot about adventure, travel, responsibility and even the Catholic Youth Organization. I could almost feel my self-esteem growing.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
The Stages of Coupling
It's going to happen sooner or later if you have married kids. Someday you're going to be in the room when they have an argument. He or she is going to say something to the other that should be said in the private place where they usually air their gripes and have their disagreements, but instead they blurt it out right in front of you. Feelings are hurt, the air becomes thick with embarrassment and you as the parent and parent-in-law have no clue what to do next.
When it happened to me, I didn't sleep well that night. I was their houseguest, 100 miles away from my own home and the argument happened at bedtime, too late for me to slip out, drive home and let them work out their own solutions and kiss and make up without me hanging around.
After a fitful night of sleep, I got up the next morning at 5am, made a cup of tea and headed for their deck before anyone else was up. I grabbed a book off the shelf on my way out the door, a serendipitous choice because it had a chapter on how relationships are developed, maintained and nourished.
The book, "Chop Wood, Carry Water" had been one of my child's textbooks in college. The chapter that caught my eye listed five stages couples go through. First, the romance stage in which the relationship exists for each other's pleasure and comfort. Each person thinks, "If I just do everything I can to keep him or her happy I'll reap the rewards of pleasure and comfort. Life will be so good." I remember those days, don't you? Too bad they don't last long, eh?
The second stage is the power struggle. That's when they discover their differences and try to change and mold the other person into the ideal spouse. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, oh boy, that's a real knee-slapper, isn't it?
The third stage is stability. This is the point where the relationship can actually foster spiritual growth and discovery. It's when they step back, loosen up the "I can change you" reins and discover the good qualities of their partner. In other words, they're desperately trying to recall why they hooked up with them in the first place. They have a sense that it's all going to work in the long run, but they just can't figure out exactly why or how.
After that comes the commitment stage. At this point the couple learns that they are part of a vast inter-connected network of friends, family, coworkers, neighbors, community and church members. They discover that the perfect couple definitely does not exist and thus are able to look at their own lives with a bit of detachment. Talk about a sense of relief. Now they can get on with the business of simply being.
The fifth stage in the life of a couple is the co-creative stage where each of them has the opportunity to grow outside each other and value each other just as he or she is. This is the time when the wife learns that her hubby is always going to be hunting, fishing, golfing or whatever his passion is and she's not going to change him. He learns that she is addicted to rummage sales, weepy movies, and playing the stock market and that he's not going to change her. Each partner has that delicious moment when he or she discovers that it's perfectly all right for them to develop their own interests, hobbies, and friendships separate from each other and instead of hurting the relationship, it can actually help it.
I think the last stage, the co-creative one, is what the Dalai Lama had in mind when he said, "The purpose of life is to increase the warm heart. Think of other people. Serve other people sincerely. No cheating." It's about having the freedom to step outside your little "couples" world and move into a place where you can grow and learn and take classes and make new friends and figure out what your passions in life are. So what if your partner takes up auto mechanics or musket shooting or buys a Harley and gets a fake tattoo to sport on weekends? If those are her passions, so be it.
Henry David Thoreau said lots of stuff that puts an amazing spin on life, especially on a gentle, more thoughtful life. But one of my favorites is this: "Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after." That statement helps me understand why some people love golf and hunting so much, two activities that I would never consider. It's more about peace and quiet and beauty and serenity than bringing home the bacon or winning the game. It's about the freedom to love the warm underbelly of your passions for no particular reason.
As I watch my children and their significant others weave in and out of the five stages of couples, I marvel at the things I learn by watching their struggles and changes. I know one thing, if I ever get married again, my long-awaited-for wisdom will come to the rescue and help me find and be a keeper.
When it happened to me, I didn't sleep well that night. I was their houseguest, 100 miles away from my own home and the argument happened at bedtime, too late for me to slip out, drive home and let them work out their own solutions and kiss and make up without me hanging around.
After a fitful night of sleep, I got up the next morning at 5am, made a cup of tea and headed for their deck before anyone else was up. I grabbed a book off the shelf on my way out the door, a serendipitous choice because it had a chapter on how relationships are developed, maintained and nourished.
The book, "Chop Wood, Carry Water" had been one of my child's textbooks in college. The chapter that caught my eye listed five stages couples go through. First, the romance stage in which the relationship exists for each other's pleasure and comfort. Each person thinks, "If I just do everything I can to keep him or her happy I'll reap the rewards of pleasure and comfort. Life will be so good." I remember those days, don't you? Too bad they don't last long, eh?
The second stage is the power struggle. That's when they discover their differences and try to change and mold the other person into the ideal spouse. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, oh boy, that's a real knee-slapper, isn't it?
The third stage is stability. This is the point where the relationship can actually foster spiritual growth and discovery. It's when they step back, loosen up the "I can change you" reins and discover the good qualities of their partner. In other words, they're desperately trying to recall why they hooked up with them in the first place. They have a sense that it's all going to work in the long run, but they just can't figure out exactly why or how.
After that comes the commitment stage. At this point the couple learns that they are part of a vast inter-connected network of friends, family, coworkers, neighbors, community and church members. They discover that the perfect couple definitely does not exist and thus are able to look at their own lives with a bit of detachment. Talk about a sense of relief. Now they can get on with the business of simply being.
The fifth stage in the life of a couple is the co-creative stage where each of them has the opportunity to grow outside each other and value each other just as he or she is. This is the time when the wife learns that her hubby is always going to be hunting, fishing, golfing or whatever his passion is and she's not going to change him. He learns that she is addicted to rummage sales, weepy movies, and playing the stock market and that he's not going to change her. Each partner has that delicious moment when he or she discovers that it's perfectly all right for them to develop their own interests, hobbies, and friendships separate from each other and instead of hurting the relationship, it can actually help it.
I think the last stage, the co-creative one, is what the Dalai Lama had in mind when he said, "The purpose of life is to increase the warm heart. Think of other people. Serve other people sincerely. No cheating." It's about having the freedom to step outside your little "couples" world and move into a place where you can grow and learn and take classes and make new friends and figure out what your passions in life are. So what if your partner takes up auto mechanics or musket shooting or buys a Harley and gets a fake tattoo to sport on weekends? If those are her passions, so be it.
Henry David Thoreau said lots of stuff that puts an amazing spin on life, especially on a gentle, more thoughtful life. But one of my favorites is this: "Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after." That statement helps me understand why some people love golf and hunting so much, two activities that I would never consider. It's more about peace and quiet and beauty and serenity than bringing home the bacon or winning the game. It's about the freedom to love the warm underbelly of your passions for no particular reason.
As I watch my children and their significant others weave in and out of the five stages of couples, I marvel at the things I learn by watching their struggles and changes. I know one thing, if I ever get married again, my long-awaited-for wisdom will come to the rescue and help me find and be a keeper.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
NEW HABIT: PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY
By Patricia Lorenz
It's been said that something becomes a habit in 30 days. Do the same thing every day for 30 days and it's yours for life. Drink eight glasses of water for 30 days and you'll have a new, healthy, lifelong habit. Spend five minutes in prayer every morning for the next 30 days and daily prayer will become a habit for life. Spend a half-hour with each of your children every day and you'll create a habit that will not only make you a candidate for "parent of the year" but it'll be a habit that will last until your children leave home. Plus, that's the sort of habit that carries on for generations and generations. You can bet your children will be spending at least a half-hour a day with each of their children one-on-one if you've laid the groundwork by doing it yourself. Good habits are contagious and can easily be passed down from generation to generation.
Today, I offer you the challenge to begin a new habit, one that will change your life dramatically. For the next thirty days read the following words every day three times. Read them when you get up in the morning. Read them at lunch time or on your first break of the day. Read them before dinner at night or before you get into bed. Three times a day for thirty days. If you do it, you will feel yourself changing inside and out.
I AM RESPONSIBLE FOR ME AND EVERYTHING I SAY AND DO. No matter how much I want to blame others or make excuses for my behavior, I will no longer do it. No matter what happened to me when I was growing up, or struggling in school, or at work, I will move forward. I will not carry grudges against anyone who has touched my life in a bad way. Instead I will move forward and thank God that I had that unpleasant experience because it taught me that struggles give me three wonderful gifts: They make me strong, they give me character and they make me interesting.
No matter what happens to me, as long as I accept responsibility for everything I say and do, I will never, ever lose my value in the eyes of God, family, friends, neighbors or co-workers. I am the only person like me in the entire world. God gave me life, a one-of-a-kind life. It's my responsibility to make me the best me that could ever be.
I will keep in mind that accepting responsibility for myself is hard. If it was easy, everyone would do it. Therefore, if I slip a little and do not act responsibly, I will work harder and harder at it. I will stop blaming others for making my life miserable, unhappy, or unsuccessful. I will acknowledge that I am the only one who walks in my shoes, lives in my brain and controls the movements of my arms, legs, and mouth. Only me. I am responsible for me and for everything I say and do.
I will find creative ways to be responsible. I won't just try to make lemonade out of lemons. No, I'll find ways to make lemonade out of turnips. The more difficult the challenge, the more I will embrace it. The more I want to feel angry or bitter or unforgiving or downtrodden, the harder I will try to calm down, smile, forgive and celebrate my life. I will accept the responsibility of changing me…not anyone else…just me.
I will constantly look for the positive in every negative situation. I will not give up in the face of obstacles. Instead, I will treat those obstacles like friends who are giving me the opportunity to solve a problem, create a solution, or rise to the occasion. I will celebrate obstacles, problems and struggles!
If my health fails, I will thank God that I still have the power of my mind. If someone I love becomes unhealthy, I will encourage them and help them and do what is necessary and then I will do even more than is necessary. I will be there for them every day and encourage them unconditionally because that is what someone does who takes responsibility seriously. A responsible person is a caregiver, a friend, someone others can trust and turn to.
I AM RESPONSIBLE FOR ME AND EVERYTHING I SAY AND DO. I will never try to eat the entire elephant in one sitting. No matter what challenges come my way or how big the project is or how unfathomable the problem, I will remember that mile by mile, it's a trial; yard by yard it's hard; but inch by inch, it's a cinch. I will never give up because a responsible person is persistent. If I have to do something a thousand times before I get it right, I will. I will do it ten thousand times if necessary. I am a responsible person, the only one responsible for everything I say and do.
It's been said that something becomes a habit in 30 days. Do the same thing every day for 30 days and it's yours for life. Drink eight glasses of water for 30 days and you'll have a new, healthy, lifelong habit. Spend five minutes in prayer every morning for the next 30 days and daily prayer will become a habit for life. Spend a half-hour with each of your children every day and you'll create a habit that will not only make you a candidate for "parent of the year" but it'll be a habit that will last until your children leave home. Plus, that's the sort of habit that carries on for generations and generations. You can bet your children will be spending at least a half-hour a day with each of their children one-on-one if you've laid the groundwork by doing it yourself. Good habits are contagious and can easily be passed down from generation to generation.
Today, I offer you the challenge to begin a new habit, one that will change your life dramatically. For the next thirty days read the following words every day three times. Read them when you get up in the morning. Read them at lunch time or on your first break of the day. Read them before dinner at night or before you get into bed. Three times a day for thirty days. If you do it, you will feel yourself changing inside and out.
I AM RESPONSIBLE FOR ME AND EVERYTHING I SAY AND DO. No matter how much I want to blame others or make excuses for my behavior, I will no longer do it. No matter what happened to me when I was growing up, or struggling in school, or at work, I will move forward. I will not carry grudges against anyone who has touched my life in a bad way. Instead I will move forward and thank God that I had that unpleasant experience because it taught me that struggles give me three wonderful gifts: They make me strong, they give me character and they make me interesting.
No matter what happens to me, as long as I accept responsibility for everything I say and do, I will never, ever lose my value in the eyes of God, family, friends, neighbors or co-workers. I am the only person like me in the entire world. God gave me life, a one-of-a-kind life. It's my responsibility to make me the best me that could ever be.
I will keep in mind that accepting responsibility for myself is hard. If it was easy, everyone would do it. Therefore, if I slip a little and do not act responsibly, I will work harder and harder at it. I will stop blaming others for making my life miserable, unhappy, or unsuccessful. I will acknowledge that I am the only one who walks in my shoes, lives in my brain and controls the movements of my arms, legs, and mouth. Only me. I am responsible for me and for everything I say and do.
I will find creative ways to be responsible. I won't just try to make lemonade out of lemons. No, I'll find ways to make lemonade out of turnips. The more difficult the challenge, the more I will embrace it. The more I want to feel angry or bitter or unforgiving or downtrodden, the harder I will try to calm down, smile, forgive and celebrate my life. I will accept the responsibility of changing me…not anyone else…just me.
I will constantly look for the positive in every negative situation. I will not give up in the face of obstacles. Instead, I will treat those obstacles like friends who are giving me the opportunity to solve a problem, create a solution, or rise to the occasion. I will celebrate obstacles, problems and struggles!
If my health fails, I will thank God that I still have the power of my mind. If someone I love becomes unhealthy, I will encourage them and help them and do what is necessary and then I will do even more than is necessary. I will be there for them every day and encourage them unconditionally because that is what someone does who takes responsibility seriously. A responsible person is a caregiver, a friend, someone others can trust and turn to.
I AM RESPONSIBLE FOR ME AND EVERYTHING I SAY AND DO. I will never try to eat the entire elephant in one sitting. No matter what challenges come my way or how big the project is or how unfathomable the problem, I will remember that mile by mile, it's a trial; yard by yard it's hard; but inch by inch, it's a cinch. I will never give up because a responsible person is persistent. If I have to do something a thousand times before I get it right, I will. I will do it ten thousand times if necessary. I am a responsible person, the only one responsible for everything I say and do.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
The Zero Factors
Believe me, I’m old enough to know that no matter how old you are, you’re never too old for love. And the kind of love I’m talking about is dating, romance, living close to each other love. Caring for each other in a way that transcends small idiosyncrasies, minor fights and old-age health problems. For some, not for me, mind you, but for some, falling in love at an older age means caring for each other as marriage partners in your later years.
I consider myself somewhat of an expert on men. After all I’ve been married twice and since my second divorce have dated three other men very seriously and for varying lengths of time, the current one since 2004. In between those men I dated many other guys, usually once once or twice because once you’re an expert on men it gets easier and easier to spot the zero factors.
Ah yes, the zero factors. The secrets of dating whether you’re eighteen or eighty-eight. If you're looking for a mate, a significant other, or just a very close friend who has your back when you have to go to the hospital or need help after knee surgery, chances are you've tried one or more of the dating services on the Internet, the personals in the newspapers or a dating service.
As a single woman who never really wanted to grow old alone, but who has a pretty tough standard when it comes to potential mates, I've had many, many years experience of meeting lots of men over a cup of tea or lunch in a very public place. How do I know if I want to see the gentleman again?
Simple. The Zero Factors. Ten simple little neon signs that start flashing usually within minutes of your meeting. Believe me, a two hour chat in a coffee shop is all you need to see if Mr. Possibility will become Mr. Maybe, Mr. I-Hear-Wedding-Bells or Mr. Quick-Let-Me-Out-Of-Here-So-I-Can-Forget-This-Date-Ever-Happened.
The Zero Factors work for both men and women and they'll help you decide, when he asks for your phone number whether you want to give him the real thing or the number for Dial-a-Prayer. I’m serious here. I’ve given many men the Dial-a-Prayer phone number. In fact, it’s a good idea to keep the number on a small piece of paper in your purse or pocket for that magic moment at the end of the date when he asks for your number.
The Zero Factors are simply ten kegs of dynamite. If the person you’re having coffee or tea with possesses even one of these powder kegs, he or she gets a Zero and that's it. You're outta there.
1. RACIST You can tell right away by the language. Usually, it's an unnatural use of the phrase "white people" that's a dead giveaway. Sometimes they go so far as to use the word "colored" when referring to colorful people. If you hear those words, excuse yourself, and head for the nearest exit.
2. DISHONEST Suppose you've invested two hours with a man who told you he was divorced and you're starting to think that he was meant to be on page one of your book of life. When you ask him how long he's been divorced, he says sheepishly, "Well, I'm in the process. We just separated last week." Bing, bang, boom. Zero! Not only is he dishonest, but he needs six months to get through the divorce, then a minimum of two years to get his life back in order and find out who he is before he even thinks about dating and starting over with you…or anyone.
3. SHALLOW I can't tell you how many men ask women on the first phone call how tall they are, how much they weigh, what they look like, what dress size they wear. Of course, this is a dead giveaway that he's much more interested in "arm candy" than having a real relationship with a real woman. Unless you're built like Barbie Doll you don't stand a chance with these guys so slam down the "zero factor" hammer immediately.
4. MIS-YOKED They say your faith life should be similar for a real relationship to work. So if he's a conservative born-again fundamentalist and you're a liberal Catholic, chances are you aren't going to be happy together at church. What you believe spiritually is what you believe. I'm not sure it's wise to expect one of you to change those deep basic faith roots. My first husband was Methodist. But I learned a good lesson and married a Catholic the second time around. But was it wise to marry someone 17 years older who was going through male-menopause at the time? Probably not because it didn’t last. The other two guys I dated somewhat seriously were not Catholic. But Jack, my hunka-hunka-burnin’-love is a devout Catholic and I now believe wholeheartedly that being equally yoked in your faith is one very, very important factor.
5. CHEAP I once spent two-and-a-half hours in a restaurant with a man who ordered nothing but water. I had hot tea and the waitress couldn’t have been nicer, keeping him filled up with ice water and me with more hot water and an extra tea-bag. When we left not only did he not even offer to buy my tea, but he didn't even leave a tip for the waitress. I took care of both, making sure she got more for the tip than the tea cost, and although I would have expected to pay for my own beverage or food if I'd ordered any, a man always gets rave reviews when he at least offers to pay on the first meeting. Being fair when it comes to dating is one thing, being cheap to the point of trying to squeeze copper out of a penny, is another.
6. HOMOPHOBIC Although I certainly don't have a full understanding of homosexuality, I do know many wonderful people who are gay and I believe that since God created them that way that it is a normal and perfectly acceptable lifestyle. I do think the Catholic church has a way to go when it comes to affording gay people a completely normal existence and sexual lifestyle, but at least the church welcomes gay and lesbian folks into the fold with open arms. Unlike some people of other religions I know without a doubt that I was not put on this earth to judge any other human being…and when someone does, as in someone you just met on a date, it's time to get out of there.
7. HEAVY DRINKER Having been married to an alcoholic all I can say is please, please, please, please, please don't go there. The pain is hard to describe. And believe me, the pain an alcoholic causes does not get any better. It only gets worse. Much, much worse. Why even take one step down that path? Unless your alcoholic is a reformed drinker who is still attending AA meetings and who has completed his or her Twelve Step program with gusto and grace, do not, repeat, do not date a heavy drinker. Or pot smoker. Or drug abuser. Do not. Are you listening?
8. EX-BASHER Why is it that so many potential date partners spend their time bashing their ex? Chances are, that ex is the other parent of his or her children. They should be able to get along for the kids' sake. Can you imagine what the basher will be saying about you if things don't work out?
9. SMOKER Smoking is slow-motion suicide, not only for the smoker but also, because of side stream smoke, also for you. Why on earth would you want to start a new life or a close relationship with someone who thinks so little of himself or so little of you?
10. NO SENSE OF HUMOR If I can't make him laugh or he can't make me at least smile broadly, the relationship doesn't have a chance in the world. Remember, a sense of humor, not only helps solve most of life's problems, but it's also a boon to your good heath. Follow this creed: No laughing, no loving.
So there you have it, the "zero factor" check list. Here's hoping none of your dates earn the goose egg award.
(Note: This is part of a chapter in my latest book "SLOGGING MY WAY TO HEAVEN A Cradle Catholic in a Protestant World" The book is nearly finished and I have great hopes that a publisher will scoop it up soon.
I consider myself somewhat of an expert on men. After all I’ve been married twice and since my second divorce have dated three other men very seriously and for varying lengths of time, the current one since 2004. In between those men I dated many other guys, usually once once or twice because once you’re an expert on men it gets easier and easier to spot the zero factors.
Ah yes, the zero factors. The secrets of dating whether you’re eighteen or eighty-eight. If you're looking for a mate, a significant other, or just a very close friend who has your back when you have to go to the hospital or need help after knee surgery, chances are you've tried one or more of the dating services on the Internet, the personals in the newspapers or a dating service.
As a single woman who never really wanted to grow old alone, but who has a pretty tough standard when it comes to potential mates, I've had many, many years experience of meeting lots of men over a cup of tea or lunch in a very public place. How do I know if I want to see the gentleman again?
Simple. The Zero Factors. Ten simple little neon signs that start flashing usually within minutes of your meeting. Believe me, a two hour chat in a coffee shop is all you need to see if Mr. Possibility will become Mr. Maybe, Mr. I-Hear-Wedding-Bells or Mr. Quick-Let-Me-Out-Of-Here-So-I-Can-Forget-This-Date-Ever-Happened.
The Zero Factors work for both men and women and they'll help you decide, when he asks for your phone number whether you want to give him the real thing or the number for Dial-a-Prayer. I’m serious here. I’ve given many men the Dial-a-Prayer phone number. In fact, it’s a good idea to keep the number on a small piece of paper in your purse or pocket for that magic moment at the end of the date when he asks for your number.
The Zero Factors are simply ten kegs of dynamite. If the person you’re having coffee or tea with possesses even one of these powder kegs, he or she gets a Zero and that's it. You're outta there.
1. RACIST You can tell right away by the language. Usually, it's an unnatural use of the phrase "white people" that's a dead giveaway. Sometimes they go so far as to use the word "colored" when referring to colorful people. If you hear those words, excuse yourself, and head for the nearest exit.
2. DISHONEST Suppose you've invested two hours with a man who told you he was divorced and you're starting to think that he was meant to be on page one of your book of life. When you ask him how long he's been divorced, he says sheepishly, "Well, I'm in the process. We just separated last week." Bing, bang, boom. Zero! Not only is he dishonest, but he needs six months to get through the divorce, then a minimum of two years to get his life back in order and find out who he is before he even thinks about dating and starting over with you…or anyone.
3. SHALLOW I can't tell you how many men ask women on the first phone call how tall they are, how much they weigh, what they look like, what dress size they wear. Of course, this is a dead giveaway that he's much more interested in "arm candy" than having a real relationship with a real woman. Unless you're built like Barbie Doll you don't stand a chance with these guys so slam down the "zero factor" hammer immediately.
4. MIS-YOKED They say your faith life should be similar for a real relationship to work. So if he's a conservative born-again fundamentalist and you're a liberal Catholic, chances are you aren't going to be happy together at church. What you believe spiritually is what you believe. I'm not sure it's wise to expect one of you to change those deep basic faith roots. My first husband was Methodist. But I learned a good lesson and married a Catholic the second time around. But was it wise to marry someone 17 years older who was going through male-menopause at the time? Probably not because it didn’t last. The other two guys I dated somewhat seriously were not Catholic. But Jack, my hunka-hunka-burnin’-love is a devout Catholic and I now believe wholeheartedly that being equally yoked in your faith is one very, very important factor.
5. CHEAP I once spent two-and-a-half hours in a restaurant with a man who ordered nothing but water. I had hot tea and the waitress couldn’t have been nicer, keeping him filled up with ice water and me with more hot water and an extra tea-bag. When we left not only did he not even offer to buy my tea, but he didn't even leave a tip for the waitress. I took care of both, making sure she got more for the tip than the tea cost, and although I would have expected to pay for my own beverage or food if I'd ordered any, a man always gets rave reviews when he at least offers to pay on the first meeting. Being fair when it comes to dating is one thing, being cheap to the point of trying to squeeze copper out of a penny, is another.
6. HOMOPHOBIC Although I certainly don't have a full understanding of homosexuality, I do know many wonderful people who are gay and I believe that since God created them that way that it is a normal and perfectly acceptable lifestyle. I do think the Catholic church has a way to go when it comes to affording gay people a completely normal existence and sexual lifestyle, but at least the church welcomes gay and lesbian folks into the fold with open arms. Unlike some people of other religions I know without a doubt that I was not put on this earth to judge any other human being…and when someone does, as in someone you just met on a date, it's time to get out of there.
7. HEAVY DRINKER Having been married to an alcoholic all I can say is please, please, please, please, please don't go there. The pain is hard to describe. And believe me, the pain an alcoholic causes does not get any better. It only gets worse. Much, much worse. Why even take one step down that path? Unless your alcoholic is a reformed drinker who is still attending AA meetings and who has completed his or her Twelve Step program with gusto and grace, do not, repeat, do not date a heavy drinker. Or pot smoker. Or drug abuser. Do not. Are you listening?
8. EX-BASHER Why is it that so many potential date partners spend their time bashing their ex? Chances are, that ex is the other parent of his or her children. They should be able to get along for the kids' sake. Can you imagine what the basher will be saying about you if things don't work out?
9. SMOKER Smoking is slow-motion suicide, not only for the smoker but also, because of side stream smoke, also for you. Why on earth would you want to start a new life or a close relationship with someone who thinks so little of himself or so little of you?
10. NO SENSE OF HUMOR If I can't make him laugh or he can't make me at least smile broadly, the relationship doesn't have a chance in the world. Remember, a sense of humor, not only helps solve most of life's problems, but it's also a boon to your good heath. Follow this creed: No laughing, no loving.
So there you have it, the "zero factor" check list. Here's hoping none of your dates earn the goose egg award.
(Note: This is part of a chapter in my latest book "SLOGGING MY WAY TO HEAVEN A Cradle Catholic in a Protestant World" The book is nearly finished and I have great hopes that a publisher will scoop it up soon.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Strength In Numbers
One day when I still lived in Wisconsin a tornado ripped through town a few miles north of my home. Afterwards the neighbors gathered outside to talk, share stories and help each other clean up fallen branches and scattered debris.
In 2001, a few months after 9-11, I visited Ground Zero in New York with four women friends, including my oldest daughter, Jeanne. We five stood there huddled together holding hands, overwhelmed with emotion, trying to understand and calm each other’s fears. I don’t think I could have gotten through that experience without those other women.
In 2004 when the edges of three hurricanes swept past my new Florida neighborhood, my neighbors and I gathered to share food during the power outage and plan for the next big wind.
In 2006 I visited the Florida Everglades during a drought. I stood on a walkway a few feet above a river that had all but dried up except for about eighty yards of murky green water. In front of me were 30 or 40 alligators who had gathered together, trying to maintain their normal environment. I guess even ‘gators find comfort and strength in numbers during times of stress.
Every weekend when I attend church with my friend Jack (the head usher) we always sit in the last pew. It gives me a bird’s eye view of the congregation and every week as the people file in, I can actually feel the peace and the strength in numbers. Suddenly any problem in my life feels like it’s under the umbrella of all those around me. Strength in numbers. A beautiful concept.
I’ve learned that sometimes, during times of turmoil or disaster, it’s up to me to help gather people together when times are tough just so we can feel each other’s warmth and be nourished by the strength of numbers.
In 2001, a few months after 9-11, I visited Ground Zero in New York with four women friends, including my oldest daughter, Jeanne. We five stood there huddled together holding hands, overwhelmed with emotion, trying to understand and calm each other’s fears. I don’t think I could have gotten through that experience without those other women.
In 2004 when the edges of three hurricanes swept past my new Florida neighborhood, my neighbors and I gathered to share food during the power outage and plan for the next big wind.
In 2006 I visited the Florida Everglades during a drought. I stood on a walkway a few feet above a river that had all but dried up except for about eighty yards of murky green water. In front of me were 30 or 40 alligators who had gathered together, trying to maintain their normal environment. I guess even ‘gators find comfort and strength in numbers during times of stress.
Every weekend when I attend church with my friend Jack (the head usher) we always sit in the last pew. It gives me a bird’s eye view of the congregation and every week as the people file in, I can actually feel the peace and the strength in numbers. Suddenly any problem in my life feels like it’s under the umbrella of all those around me. Strength in numbers. A beautiful concept.
I’ve learned that sometimes, during times of turmoil or disaster, it’s up to me to help gather people together when times are tough just so we can feel each other’s warmth and be nourished by the strength of numbers.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Up Down Up Down Up Down
Ever feel like Oprah when it comes to trying to lose weight? Fat, skinny, fat, skinny, fat. Oprah, like many of us, is a true yo-yo queen.
In 1991 I lost forty pounds, mainly because I fast-walked, roller-bladed, or rode my bicycle at least four or five times a week. But the next winter, I let my exercise program slip. Over the next three years I gained back those pounds. Every time I looked at my exercise bike I shuddered and walked right past it.
In January of 1996, I heard that it takes three weeks to make a habit. So I decided to get back on that exercise bike at least three times a week for three weeks to see if I could, indeed, get back into the exercise habit. Sure enough, by the end of the third week I didn’t even have to drag myself downstairs to that bike. It became automatic. Get up. Get my youngest child off to school. Fix a cup of tea. Then downstairs to watch the news while I rode six or eight miles on the stationary bike. It was a routine I looked forward to.
As soon as the warmer weather hit I took my act on the road…fast-walking in the beautiful outdoors. But it didn’t last. I simply hadn’t done any of it every single day, long-enough to make it a true habit.
For the next dozen years I went up and down the scale in five pound increments. Winter would hit and I’d gain. Summertime I’d be more active and lose. It’s still a struggle. But you know what? I’ve stopped trying so hard. I know I have to exercise 3-5 times a week. And I do...usually six days a week. Now that I live in Florida with two swimming pools right across the street and mild enough weather to bike nearly every day all year long, there simply are no more excuses. I know I have to eat healthy foods, lots of fresh veggies especially. And I do. I know I have to eat smaller portions and stop eating so many sweets. I’m trying. But I’m not obsessing about it anymore.
I’m tired of seeing Oprah’s fat-skinny-fat-skinny photos in the magazines. I’ve decided to like myself just the way I am. Healthy, but with a few bulges here and there.
In 1991 I lost forty pounds, mainly because I fast-walked, roller-bladed, or rode my bicycle at least four or five times a week. But the next winter, I let my exercise program slip. Over the next three years I gained back those pounds. Every time I looked at my exercise bike I shuddered and walked right past it.
In January of 1996, I heard that it takes three weeks to make a habit. So I decided to get back on that exercise bike at least three times a week for three weeks to see if I could, indeed, get back into the exercise habit. Sure enough, by the end of the third week I didn’t even have to drag myself downstairs to that bike. It became automatic. Get up. Get my youngest child off to school. Fix a cup of tea. Then downstairs to watch the news while I rode six or eight miles on the stationary bike. It was a routine I looked forward to.
As soon as the warmer weather hit I took my act on the road…fast-walking in the beautiful outdoors. But it didn’t last. I simply hadn’t done any of it every single day, long-enough to make it a true habit.
For the next dozen years I went up and down the scale in five pound increments. Winter would hit and I’d gain. Summertime I’d be more active and lose. It’s still a struggle. But you know what? I’ve stopped trying so hard. I know I have to exercise 3-5 times a week. And I do...usually six days a week. Now that I live in Florida with two swimming pools right across the street and mild enough weather to bike nearly every day all year long, there simply are no more excuses. I know I have to eat healthy foods, lots of fresh veggies especially. And I do. I know I have to eat smaller portions and stop eating so many sweets. I’m trying. But I’m not obsessing about it anymore.
I’m tired of seeing Oprah’s fat-skinny-fat-skinny photos in the magazines. I’ve decided to like myself just the way I am. Healthy, but with a few bulges here and there.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The Good Life
Imagine what it was like for me, a faint-of-pocketbook single parent, to spend four days at a famous resort spa in Arizona where the rooms cost $475 to $3200 a night. My friend Marsha, who invited me as her guest, and 65 others won the four-day vacation by filling out a sweepstakes form in the grocery store .
I never wanted to leave the 6000 square feet of pools at the spa. The minute you arrived, Greg or Dan, the pool workers, would bring a fitted terrycloth sheet, wrap it around your cushioned lounge chair and hand you a plush 5-foot-long bath towel as he deposited a glass of ice water on your table. Every 15 minutes he’d refill your glass to make sure you didn't get dehydrated in the dessert air. Later, ice-cold wet wash cloths arrived, rolled up on a silver tray for brow dabbing. Next, a silver tray of skewered fruit.
We contest people were treated to meals that must have been copied out of Gourmet Magazine and flown in special, perhaps on the Concorde. We also received five free spa treatments, each valued at $105-$195.
The funny thing about this dream world was the fact that as the entire staff served, smoothed, soothed, coddled, cooed and spoiled us rotten it became clear that they were enjoying our group of spa winners as much as we gushed thank-you's at them for everything.
On the first day, John, one of the waiters, said, "We're not supposed to talk to our guests more than 30 seconds at a time. Rich people want to be served and left alone. But we couldn't wait until your group got here."
"Why?" I asked, knowing the staff wouldn’t be receiving extravagant tips from our group.
"Because you're real people, that's why. Like us. Down to earth. We're going to have a blast."
And so we did. We ordinary, contest entering folks who visited paradise for a few short days, were grateful and humble enough to show our gratitude, not with money, but with kindness and friendship…a life lesson I was happy to relearn.
I never wanted to leave the 6000 square feet of pools at the spa. The minute you arrived, Greg or Dan, the pool workers, would bring a fitted terrycloth sheet, wrap it around your cushioned lounge chair and hand you a plush 5-foot-long bath towel as he deposited a glass of ice water on your table. Every 15 minutes he’d refill your glass to make sure you didn't get dehydrated in the dessert air. Later, ice-cold wet wash cloths arrived, rolled up on a silver tray for brow dabbing. Next, a silver tray of skewered fruit.
We contest people were treated to meals that must have been copied out of Gourmet Magazine and flown in special, perhaps on the Concorde. We also received five free spa treatments, each valued at $105-$195.
The funny thing about this dream world was the fact that as the entire staff served, smoothed, soothed, coddled, cooed and spoiled us rotten it became clear that they were enjoying our group of spa winners as much as we gushed thank-you's at them for everything.
On the first day, John, one of the waiters, said, "We're not supposed to talk to our guests more than 30 seconds at a time. Rich people want to be served and left alone. But we couldn't wait until your group got here."
"Why?" I asked, knowing the staff wouldn’t be receiving extravagant tips from our group.
"Because you're real people, that's why. Like us. Down to earth. We're going to have a blast."
And so we did. We ordinary, contest entering folks who visited paradise for a few short days, were grateful and humble enough to show our gratitude, not with money, but with kindness and friendship…a life lesson I was happy to relearn.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Dialog With a Fulltime Writer With Me Doing Most of the Talking.
Today I'm going to do something a little different on my blog. Last week my first cousin twice removed, Tara Fouts, who is a college student in California, asked if she could interview me for her blog. Of course I said yes. After all, Tara is family! Her father is my first cousin Meta's son. And cousin Meta is so dear to my heart that I call her my sister-cousin. Anyway, Tara's questions were so thoughtful that I not only answered all ten, I blathered on and on for 2200 words. Poor Tara. Well, anyway, here it is, questions and answers as only a self-indulgent writer can muster.
1. First, and most important, tell us a little bit about yourself! How did you start writing, what do you write, etc.
I started writing in 1980, a dozen years after I graduated from college with a B.A. degree in English. That English degree didn't teach me a thing about how to be a writer. But it did teach me to appreciate good writing. Over the years I've learned that writing cannot be taught. It can only be learned. And you learn by writing, writing, writing, writing, writing, writing, writing. And then you do five more drafts. And then you submit and get rejection after rejection after rejection after rejection.
I started writing, like 80% of all writers do, because of the death of someone I loved. In the industry these pieces are known as "Dead Grandma" stories and most of them end up in the round file in publishers' offices. Nobody cares about your dead grandma but people write these things because they need a catharsis after the death of the person they loved so much. In my case my mother died in 1979 of ALS at age 57. She was my best friend and for the first time since I was 17 years old I was living in my hometown and had the time to nourish a real friendship with my mother. As a newly-divorced single parent of three small children, I shared many cups of tea with her in the mornings before we each went to work. When she died four years later, after I'd remarried and was pregnant with my fourth child, I was devastated and wrote my first true story, The Baggy Yellow Shirt. Google it. It's been stolen by hundreds of bloggers over the years. My "dead grandma" story has been read world-wide by over 100 million people in numerous publications, including Reader's Digest and all 15 of its foreign editions. I just completed a long non-fiction piece titled The Journey of the Baggy Yellow Shirt that is going to be published this year in an anthology for writers.
You asked, "What do you write?" I write non-fiction. Stories, columns, essays, books.
2. Why did you choose to write in the non-fiction genre?
Laziness. There's very little difference between fiction and non-fiction if you're writing stories. True stories and made up stories all contain the same seven essential ingredients: contract with the reader, verisimilitude, conflict, scene, dialog, agent for change and a take-away. Since most fiction is based on true life anyway, and since my life was filled with conflict and change...all I did was write true stories about things I experienced firsthand or true stuff from people I interviewed. Fiction requires more thought and an amazingly well-developed imagination. Again, as a busy single parent raising four children, I honestly didn't have enough time to sit and ponder my bellybutton let alone try to come up with fiction plots, conflicts and characters. I had enough of that in my own life. And that is exactly why anyone under 40 has a tough time being a non-fiction writer. They simply don't have enough life under their belts yet.
3. What do you feel is the hardest part in writing non-fiction? Do you feel it is easier than writing in the fiction genre?
I doubt if there's any difference in the degree of difficulty between fiction and non-fiction when it comes to the actual writing.
Both are difficult. Both require what Stephen King shares in his splendid book ON WRITING (my favorite writing how-to). He says to be a good writer you just need four things: A room, a door, determination to shut the door and a concrete goal. Period. Nobody else could ever come up with a better answer than that. For most writers the concrete goal is the most difficult. For me it's what makes writing easy. When you set a goal each day and stick to it, you eventually end up with a book. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. So I set a goal each day. That's why I love to write 365-day books. I've written five of them.
A HUG A DAY FOR SINGLE PARENTS 365-Down-to-Earth Daily Devotions. (Servant Publications)
CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE DIETER'S SOUL DAILY INSPIRATIONS. (HCI)
DAILY DEVOTIONS FOR WRITERS (Infinity Publications)
POSITIVE QUOTES FOR EVERY DAY (Publications International Ltd) This will be published in August, 2010.
LEARNING TO LOVE YOUR STRUGGLES 365-Days of Grit, Gusto and Grace (Still trying to sell that one.)
When you divide your elephant into 365 pages, each its own entity, you can say, "I will write three of these 350-word stories or essays every day.” Stephen King writes 2000 words a day so we writers should easily be able to crank out 1000 words a day.
Sometimes I tell myself that I only have to put my butt in the chair for 15 minutes. But invariably, once I start writing, the cobwebs in my brain disappear and my fingers fly. It's getting your butt in the chair that's the hard part. For instance, I was coming up with excuses not to answer your questions. But the minute I started with question number one, my fingers flew until I'd written over 2200 words...probably 1500 more than you ever wanted.
4. Have you ever considered switching to the dark side? (aka, writing fiction?) Why, or why not?
Of course I'm insanely jealous of fiction writers. I would love to be one of them. But after writing seriously for 30 years and having been relatively successful with non-fiction I'm spoiled rotten. And now that my kids are grown and I've moved to the sunny south, it seems that the struggles in my life have diminished to the point where I don't have as much to write about. I know I could start a crazy novel about life as one of the oldest baby boomers on the planet. Or what it's like to live in Florida among all the wild, wacky, way-out oldsters who are determined to grab onto the last bit of their lives with gusto. I could write a fiction book about my weird love life. My 2nd husband left me for an older woman, married her the day of our divorce and then died two years later when the child we had together was nine years old. My next relationship was a man who was a relocated government witness, testifying against the NY mob at various trials. We were together for eight months and even started writing a book together about his life as a mobster-wanna-be. (He was only half-Italian.) I'm telling you, I was definitely standing in the wrong line when God passed out husband-hunting genes. My next relationship lasted two-and-a-half years. But he was a widow who loved marriage and he was ready to take the plunge again. I was not. So I found him the woman he did marry a few months later. Then in 2004, after living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin for 24 years and suffering six-month-winters, I moved to Florida, the land of my birth where I only lived for three weeks just after World War II ended. In Florida I met Jack, my hunka-hunka-burnin'-love who lives 57 steps from my condo. We've been together for six years and I think there is something to be said for couples in their 50's, 60s' or 70's living 57 steps from each other. Should I write a steamy piece of fiction about a woman who wiggles her way through life with various no-two-are-alike paramours or should this be a non-fiction book about this New Age phenomena? FIFTY-SEVEN STEPS TO PARADISE Why Couples Should Not Live Together. Hmmmmm???
5. Do you think the non-fiction genre gets little attention in the writing world? Why or why not do you suppose that is?
Considering the fact that 80% of all books published are non-fiction, I'd say non-fiction gets lots more attention. Only about 5000 fiction books are published a year and that includes all childrens’ books. The numbers imply that more people are turned on by the here, the now, the real-life problem solving. We want answers and we want them now, in a nice easy-to-read book. We're all dying to know how we can be happier, better looking, more fit, kinder, thinner. We want to know how to have more fun, better travel experiences, better marriages, friendships, neighbors, co-workers, jobs, homes, lifestyles, romance etc. We are a nation of answer-seeking lunatics who unfortunately don't have time to sit and read Gone With the Wind anymore. Hence non-fiction books will always be easier to write and sell.
6. Tell us a little bit about your current published book, "Five things to make you happy, and money isn't one of them." Ah yes, my latest book, THE 5 THINGS WE NEED TO BE HAPPY And Money Isn't One of Them. I discovered years ago that I am a very happy person. I always thought it was because I grew up in a happy, two-parent home in a small Midwestern town in northern Illinois. But as I grew older and wiser, I learned that it was the struggles in my life that truly made me grow and become happy. You have to earn happy. My childhood gave me the backbone and grit to ride through the struggles, but the journey of surfing through the struggles is what helped me emerge as a better, smarter, more compassionate, wiser, more interesting person. Then I started to analyze exactly what we need to be happy and I discovered there are only five simple ingredients. The answers are in the book. Here comes the shameless plug. This book can be ordered directly from me for $16 including postage. Send checks to Patricia Lorenz, 10351 Regal Drive #20, Largo, FL 33774. If you want it autographed let me know if you want a note written to a specific person.
See what shameless hussies we writers have to be? We write. We sell books. We need food, clothing and shelter. Send me money. You will receive a lovely book containing the answers to the question, "What are the 5 things?"
7. A lot of people might recognize your name from reading the ever popular Chicken Soup for the Soul Series. How did you get started writing for that series? What was your
favorite book you were a part of?
In 1995, a few months before The 2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul was to be released, I got a call from Jack Canfield asking if he could have permission to use my story, The Baggy Yellow Shirt in his second book. He'd seen it in Reader's Digest. I didn't have a clue who he was and had not even seen a copy of the first Chicken Soup book.
I said, "Sure, you can use it. How much are you going to pay me?"
He answered, "You want me to pay you?'' Seems he hadn't paid anyone for any of their stories in the first Chicken Soup book.
I said, "Of course I want you to pay me. Writing is how I make my living."
"How much?"
I pondered my life, my bills. "$250."
Then Jack proceeded to tell me that the first Chicken Soup book sold over one million copies. And he blathered on about how many millions of people world-wide he'd spoken to as a keynote self-esteem guru. At the end of our conversation I said, "Jack, I've changed my mind. I think I need $500 for reprint rights to my story."
He said, "Fine. I really want your story in my book."
Later Jack sent me a check for $500 and unbeknownst to him, the publisher also sent me a check for $500. I wrote a two-page, single-spaced letter detailing my life as a poor single parent of four and explained to both the publisher and to Jack just why I should be allowed to keep both checks. I never heard from either of them and I cashed those checks faster than rain rolls off a slanted roof. So, to answer your question, I suppose my first experience with Chicken Soup was my favorite. After all, that's the one that has my all-time-favorite story, The Baggy Yellow Shirt in it.
I used my power of persuasion and managed to get paid $2500 each for a number of my stories that appeared in Chicken Soup books after that for five or six years. Then, as the sales numbers dwindled, the mega-corporation put the clamp on their expenses and refused to pay any author more than $200 per story. At this writing I have over 65 stories in more than fifty of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books. Even though Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen sold the empire to a couple from Connecticut a few years ago, that couple has no plans to stop production of Chicken Soup books for years to come. But the well of good money for writers has dried up.
8. Quick! Name five things you can't live without!
Hey, that would be giving away The 5 Things We Need to be Happy and then nobody would buy my book! Well, OK, here are a few extras I need to be happy...or that I can't live without because I don't want to be here unless I'm happy.
Sunshine, water (for swimming), and enough experiences and struggles in life to write about.
9. Do you have any advice for avid writers who are trying to get published? What would be the most important thing to know? Writers write. They don't just talk about writing, major in writing, read about writing, subscribe to magazines about writing, tell their friends and family that they want to be writers. NO, writers write. Period. They write and write and write and write every day. Remember? A room, a door, determination to shut the door and a concrete goal. Writers write. And then they rewrite. They practice the three re's. Revise, rewrite, redo. And most importantly they submit their work to publishers. I believe that writing is meant to be shared. Why take your thoughts from brain to fingers to computer to print unless you're going to share your thoughts with the world? If you're not going to share you can keep your thoughts in your brain and go play ping-pong. Too many writers talk about being writers and they never write. If you're going to do the work of actual writing then you must do the work of getting it published. Submit, submit, submit. And never give up if you believe that a piece is good enough to be published. Never ever ever ever ever ever give up.
10. Who or what is your inspiration for writing?
Every day I'm inspired by different people, places, things, events, activities, encounters. The world inspires me to write. My life experiences inspire me to write. Writing for a real writer is like breathing air. We just do it because we must.
1. First, and most important, tell us a little bit about yourself! How did you start writing, what do you write, etc.
I started writing in 1980, a dozen years after I graduated from college with a B.A. degree in English. That English degree didn't teach me a thing about how to be a writer. But it did teach me to appreciate good writing. Over the years I've learned that writing cannot be taught. It can only be learned. And you learn by writing, writing, writing, writing, writing, writing, writing. And then you do five more drafts. And then you submit and get rejection after rejection after rejection after rejection.
I started writing, like 80% of all writers do, because of the death of someone I loved. In the industry these pieces are known as "Dead Grandma" stories and most of them end up in the round file in publishers' offices. Nobody cares about your dead grandma but people write these things because they need a catharsis after the death of the person they loved so much. In my case my mother died in 1979 of ALS at age 57. She was my best friend and for the first time since I was 17 years old I was living in my hometown and had the time to nourish a real friendship with my mother. As a newly-divorced single parent of three small children, I shared many cups of tea with her in the mornings before we each went to work. When she died four years later, after I'd remarried and was pregnant with my fourth child, I was devastated and wrote my first true story, The Baggy Yellow Shirt. Google it. It's been stolen by hundreds of bloggers over the years. My "dead grandma" story has been read world-wide by over 100 million people in numerous publications, including Reader's Digest and all 15 of its foreign editions. I just completed a long non-fiction piece titled The Journey of the Baggy Yellow Shirt that is going to be published this year in an anthology for writers.
You asked, "What do you write?" I write non-fiction. Stories, columns, essays, books.
2. Why did you choose to write in the non-fiction genre?
Laziness. There's very little difference between fiction and non-fiction if you're writing stories. True stories and made up stories all contain the same seven essential ingredients: contract with the reader, verisimilitude, conflict, scene, dialog, agent for change and a take-away. Since most fiction is based on true life anyway, and since my life was filled with conflict and change...all I did was write true stories about things I experienced firsthand or true stuff from people I interviewed. Fiction requires more thought and an amazingly well-developed imagination. Again, as a busy single parent raising four children, I honestly didn't have enough time to sit and ponder my bellybutton let alone try to come up with fiction plots, conflicts and characters. I had enough of that in my own life. And that is exactly why anyone under 40 has a tough time being a non-fiction writer. They simply don't have enough life under their belts yet.
3. What do you feel is the hardest part in writing non-fiction? Do you feel it is easier than writing in the fiction genre?
I doubt if there's any difference in the degree of difficulty between fiction and non-fiction when it comes to the actual writing.
Both are difficult. Both require what Stephen King shares in his splendid book ON WRITING (my favorite writing how-to). He says to be a good writer you just need four things: A room, a door, determination to shut the door and a concrete goal. Period. Nobody else could ever come up with a better answer than that. For most writers the concrete goal is the most difficult. For me it's what makes writing easy. When you set a goal each day and stick to it, you eventually end up with a book. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. So I set a goal each day. That's why I love to write 365-day books. I've written five of them.
A HUG A DAY FOR SINGLE PARENTS 365-Down-to-Earth Daily Devotions. (Servant Publications)
CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE DIETER'S SOUL DAILY INSPIRATIONS. (HCI)
DAILY DEVOTIONS FOR WRITERS (Infinity Publications)
POSITIVE QUOTES FOR EVERY DAY (Publications International Ltd) This will be published in August, 2010.
LEARNING TO LOVE YOUR STRUGGLES 365-Days of Grit, Gusto and Grace (Still trying to sell that one.)
When you divide your elephant into 365 pages, each its own entity, you can say, "I will write three of these 350-word stories or essays every day.” Stephen King writes 2000 words a day so we writers should easily be able to crank out 1000 words a day.
Sometimes I tell myself that I only have to put my butt in the chair for 15 minutes. But invariably, once I start writing, the cobwebs in my brain disappear and my fingers fly. It's getting your butt in the chair that's the hard part. For instance, I was coming up with excuses not to answer your questions. But the minute I started with question number one, my fingers flew until I'd written over 2200 words...probably 1500 more than you ever wanted.
4. Have you ever considered switching to the dark side? (aka, writing fiction?) Why, or why not?
Of course I'm insanely jealous of fiction writers. I would love to be one of them. But after writing seriously for 30 years and having been relatively successful with non-fiction I'm spoiled rotten. And now that my kids are grown and I've moved to the sunny south, it seems that the struggles in my life have diminished to the point where I don't have as much to write about. I know I could start a crazy novel about life as one of the oldest baby boomers on the planet. Or what it's like to live in Florida among all the wild, wacky, way-out oldsters who are determined to grab onto the last bit of their lives with gusto. I could write a fiction book about my weird love life. My 2nd husband left me for an older woman, married her the day of our divorce and then died two years later when the child we had together was nine years old. My next relationship was a man who was a relocated government witness, testifying against the NY mob at various trials. We were together for eight months and even started writing a book together about his life as a mobster-wanna-be. (He was only half-Italian.) I'm telling you, I was definitely standing in the wrong line when God passed out husband-hunting genes. My next relationship lasted two-and-a-half years. But he was a widow who loved marriage and he was ready to take the plunge again. I was not. So I found him the woman he did marry a few months later. Then in 2004, after living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin for 24 years and suffering six-month-winters, I moved to Florida, the land of my birth where I only lived for three weeks just after World War II ended. In Florida I met Jack, my hunka-hunka-burnin'-love who lives 57 steps from my condo. We've been together for six years and I think there is something to be said for couples in their 50's, 60s' or 70's living 57 steps from each other. Should I write a steamy piece of fiction about a woman who wiggles her way through life with various no-two-are-alike paramours or should this be a non-fiction book about this New Age phenomena? FIFTY-SEVEN STEPS TO PARADISE Why Couples Should Not Live Together. Hmmmmm???
5. Do you think the non-fiction genre gets little attention in the writing world? Why or why not do you suppose that is?
Considering the fact that 80% of all books published are non-fiction, I'd say non-fiction gets lots more attention. Only about 5000 fiction books are published a year and that includes all childrens’ books. The numbers imply that more people are turned on by the here, the now, the real-life problem solving. We want answers and we want them now, in a nice easy-to-read book. We're all dying to know how we can be happier, better looking, more fit, kinder, thinner. We want to know how to have more fun, better travel experiences, better marriages, friendships, neighbors, co-workers, jobs, homes, lifestyles, romance etc. We are a nation of answer-seeking lunatics who unfortunately don't have time to sit and read Gone With the Wind anymore. Hence non-fiction books will always be easier to write and sell.
6. Tell us a little bit about your current published book, "Five things to make you happy, and money isn't one of them." Ah yes, my latest book, THE 5 THINGS WE NEED TO BE HAPPY And Money Isn't One of Them. I discovered years ago that I am a very happy person. I always thought it was because I grew up in a happy, two-parent home in a small Midwestern town in northern Illinois. But as I grew older and wiser, I learned that it was the struggles in my life that truly made me grow and become happy. You have to earn happy. My childhood gave me the backbone and grit to ride through the struggles, but the journey of surfing through the struggles is what helped me emerge as a better, smarter, more compassionate, wiser, more interesting person. Then I started to analyze exactly what we need to be happy and I discovered there are only five simple ingredients. The answers are in the book. Here comes the shameless plug. This book can be ordered directly from me for $16 including postage. Send checks to Patricia Lorenz, 10351 Regal Drive #20, Largo, FL 33774. If you want it autographed let me know if you want a note written to a specific person.
See what shameless hussies we writers have to be? We write. We sell books. We need food, clothing and shelter. Send me money. You will receive a lovely book containing the answers to the question, "What are the 5 things?"
7. A lot of people might recognize your name from reading the ever popular Chicken Soup for the Soul Series. How did you get started writing for that series? What was your
favorite book you were a part of?
In 1995, a few months before The 2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul was to be released, I got a call from Jack Canfield asking if he could have permission to use my story, The Baggy Yellow Shirt in his second book. He'd seen it in Reader's Digest. I didn't have a clue who he was and had not even seen a copy of the first Chicken Soup book.
I said, "Sure, you can use it. How much are you going to pay me?"
He answered, "You want me to pay you?'' Seems he hadn't paid anyone for any of their stories in the first Chicken Soup book.
I said, "Of course I want you to pay me. Writing is how I make my living."
"How much?"
I pondered my life, my bills. "$250."
Then Jack proceeded to tell me that the first Chicken Soup book sold over one million copies. And he blathered on about how many millions of people world-wide he'd spoken to as a keynote self-esteem guru. At the end of our conversation I said, "Jack, I've changed my mind. I think I need $500 for reprint rights to my story."
He said, "Fine. I really want your story in my book."
Later Jack sent me a check for $500 and unbeknownst to him, the publisher also sent me a check for $500. I wrote a two-page, single-spaced letter detailing my life as a poor single parent of four and explained to both the publisher and to Jack just why I should be allowed to keep both checks. I never heard from either of them and I cashed those checks faster than rain rolls off a slanted roof. So, to answer your question, I suppose my first experience with Chicken Soup was my favorite. After all, that's the one that has my all-time-favorite story, The Baggy Yellow Shirt in it.
I used my power of persuasion and managed to get paid $2500 each for a number of my stories that appeared in Chicken Soup books after that for five or six years. Then, as the sales numbers dwindled, the mega-corporation put the clamp on their expenses and refused to pay any author more than $200 per story. At this writing I have over 65 stories in more than fifty of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books. Even though Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen sold the empire to a couple from Connecticut a few years ago, that couple has no plans to stop production of Chicken Soup books for years to come. But the well of good money for writers has dried up.
8. Quick! Name five things you can't live without!
Hey, that would be giving away The 5 Things We Need to be Happy and then nobody would buy my book! Well, OK, here are a few extras I need to be happy...or that I can't live without because I don't want to be here unless I'm happy.
Sunshine, water (for swimming), and enough experiences and struggles in life to write about.
9. Do you have any advice for avid writers who are trying to get published? What would be the most important thing to know? Writers write. They don't just talk about writing, major in writing, read about writing, subscribe to magazines about writing, tell their friends and family that they want to be writers. NO, writers write. Period. They write and write and write and write every day. Remember? A room, a door, determination to shut the door and a concrete goal. Writers write. And then they rewrite. They practice the three re's. Revise, rewrite, redo. And most importantly they submit their work to publishers. I believe that writing is meant to be shared. Why take your thoughts from brain to fingers to computer to print unless you're going to share your thoughts with the world? If you're not going to share you can keep your thoughts in your brain and go play ping-pong. Too many writers talk about being writers and they never write. If you're going to do the work of actual writing then you must do the work of getting it published. Submit, submit, submit. And never give up if you believe that a piece is good enough to be published. Never ever ever ever ever ever give up.
10. Who or what is your inspiration for writing?
Every day I'm inspired by different people, places, things, events, activities, encounters. The world inspires me to write. My life experiences inspire me to write. Writing for a real writer is like breathing air. We just do it because we must.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Arise, Slug
One of the biggest struggles of my life has been motivating myself to exercise every day. I’m basically a lazy slug who can spend hours puttering around the house and/or sitting in front of my computer writing, reading or entertaining myself with the world-at-my-fingertips.
For years in my home in Milwaukee I had a quote taped to my front door that said: “A vigorous walk will do more good for an unhappy but otherwise healthy adult than all the medicine and psychology in the world.” And for many of the 24 years I lived in Wisconsin I followed the advice of that quote. I walked. I walked nearly every Saturday morning for miles and miles with my friend Betsy. We solved our life problems and shared everything as we walked and talked. But doing that one day a week was certainly not enough.
I read a survey once that said the top five excuses Americans have for not exercising are:
1. They don’t have the time.
2. They don’t have the willpower.
3. They don’t feel like it.
4. A medical reason keeps them from exercising.
5. They don’t have enough energy.
Ha! I like that last one. If people only knew that exercise gives them more energy, perhaps they’d get off the sofa and begin.
Before you tape your favorite excuse to the front door, here are seven reasons most people do exercise regularly.
1. It makes them feel better physically and mentally.
2. It relaxes them.
3. They sleep better.
4. It improves their concentration, self-image, and their ability to cope with pressure and stress.
5. It makes them more productive at work.
6. It makes them more creative.
7. It gives them more energy.
So which list do you want to use as the backbone for your life? Next time you’re feeling like an exercise slug, take a deep breath, lace up those walking shoes and head out the door. Solving the struggle of how to motivate yourself to do it is not nearly as difficult as what happens to your mind and body if you don’t exercise at all.
For years in my home in Milwaukee I had a quote taped to my front door that said: “A vigorous walk will do more good for an unhappy but otherwise healthy adult than all the medicine and psychology in the world.” And for many of the 24 years I lived in Wisconsin I followed the advice of that quote. I walked. I walked nearly every Saturday morning for miles and miles with my friend Betsy. We solved our life problems and shared everything as we walked and talked. But doing that one day a week was certainly not enough.
I read a survey once that said the top five excuses Americans have for not exercising are:
1. They don’t have the time.
2. They don’t have the willpower.
3. They don’t feel like it.
4. A medical reason keeps them from exercising.
5. They don’t have enough energy.
Ha! I like that last one. If people only knew that exercise gives them more energy, perhaps they’d get off the sofa and begin.
Before you tape your favorite excuse to the front door, here are seven reasons most people do exercise regularly.
1. It makes them feel better physically and mentally.
2. It relaxes them.
3. They sleep better.
4. It improves their concentration, self-image, and their ability to cope with pressure and stress.
5. It makes them more productive at work.
6. It makes them more creative.
7. It gives them more energy.
So which list do you want to use as the backbone for your life? Next time you’re feeling like an exercise slug, take a deep breath, lace up those walking shoes and head out the door. Solving the struggle of how to motivate yourself to do it is not nearly as difficult as what happens to your mind and body if you don’t exercise at all.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Seeing the Big Picture
“Mommy, let’s walk to the park,” four-year-old Andrew begged that first warm day after a long Wisconsin winter. I wasn’t really up for it. Too tired. Too much to do. Marriage on the rocks. In short, I was struggling with my life, my job, my marriage and worn out to the bone.
But the little guy begged. “Please, Mommy!” I followed him outside as he scampered out the front door.
“Let’s climb that hill!” he squealed.
I stalled. “There are too many tall weeds.”
“There’s a path!”
At the top he turned to run down. Before I could caution him to slow down he’d fallen face down, then rolled the length of the hill. I expected tears and loud wails.
“Hey Jill! I went up to get a pail of water and I fell down and broke my crown!” His laughter was contagious.
The path led into the woods. Andrew stopped cold. “Gretel, I think we’re lost. Did you bring any bread crumbs to drop on the path? What if the wicked witch gets us?”
“Oh, Hansel, the birds ate all the bread crumbs. You’ll have to take care of that witch if we meet her.”
We came to the footbridge that spanned the creek. Andrew scampered down the bank underneath the bridge. “Mommy, walk across the bridge.”
I obeyed, wondering what he was up to now. Then a wee voice trying to sound mean and ornery shouted, “Who’s that tramping on my bridge?”
I followed my cue. “It’s just the littlest billy goat gruff. Don’t eat me up!”
Walking home, the late afternoon shadows were taller than we were. Andrew put his little hand in mine and said aloud, “I love you, Mommy!”
And somehow my world of too much to do, not enough time, and problems galore, took on a new dimension. I’d discovered that even the smallest child can help us see what’s really important in life. On that day, it was a walk in the park with a four-year-old that brought me to my senses.
But the little guy begged. “Please, Mommy!” I followed him outside as he scampered out the front door.
“Let’s climb that hill!” he squealed.
I stalled. “There are too many tall weeds.”
“There’s a path!”
At the top he turned to run down. Before I could caution him to slow down he’d fallen face down, then rolled the length of the hill. I expected tears and loud wails.
“Hey Jill! I went up to get a pail of water and I fell down and broke my crown!” His laughter was contagious.
The path led into the woods. Andrew stopped cold. “Gretel, I think we’re lost. Did you bring any bread crumbs to drop on the path? What if the wicked witch gets us?”
“Oh, Hansel, the birds ate all the bread crumbs. You’ll have to take care of that witch if we meet her.”
We came to the footbridge that spanned the creek. Andrew scampered down the bank underneath the bridge. “Mommy, walk across the bridge.”
I obeyed, wondering what he was up to now. Then a wee voice trying to sound mean and ornery shouted, “Who’s that tramping on my bridge?”
I followed my cue. “It’s just the littlest billy goat gruff. Don’t eat me up!”
Walking home, the late afternoon shadows were taller than we were. Andrew put his little hand in mine and said aloud, “I love you, Mommy!”
And somehow my world of too much to do, not enough time, and problems galore, took on a new dimension. I’d discovered that even the smallest child can help us see what’s really important in life. On that day, it was a walk in the park with a four-year-old that brought me to my senses.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Strength in Numbers
When my daughter, Julia, sprained her ankle, I felt sorry for her but I couldn’t “feel” her pain. Neither could I imagine the clumsiness she felt trying to maneuver the crutches. I quickly grew weary of her daily complaining.
Six months later, I sprained my own ankle, tearing ligaments when I fell off my mini-trampoline. Like Julia, I suffered through two days of “Ace, ice, and elevate.” I took crutch-walking lessons at the hospital and gingerly negotiated the steps at home, fearful that I’d fall off every step. I winced in pain and was finally able to commiserate with Julia, who was the only one of my children who truly understood my plight.
Until we’ve actually been there, none of us can really feel the pain or heartache experienced by another. That’s why, during a time of crisis, it’s so important to reach out to others who have experienced similar circumstances.
--For the alcoholic, to lean on a recovered alcoholic at an AA meeting.
--For a widow or widower, to mingle with other people who have lost a spouse.
--For a victim of cancer or any medical illness, to seek people who have suffered through and conquered the same illness.
--For a divorced person, to reach out to others whose marriages have shattered and who have learned to pick up the pieces.
There are times when we all feel abandoned as we navigate from one struggle to another. But the one thing that we can be sure of is that we are not alone. There are always other people who have gone through or are still in the midst of going through similar struggles as our own.
Strength in numbers is not just a trite saying. It’s a powerful way to navigate the hurricane waters that seem to swallow us whole. Strength in numbers means allowing others who are perhaps even more experienced than we are at this particular form of grief to be there for us with smart words, a warm hug, a place to rest and a listening ear.
Six months later, I sprained my own ankle, tearing ligaments when I fell off my mini-trampoline. Like Julia, I suffered through two days of “Ace, ice, and elevate.” I took crutch-walking lessons at the hospital and gingerly negotiated the steps at home, fearful that I’d fall off every step. I winced in pain and was finally able to commiserate with Julia, who was the only one of my children who truly understood my plight.
Until we’ve actually been there, none of us can really feel the pain or heartache experienced by another. That’s why, during a time of crisis, it’s so important to reach out to others who have experienced similar circumstances.
--For the alcoholic, to lean on a recovered alcoholic at an AA meeting.
--For a widow or widower, to mingle with other people who have lost a spouse.
--For a victim of cancer or any medical illness, to seek people who have suffered through and conquered the same illness.
--For a divorced person, to reach out to others whose marriages have shattered and who have learned to pick up the pieces.
There are times when we all feel abandoned as we navigate from one struggle to another. But the one thing that we can be sure of is that we are not alone. There are always other people who have gone through or are still in the midst of going through similar struggles as our own.
Strength in numbers is not just a trite saying. It’s a powerful way to navigate the hurricane waters that seem to swallow us whole. Strength in numbers means allowing others who are perhaps even more experienced than we are at this particular form of grief to be there for us with smart words, a warm hug, a place to rest and a listening ear.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Pushing the Little Birds Off the Branch
When I was raising my four children I was often frustrated by how messy they were. Even though they each had their own bedrooms, they often left their stuff all over the house. And they were noisy. And always hungry. Honestly, there were days when I couldn’t wait until they were all out on their own.
And then, of course, it happened. I wasn’t so crazy about the idea then. I missed my children desperately as I banged around in my big empty house, especially since there wasn’t a husband or boyfriend to occupy my time. The house was too quiet. Too clean. Nobody ate the huge amount of granola I made every month. Or the raisin bran muffins.
One day a friend sent me this bit of philosophy:
If you love something, set it free.
If it comes back, it will always be yours.
If it doesn’t come back, it was never yours to begin with.
But…
If it just sits in your living room,
Messes up your stuff, eats your food,
uses your telephone, takes your money
And doesn’t appear to realize that you had set it free…
…you either married it or gave birth to it.Author unknown
I had a good laugh, then began to think. None of my children had come back home to live once they graduated from college. Until that funny little ditty came my way I hadn’t even thought about how fortunate I was that my children had all become responsible adults on their own, supporting themselves and their families.
The best part is that all four of them now have children of their own who mess up their stuff, eat their food, use their phone, take their money…
Ah, the circle of life. It’s positively delicious, isn’t it?
Perhaps today you can type up a small sign that says, “A good parent is one who makes leaning on unnecessary” and give it to your teenage children with a hug and a reminder that you will always love them but their job is to stand on their own two feet.
And then, of course, it happened. I wasn’t so crazy about the idea then. I missed my children desperately as I banged around in my big empty house, especially since there wasn’t a husband or boyfriend to occupy my time. The house was too quiet. Too clean. Nobody ate the huge amount of granola I made every month. Or the raisin bran muffins.
One day a friend sent me this bit of philosophy:
If you love something, set it free.
If it comes back, it will always be yours.
If it doesn’t come back, it was never yours to begin with.
But…
If it just sits in your living room,
Messes up your stuff, eats your food,
uses your telephone, takes your money
And doesn’t appear to realize that you had set it free…
…you either married it or gave birth to it.Author unknown
I had a good laugh, then began to think. None of my children had come back home to live once they graduated from college. Until that funny little ditty came my way I hadn’t even thought about how fortunate I was that my children had all become responsible adults on their own, supporting themselves and their families.
The best part is that all four of them now have children of their own who mess up their stuff, eat their food, use their phone, take their money…
Ah, the circle of life. It’s positively delicious, isn’t it?
Perhaps today you can type up a small sign that says, “A good parent is one who makes leaning on unnecessary” and give it to your teenage children with a hug and a reminder that you will always love them but their job is to stand on their own two feet.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Attitude Readjustment With an Ax
The day dawned with another month of Milwaukee’s blustery cold weather ahead. I was out of wood the size I needed for the woodburner that heated the entire downstairs of our home. I’d never split logs or used a chain saw before, but we certainly needed the wood. The house, especially the family room and my office downstairs were cold without the heat produced by the woodburner. Could I do it?
I was afraid to use the heavy, sharp equipment. Finally I heaved the ax down over my head and slammed it into one log after another on the chopping block. Most times I missed the log completely. My shoulders ached, my hands shook. But two hours later there was a pile of wood ready to be cut to sixteen-inch lengths with the chain saw.
Terrified that I would cut through the electric cord or myself, I started the saw. Sawdust blew everywhere…on my neck, in my face. I worked on, sweating, aching. A blister developed on my thumb and the pain in my lower back brought me to tears.
I wondered if there was, indeed, a God who truly looked out for us. I hated being a single parent responsible for everything for my four children. How can I be expected to take care of it all, I wondered. The house, the yard, the snow shoveling, the groceries, the cooking, cleaning, driving the children to all their activities, paying for all their activities, trying to be a good parent to four different children in four different schools, my own job at the radio station, my social life…ha! What social life? And now this...splitting and sawing wood for the woodburner. I bellyached to myself the whole time I was sawing that wood.
Several hours later, the wood pile was restocked. As I shook sawdust off my jacket, I felt like Paul Bunyon. I’d done it myself, by golly, and I learned something more valuable than how to work a chain saw. I learned that with determination, inspiration, perspiration and sometimes with a whining prayer or two, I can do anything. Anything at all.
That day I learned to stop bellyaching so much and bask instead in a job well done.
I was afraid to use the heavy, sharp equipment. Finally I heaved the ax down over my head and slammed it into one log after another on the chopping block. Most times I missed the log completely. My shoulders ached, my hands shook. But two hours later there was a pile of wood ready to be cut to sixteen-inch lengths with the chain saw.
Terrified that I would cut through the electric cord or myself, I started the saw. Sawdust blew everywhere…on my neck, in my face. I worked on, sweating, aching. A blister developed on my thumb and the pain in my lower back brought me to tears.
I wondered if there was, indeed, a God who truly looked out for us. I hated being a single parent responsible for everything for my four children. How can I be expected to take care of it all, I wondered. The house, the yard, the snow shoveling, the groceries, the cooking, cleaning, driving the children to all their activities, paying for all their activities, trying to be a good parent to four different children in four different schools, my own job at the radio station, my social life…ha! What social life? And now this...splitting and sawing wood for the woodburner. I bellyached to myself the whole time I was sawing that wood.
Several hours later, the wood pile was restocked. As I shook sawdust off my jacket, I felt like Paul Bunyon. I’d done it myself, by golly, and I learned something more valuable than how to work a chain saw. I learned that with determination, inspiration, perspiration and sometimes with a whining prayer or two, I can do anything. Anything at all.
That day I learned to stop bellyaching so much and bask instead in a job well done.
Monday, March 1, 2010
How To Rebuild
March, especially if you live in the northern half of the United States, can be a dreary month. It’s been two weeks since Valentine’s Day and it’s more than two weeks until St. Patrick’s Day. We need something to celebrate, right? Let’s celebrate the Red Cross.
Founded in 1863 in Geneva Switzerland, the month of March was declared Red Cross Month by presidential proclamation in 1943. Talk about an organization built around the struggles of others. Red Cross members breathe, think, sleep, eat and work through one disaster after another, year after year after year in all parts of the globe. The members of the Red Cross can take the worst disaster and show by their loving organizational skills how to rebuild one hour at a time by offering the victims food, clothing, shelter, medicine and most of all, hope.
The Red Cross international humanitarian movement has organizations in over eighty countries and a membership of well over 100 million. The main purpose is to help victims of war or natural disasters such as floods, tornadoes, hurricanes, fires, earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunami’s and famines. The Red Cross also maintains blood banks and trains people in first aid and water safety.
If you’ve ever lived through a natural disaster or volunteered to help the Red Cross during one, you know how important this organization is. When there’s a need, thousands of Red Cross volunteers rush to that part of the country and often live in primitive conditions themselves while they help feed, house, and care for thousands of people whose lives and homes have been disheveled by disaster. This army of guardian angels can calm the masses, giving victims the strength to rebuild and start their lives over.
Next time a huge struggle falls into your life, think about starting with the basics like the Red Cross does: food, clothing, shelter. Start with those. Then go on to the others: Pray. Listen. Help. Pray like gangbusters. Listen to those who are struggling. Help them rebuild. Surviving a struggle happens one step at a time. Just ask the people in Haiti or Chili.
Founded in 1863 in Geneva Switzerland, the month of March was declared Red Cross Month by presidential proclamation in 1943. Talk about an organization built around the struggles of others. Red Cross members breathe, think, sleep, eat and work through one disaster after another, year after year after year in all parts of the globe. The members of the Red Cross can take the worst disaster and show by their loving organizational skills how to rebuild one hour at a time by offering the victims food, clothing, shelter, medicine and most of all, hope.
The Red Cross international humanitarian movement has organizations in over eighty countries and a membership of well over 100 million. The main purpose is to help victims of war or natural disasters such as floods, tornadoes, hurricanes, fires, earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunami’s and famines. The Red Cross also maintains blood banks and trains people in first aid and water safety.
If you’ve ever lived through a natural disaster or volunteered to help the Red Cross during one, you know how important this organization is. When there’s a need, thousands of Red Cross volunteers rush to that part of the country and often live in primitive conditions themselves while they help feed, house, and care for thousands of people whose lives and homes have been disheveled by disaster. This army of guardian angels can calm the masses, giving victims the strength to rebuild and start their lives over.
Next time a huge struggle falls into your life, think about starting with the basics like the Red Cross does: food, clothing, shelter. Start with those. Then go on to the others: Pray. Listen. Help. Pray like gangbusters. Listen to those who are struggling. Help them rebuild. Surviving a struggle happens one step at a time. Just ask the people in Haiti or Chili.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Giving More Than Crumbs
I was scrambling to get ready for work. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my children get on the school bus. Two minutes later I saw Annie from next door running toward the bus stop.
Poor Annie. My heart ached. I’d have to tell her she’d missed the bus. I should tell her that I’d take her to school. But the school was three miles in the opposite direction and I was already running late for work.
My mind reeled. I could afford to be twenty minutes late for work. Or could I? If Annie’s dad, who worked second shift and slept late, had to get up and take her to school she’d get a tongue-lashing all the way. I’d heard him yelling at his children many times. But should I interfere in their family problems?
In the end, the selfish chicken in me won out. I let Annie solve her own dilemma and went to work.
That evening, getting ready for a meeting at church, I remembered I was supposed to bring food for the Human Concerns kitchen for the needy. I pulled some canned goods from my overflowing cupboard and tossed them into a bag.
On the way to church I thought, How much of a sacrifice is it for me to give up that food? Most of it is stuff I’ve had on my shelves for months. Who likes canned lima beans anyway? Then I thought about Annie. Taking her to school would have been much more of a sacrifice and a better solution to her struggle than my tossing a few canned goods into a box for the needy. Why can’t you be more giving, more considerate of others in a more personal way? I asked myself.
Have you ever been guilty of giving just the crumbs of your excess? From now on, let’s both try harder to give to others until we can actually feel the loss, and then the redemption, ourselves.
Poor Annie. My heart ached. I’d have to tell her she’d missed the bus. I should tell her that I’d take her to school. But the school was three miles in the opposite direction and I was already running late for work.
My mind reeled. I could afford to be twenty minutes late for work. Or could I? If Annie’s dad, who worked second shift and slept late, had to get up and take her to school she’d get a tongue-lashing all the way. I’d heard him yelling at his children many times. But should I interfere in their family problems?
In the end, the selfish chicken in me won out. I let Annie solve her own dilemma and went to work.
That evening, getting ready for a meeting at church, I remembered I was supposed to bring food for the Human Concerns kitchen for the needy. I pulled some canned goods from my overflowing cupboard and tossed them into a bag.
On the way to church I thought, How much of a sacrifice is it for me to give up that food? Most of it is stuff I’ve had on my shelves for months. Who likes canned lima beans anyway? Then I thought about Annie. Taking her to school would have been much more of a sacrifice and a better solution to her struggle than my tossing a few canned goods into a box for the needy. Why can’t you be more giving, more considerate of others in a more personal way? I asked myself.
Have you ever been guilty of giving just the crumbs of your excess? From now on, let’s both try harder to give to others until we can actually feel the loss, and then the redemption, ourselves.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Get Over Yourself
The winter before my dad’s sixty-ninth birthday, he and his retired friend Fritz decided to clear away trees and brush along a canal just a few blocks from Dad’s house. Every morning Dad and Fritz bundled up and with their gas-powered chain saws blasted away the overgrowth on the slope next to the water. By springtime, they’d cleared a mile-long stretch six to eight feet wide. The next winter, with the help of a few more volunteers they recruited, they did 1.2 miles, completing the project.
Impressed with the canal’s new look, the Rock River Development Authority widened and resurfaced the path along the canal for bikers, walkers and joggers, and in July that year organized raft and canoe races. Then the Department of Conservation did some landscaping and added a ramp to the path for the handicapped.
Because of the initiative of two retirees in their late sixties, a beautiful new state parkway was created for the whole county to enjoy. Dad says the harder he worked those two winters, the better he felt and the more energy he had. “Doing something positive for the town makes me feel good about myself!” he added.
I know one thing, when struggles get me down the surest way to reclaim my smile is to organize an event for the residents of my neighborhood. Whether it’s a dinner at a favorite restaurant, a card game, pool party, or craft fair in the clubhouse across the street, doing something for others to enjoy is a blues blaster for sure. Doesn’t hurt to keep busy, either.
If you’re thinking, I don’t have time, that’s just an excuse. Remember the old saw about, “If you want something done, give the job to the busiest person you know.” It’s true, busy people are the most organized people.
Let's all think about it. Let's ease our struggles by volunteering. Ask somebody who does. They’ll convince you.
Impressed with the canal’s new look, the Rock River Development Authority widened and resurfaced the path along the canal for bikers, walkers and joggers, and in July that year organized raft and canoe races. Then the Department of Conservation did some landscaping and added a ramp to the path for the handicapped.
Because of the initiative of two retirees in their late sixties, a beautiful new state parkway was created for the whole county to enjoy. Dad says the harder he worked those two winters, the better he felt and the more energy he had. “Doing something positive for the town makes me feel good about myself!” he added.
I know one thing, when struggles get me down the surest way to reclaim my smile is to organize an event for the residents of my neighborhood. Whether it’s a dinner at a favorite restaurant, a card game, pool party, or craft fair in the clubhouse across the street, doing something for others to enjoy is a blues blaster for sure. Doesn’t hurt to keep busy, either.
If you’re thinking, I don’t have time, that’s just an excuse. Remember the old saw about, “If you want something done, give the job to the busiest person you know.” It’s true, busy people are the most organized people.
Let's all think about it. Let's ease our struggles by volunteering. Ask somebody who does. They’ll convince you.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Never Hug an Alligator
There’s something about alligators that intrigues me so much that I will bike five miles each way to a park to see the ‘gators that live in the lake there. Once, when I first moved to Florida, while riding my bike on the narrow path around the perimeter of that lake, I saw a seven-foot-long ‘gator sunning itself on the shore. I jumped off my bike, grabbed my camera and quietly moved closer and closer to get a good shot.
Five feet from the massive creature I took another step. The gator started to move slowly toward the water. I stepped closer. Just as I lifted my camera I heard a loud nerve-numbing growl and then Pow!...its tail slapped the water. The gator had done a 180 degree turn and was telling me to back off. I raced off on my bike without looking back.
I learned later that an alligator can run as fast as a horse and I’d better hold my distance, especially during mating season. That made me think about all the things in my new life in Florida I had to learn to respect. Like the Florida sun. It too, can be a killer. So I started using sunscreen liberally every time I ventured out from 10am-4pm.
Another thing I need to respect with great care is my diet. There are so many restaurants and early-bird specials down here that it would be easy to eat out three or four times a week. But I need to avoid the high fat, high cholesterol, high sugar, low fiber foods that many restaurants serve.
Most of all I have to respect my relationship with Jack. He needs his time and space, just like I do. His space includes watching football, hockey, basketball and baseball games on TV. He’s retired and enjoys recliner time in between his active lifestyle with me. So I’ve learned to take advantage of the times we’re apart by getting all sorts of things accomplished in my own condo. Writing books is my favorite accomplishment.
Yup. I have to admit those gators have taught me a lot about respecting others as well as myself.
Five feet from the massive creature I took another step. The gator started to move slowly toward the water. I stepped closer. Just as I lifted my camera I heard a loud nerve-numbing growl and then Pow!...its tail slapped the water. The gator had done a 180 degree turn and was telling me to back off. I raced off on my bike without looking back.
I learned later that an alligator can run as fast as a horse and I’d better hold my distance, especially during mating season. That made me think about all the things in my new life in Florida I had to learn to respect. Like the Florida sun. It too, can be a killer. So I started using sunscreen liberally every time I ventured out from 10am-4pm.
Another thing I need to respect with great care is my diet. There are so many restaurants and early-bird specials down here that it would be easy to eat out three or four times a week. But I need to avoid the high fat, high cholesterol, high sugar, low fiber foods that many restaurants serve.
Most of all I have to respect my relationship with Jack. He needs his time and space, just like I do. His space includes watching football, hockey, basketball and baseball games on TV. He’s retired and enjoys recliner time in between his active lifestyle with me. So I’ve learned to take advantage of the times we’re apart by getting all sorts of things accomplished in my own condo. Writing books is my favorite accomplishment.
Yup. I have to admit those gators have taught me a lot about respecting others as well as myself.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
LIFE IN 3-D
One day when I was taking my morning walk, I noticed a sheep in someone’s yard. Upon closer inspection I saw that it was only a piece of plywood cut out in the shape of a sheep with a face painted on it and real sheep wool attached to the wood.
As I continued my walk into the next block, I noticed a girl sitting in a swing that was hanging from a tree. A few houses beyond that was a woman in a red plaid dress bent over pulling weeds in her garden and her bloomers were showing. Both she and the girl in the swing were also wooden cut-outs. Before I got home, I saw cut-outs of birds, painted red and blue, and placed in the trees of a house on the corner. Somehow I felt cheated by all these flat animals and people.
When I got home I saw my teenage son totally engrossed in the two-dimensional images of his computer. Later that night I sat staring at the TV set, being entertained by flat two-dimensional images.
I wondered if we aren't becoming a nation of zombie-like creatures who are entertained, informed and educated by flat, single-sided images. Are we becoming watchers instead of doers?
I heard of one high school girl who sent over ten thousand text messages to her friends in one month’s time. She had to have psychological help to break her addiction as do many teens and adults who sit glassy-eyed in front of two-dimensional screens. My sister-in-law and niece recently opted out of Facebook because they discovered they spent way too many hours in front of the computer, addicted to two-dimensional socializing.
I say it's time we turn our two-dimensional lifestyles into three-dimensional real life experiences. Instead of flat, fake pets we can make sure our children grow up with real pets. Instead of watching life whiz by on TV, we can make sure we all have more opportunity for outdoor adventures and travel. Instead of being captured by the computer, I-phone, and go-with-us-everywhere laptops we can limit the time we spend in front of any screen, TV, computer, cell phone, or video game.
I, for one, plan to get a grip and recapture life in 3-D. Time to get outside and discover the real world instead of virtual reality.
As I continued my walk into the next block, I noticed a girl sitting in a swing that was hanging from a tree. A few houses beyond that was a woman in a red plaid dress bent over pulling weeds in her garden and her bloomers were showing. Both she and the girl in the swing were also wooden cut-outs. Before I got home, I saw cut-outs of birds, painted red and blue, and placed in the trees of a house on the corner. Somehow I felt cheated by all these flat animals and people.
When I got home I saw my teenage son totally engrossed in the two-dimensional images of his computer. Later that night I sat staring at the TV set, being entertained by flat two-dimensional images.
I wondered if we aren't becoming a nation of zombie-like creatures who are entertained, informed and educated by flat, single-sided images. Are we becoming watchers instead of doers?
I heard of one high school girl who sent over ten thousand text messages to her friends in one month’s time. She had to have psychological help to break her addiction as do many teens and adults who sit glassy-eyed in front of two-dimensional screens. My sister-in-law and niece recently opted out of Facebook because they discovered they spent way too many hours in front of the computer, addicted to two-dimensional socializing.
I say it's time we turn our two-dimensional lifestyles into three-dimensional real life experiences. Instead of flat, fake pets we can make sure our children grow up with real pets. Instead of watching life whiz by on TV, we can make sure we all have more opportunity for outdoor adventures and travel. Instead of being captured by the computer, I-phone, and go-with-us-everywhere laptops we can limit the time we spend in front of any screen, TV, computer, cell phone, or video game.
I, for one, plan to get a grip and recapture life in 3-D. Time to get outside and discover the real world instead of virtual reality.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
HOPE Floats and Floats
For twenty-four years when I lived in Milwaukee I loved sitting on my second story deck in the spring and summer having tea with the birds, squirrels and gentle breezes. I was at eye level with a thick forest of trees twice as high as my two-story house.
During the icy, cold, snowy, dreary winters, the trees looked like a maze of brown, barren, leafless sticks. Instead of thick green leaves, all I could see from the deck were roofs in the subdivision behind me. During those winter days I’d look at photos taken during the warm months. I’d hope for warmer days, for leaves to appear, for the lush green to return.
I've hoped for many things over the years. When I sprained my ankle I hoped for pain free days. When my mother died at age 57 I hoped for a time when my every thought wasn't consumed with her untimely death. When my 2nd husband married his girlfriend the very day our divorce was final, I hoped I'd survive the humilation. When he died two years later, I hoped for courage and strength to raise our son alone and my three teens from my first marriage. When I decided to sell my lovely six-bedroom house in Wisconsin and get rid of two-thirds of everything I owned and move to a small condo in Florida, I hoped I had the ability and strength to say goodby to wonderful old friends and start a new life a thousand miles away. When my only sister's only son was killed in a plane crash at age 18, I hoped she and her husband had the stamina and strength to suffer through the grief and gently move forward with their lives.
Hope is what gets us through. One of the books I've written is titled "THE FIVE THINGS WE NEED TO BE HAPPY And Money Isn't One of Them." One of those five things is HOPE. Something to hope for. Hope may be my favorite of the five things because it covers so much territory, expands our horizons, gives us courage to go on and helps take us out of the past and into the future.
Hope is better than a day on a deck in the summertime.
During the icy, cold, snowy, dreary winters, the trees looked like a maze of brown, barren, leafless sticks. Instead of thick green leaves, all I could see from the deck were roofs in the subdivision behind me. During those winter days I’d look at photos taken during the warm months. I’d hope for warmer days, for leaves to appear, for the lush green to return.
I've hoped for many things over the years. When I sprained my ankle I hoped for pain free days. When my mother died at age 57 I hoped for a time when my every thought wasn't consumed with her untimely death. When my 2nd husband married his girlfriend the very day our divorce was final, I hoped I'd survive the humilation. When he died two years later, I hoped for courage and strength to raise our son alone and my three teens from my first marriage. When I decided to sell my lovely six-bedroom house in Wisconsin and get rid of two-thirds of everything I owned and move to a small condo in Florida, I hoped I had the ability and strength to say goodby to wonderful old friends and start a new life a thousand miles away. When my only sister's only son was killed in a plane crash at age 18, I hoped she and her husband had the stamina and strength to suffer through the grief and gently move forward with their lives.
Hope is what gets us through. One of the books I've written is titled "THE FIVE THINGS WE NEED TO BE HAPPY And Money Isn't One of Them." One of those five things is HOPE. Something to hope for. Hope may be my favorite of the five things because it covers so much territory, expands our horizons, gives us courage to go on and helps take us out of the past and into the future.
Hope is better than a day on a deck in the summertime.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Friends, anyone?
1989 was one of those years when everything went wrong. The man I'd been dating for eight months suddenly moved to Oklahoma. My oldest daughter Jeanne was caught smack dab in the middle of one of California's most devastating earthquakes. Shortly after that my ex-husband died of leukemia, a devastating loss for our nine-year-old son Andrew. Then a woman named Sonny, whom I'd only met once in my life, moved to Milwaukee from Georgia and decided I was going to be her best friend since I was the only person she knew in the whole state of Wisconsin. Only I didn't have the energy to be anybody's best anything that year.
That's when I formed a group of women called The Swill Gang. SWILL stands for Southeastern Wisconsin Interesting Ladies League. I had to find a few good friends for Sonny.
In addition to finding friends for Sonny, all of us in the Swill Gang took each other under each other’s wing. We women laughed, cried, consoled, prodded, jabbered and generally uplifted each other out of whatever struggles any of us were experiencing at the moment. We found so much healing in our laughter and conversation that we continued to meet six to eight times a year for over seventeen years until I moved to Florida in 2004.
Perhaps today is the day we start flying easier by getting into formation with others who can provide social and spiritual uplift. I learned years ago not to be afraid to make that first phone call to get the formation started.
That's when I formed a group of women called The Swill Gang. SWILL stands for Southeastern Wisconsin Interesting Ladies League. I had to find a few good friends for Sonny.
In addition to finding friends for Sonny, all of us in the Swill Gang took each other under each other’s wing. We women laughed, cried, consoled, prodded, jabbered and generally uplifted each other out of whatever struggles any of us were experiencing at the moment. We found so much healing in our laughter and conversation that we continued to meet six to eight times a year for over seventeen years until I moved to Florida in 2004.
Perhaps today is the day we start flying easier by getting into formation with others who can provide social and spiritual uplift. I learned years ago not to be afraid to make that first phone call to get the formation started.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Happy Birthday George
During a three-day visit to Philadelphia, I toured Congress Hall, Independence Hall and Carpenter’s Hall—restored buildings that tell the secrets of where and how the Declaration of Independence was written and where the first presidency was carried out.
I felt a sense of awe as I gazed at the elaborate silver inkstand used to sign the Declaration of Independence more than two hundred years earlier, and then ran my hand down the very same wooden banister on the same stairway George Washington used in Independence Hall during his two terms as president from 1789 to 1797. From 1790 to 1800, the nation’s capitol was in Philadelphia, while Washington, D.C. was being built.
What amazed me most about my trip through American history was Washington’s humility. Our guide told us that the people of Philadelphia built an elaborate palace for Washington outside the city for him to live in while he was president. Yet he refused to live in it, feeling his place was among the people. He also refused to serve more than two terms as president even though he would have been easily reelected to a third term. Rather than follow the example of England’s monarchs who ruled for their lifetime, Washington felt that no U.S. president should be in power more than eight years. In a precedent-setting act of humility, in the face of many struggles during his presidency, after just two terms, he stepped down and, in effect, handed the presidency to John Adams.
That visit to Philadelphia taught me that the struggles of leadership are framed in acts of humility. I also learned that humility is a very appealing characteristic in a human. I’m going to practice it today in honor of George Washington. I’ll do something quietly for someone else without any big announcement. I suspect that if we humble ourselves by being servants to those we love, perhaps we’ll be revered the way Washington was revered by his countrymen.
I felt a sense of awe as I gazed at the elaborate silver inkstand used to sign the Declaration of Independence more than two hundred years earlier, and then ran my hand down the very same wooden banister on the same stairway George Washington used in Independence Hall during his two terms as president from 1789 to 1797. From 1790 to 1800, the nation’s capitol was in Philadelphia, while Washington, D.C. was being built.
What amazed me most about my trip through American history was Washington’s humility. Our guide told us that the people of Philadelphia built an elaborate palace for Washington outside the city for him to live in while he was president. Yet he refused to live in it, feeling his place was among the people. He also refused to serve more than two terms as president even though he would have been easily reelected to a third term. Rather than follow the example of England’s monarchs who ruled for their lifetime, Washington felt that no U.S. president should be in power more than eight years. In a precedent-setting act of humility, in the face of many struggles during his presidency, after just two terms, he stepped down and, in effect, handed the presidency to John Adams.
That visit to Philadelphia taught me that the struggles of leadership are framed in acts of humility. I also learned that humility is a very appealing characteristic in a human. I’m going to practice it today in honor of George Washington. I’ll do something quietly for someone else without any big announcement. I suspect that if we humble ourselves by being servants to those we love, perhaps we’ll be revered the way Washington was revered by his countrymen.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Mom's Amazing Budget
When my mother died at age 57 of ALS, Lou Gehrig’s disease, I never thought I’d survive my grief. I was 33 years old and pregnant with my fourth child. I’m not sure which upset me more, the loss of her daily friendship or the fact that she would never see or know my youngest child, Andrew.
Shortly after Mom died, Dad gave me a box of papers from her desk. Included were her down-to-the-penny household statements for each month during my childhood years.
Every month she paid eleven bills by check: house payment, taxes, insurance, utilities, groceries, etc. The rest of the family income was place in ten separate envelopes labeled: church, school expenses, clothes, gifts, repair and improvement, dues and licenses, doctor-dentist, Dad’s allowance, Mom’s allowance and savings.
The June 3, 1960 ledger states that she wrote $274 in checks. The cash in the envelopes totaled $130. Our family of five was living on $404 a month. In spite of the tight budget, Mother and Dad were giving more to the church than they were keeping for themselves. Mom kept $10, Dad kept $10 and $24 went to the church.
I was stunned. They were giving away more than they kept for their own spending money. I thought about my own life as a young mother. Had I followed in my parents’ footsteps? Hardly. The excuses came too easily. Four children to put through college. A big mortgage. An emergency that might come up. The vacation fund.
As a child I never had the slightest notion that my parents inched their way through life on such a tight budget. Yet every month they gave no thought to doing any less for the church than the absolute maximum that their tiny budget could stand. Maybe that’s why I felt so rich as a kid. Maybe that’s why I should start giving more and keep less for myself. Maybe that’s the secret to overcoming life’s daily struggles. Give more than you think you can afford.
Shortly after Mom died, Dad gave me a box of papers from her desk. Included were her down-to-the-penny household statements for each month during my childhood years.
Every month she paid eleven bills by check: house payment, taxes, insurance, utilities, groceries, etc. The rest of the family income was place in ten separate envelopes labeled: church, school expenses, clothes, gifts, repair and improvement, dues and licenses, doctor-dentist, Dad’s allowance, Mom’s allowance and savings.
The June 3, 1960 ledger states that she wrote $274 in checks. The cash in the envelopes totaled $130. Our family of five was living on $404 a month. In spite of the tight budget, Mother and Dad were giving more to the church than they were keeping for themselves. Mom kept $10, Dad kept $10 and $24 went to the church.
I was stunned. They were giving away more than they kept for their own spending money. I thought about my own life as a young mother. Had I followed in my parents’ footsteps? Hardly. The excuses came too easily. Four children to put through college. A big mortgage. An emergency that might come up. The vacation fund.
As a child I never had the slightest notion that my parents inched their way through life on such a tight budget. Yet every month they gave no thought to doing any less for the church than the absolute maximum that their tiny budget could stand. Maybe that’s why I felt so rich as a kid. Maybe that’s why I should start giving more and keep less for myself. Maybe that’s the secret to overcoming life’s daily struggles. Give more than you think you can afford.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Stepping Out of the Family Circle
When she was twelve years old my daughter Julia announced that she did not want to be a member of our family anymore. She was tired of our rules, chores, and even eating dinner with her sister, two brothers, step-father and me.
“I’d rather just eat by myself in my room and not do anything with any of you,” she stated with her hands on her hips.
My husband Harold, a wise high school principal, stepped in. “You know, that’s a fine idea Julia. We’ll let you live in your bedroom. You don’t have to do any chores, no more babysitting your little brother. You’re on your own.”
“Fine!” Julia snapped.
“But of course this also means that we don’t have to do your laundry, cook your meals or take you to your activities.”
“I’ll get rides with my friends, do my own laundry and fix my own food.”
That night supper was a quiet affair without chatterbox Julia in our midst. I saw her in the kitchen that night fixing a sandwich. The next morning she was waiting for the school bus before I even made it to the kitchen.
Julia kept to herself for the next two days and never once asked for a ride anywhere. Harold reminded the older children that they weren’t to engage Julia in any conversation since she didn’t want to be a member of our family.
By morning of day three I was becoming frantic. How long will this go on, I wondered.
That night Julia appeared at the dinner table, head down with one of her famous letters in hand.
“I’m sorry. I do want to be a member of the family.” She had us read her long missive about the lessons she’d learned the past few days of living alone in her bedroom.
Then we all hugged and Julia, from then on, was very much an active member of our clan. Still is.
Those three days reminded me that struggles make us smarter, more experienced, more understanding and certainly more appreciative of our blessings. I think Julia learned a lot, too.
“I’d rather just eat by myself in my room and not do anything with any of you,” she stated with her hands on her hips.
My husband Harold, a wise high school principal, stepped in. “You know, that’s a fine idea Julia. We’ll let you live in your bedroom. You don’t have to do any chores, no more babysitting your little brother. You’re on your own.”
“Fine!” Julia snapped.
“But of course this also means that we don’t have to do your laundry, cook your meals or take you to your activities.”
“I’ll get rides with my friends, do my own laundry and fix my own food.”
That night supper was a quiet affair without chatterbox Julia in our midst. I saw her in the kitchen that night fixing a sandwich. The next morning she was waiting for the school bus before I even made it to the kitchen.
Julia kept to herself for the next two days and never once asked for a ride anywhere. Harold reminded the older children that they weren’t to engage Julia in any conversation since she didn’t want to be a member of our family.
By morning of day three I was becoming frantic. How long will this go on, I wondered.
That night Julia appeared at the dinner table, head down with one of her famous letters in hand.
“I’m sorry. I do want to be a member of the family.” She had us read her long missive about the lessons she’d learned the past few days of living alone in her bedroom.
Then we all hugged and Julia, from then on, was very much an active member of our clan. Still is.
Those three days reminded me that struggles make us smarter, more experienced, more understanding and certainly more appreciative of our blessings. I think Julia learned a lot, too.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Snuggles and Struggles
My fiftieth year was a blockbuster. Right before my 50th I went to Hawaii and snorkeled for the first time with a gazillion fish and a few enormous sea turtles. The spring after I turned 50 I went to Europe for the first time in my life, chaperoning twenty-six teenagers, including my youngest son, Andrew. That summer I water-skied behind my brother’s speedboat on the Ohio River. But the most important thing that happened to me during the year I celebrated my 50th was becoming a grandmother for the second time.
Hannah was born a month early with a head full of thick, shocking red hair. The first time I saw her she was in the neonatal intensive care unit at the hospital, attached to all sorts of wires and monitors and sleeping in a heated bassinet. She was so small I wondered how such a tiny baby could survive in such a big world. Her back seemed only a few inches wide as she snuggled into my hand. Her skinny little arms were punctuated with perfectly formed fingers that squeezed my little finger.
Holding and rocking my dainty, darling redheaded granddaughter in that hospital brought on such feelings of joy that during my two-day visit I practically begged my son, Hannah’s dad, to let me go in instead of him during the few minutes each hour that one of us was allowed in the intensive care unit. A number of times Michael gave in and stood outside looking through the thick windows of the nursery while I rock and cuddled my precious grandchild.
As Hannah and I snuggled, I knew without a doubt that no matter what adventures I have, where I go or what I accomplish in the second half of my life, absolutely nothing can come close to the intense feelings and joy of being a mother and a grandmother. I know for certain all my grandchildren will have struggles in life. But knowing our big family is here to surround each member in times of struggle is a comfort beyond measure.
Happy 14th birthday, Hannah Banana Rosanna Dana. May the struggles you have in life be met with grace and may each one of them help you become stronger and more appreciative of your blessings.
Hannah was born a month early with a head full of thick, shocking red hair. The first time I saw her she was in the neonatal intensive care unit at the hospital, attached to all sorts of wires and monitors and sleeping in a heated bassinet. She was so small I wondered how such a tiny baby could survive in such a big world. Her back seemed only a few inches wide as she snuggled into my hand. Her skinny little arms were punctuated with perfectly formed fingers that squeezed my little finger.
Holding and rocking my dainty, darling redheaded granddaughter in that hospital brought on such feelings of joy that during my two-day visit I practically begged my son, Hannah’s dad, to let me go in instead of him during the few minutes each hour that one of us was allowed in the intensive care unit. A number of times Michael gave in and stood outside looking through the thick windows of the nursery while I rock and cuddled my precious grandchild.
As Hannah and I snuggled, I knew without a doubt that no matter what adventures I have, where I go or what I accomplish in the second half of my life, absolutely nothing can come close to the intense feelings and joy of being a mother and a grandmother. I know for certain all my grandchildren will have struggles in life. But knowing our big family is here to surround each member in times of struggle is a comfort beyond measure.
Happy 14th birthday, Hannah Banana Rosanna Dana. May the struggles you have in life be met with grace and may each one of them help you become stronger and more appreciative of your blessings.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
What's on your tombstone?
When I read a biography of a man who was in the prime of his life exactly 200 years ago, I wondered, Were people just immensely smarter and more talented than they are today? The bio said the man had been a lawyer, architect, naturalist, linguist, farmer, Governor of Virginia, U.S. Minister to France, Secretary of State, Vice President of the United States and finally the third President of the United States.
Thomas Jefferson was an amazing man. I suspect most of us have elevated him to the greatness of such men as George Washington, Abraham Lincoln and whichever modern day president is your favorite.
But the thing about Thomas Jefferson that amazes me is the fact that he was adamant about what would be printed on his tombstone. At his own request "and not a word more" he requested the following: "Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of American Independence, of the Statute of Virginia for religious freedom, and Father of the University of Virginia."
This man, who will certainly always be known as one of America's greatest presidents, obviously valued political and religious freedom and education higher than his other major accomplishments of being Governor, Secretary of State, Vice-President and President of the United States of America.
Freedom and education. That’s what Jefferson held dear. Today, over two hundred years later, we still value them above all else. It reminds me that even when personal or nationwide struggles become mind-boggling we still have to keep our priorities straight.
This week as we celebrate President's Day, let's be hopeful that our nation's presidents always keep freedom, both political and religious, and education in the forefront of what is truly important in this country and in all countries.
Being able to focus on what’s really important can split a major struggle down the middle and make life a lot more palatable. It’s all about seeing the big picture.
Thomas Jefferson was an amazing man. I suspect most of us have elevated him to the greatness of such men as George Washington, Abraham Lincoln and whichever modern day president is your favorite.
But the thing about Thomas Jefferson that amazes me is the fact that he was adamant about what would be printed on his tombstone. At his own request "and not a word more" he requested the following: "Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of American Independence, of the Statute of Virginia for religious freedom, and Father of the University of Virginia."
This man, who will certainly always be known as one of America's greatest presidents, obviously valued political and religious freedom and education higher than his other major accomplishments of being Governor, Secretary of State, Vice-President and President of the United States of America.
Freedom and education. That’s what Jefferson held dear. Today, over two hundred years later, we still value them above all else. It reminds me that even when personal or nationwide struggles become mind-boggling we still have to keep our priorities straight.
This week as we celebrate President's Day, let's be hopeful that our nation's presidents always keep freedom, both political and religious, and education in the forefront of what is truly important in this country and in all countries.
Being able to focus on what’s really important can split a major struggle down the middle and make life a lot more palatable. It’s all about seeing the big picture.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Learning to Love Your Struggles
Do you ever struggle with the idea that television is sucking the marrow out of your bones, the blood out of your heart and the cells out of your brain? I mean, really, how many reality shows can we stand in one lifetime? How long can we sit in that recliner munching salty-sweet-crunchy things that are bad for us?
I don’t watch much TV in the summertime but these long winters when it gets dark around 5:30 just make it too easy to end up half-woman, half-vegetable in front of the boob tube. I always feel guilty watching the brain-freeze machine, but after a long day of water aerobics, mornings at my computer, lunch with the girls or my friend Jack, more work…well, that television often becomes my nighttime companion.
One Sunday, just before Lent, the following appeared in our church bulletin: (author unknown)
THE 23rd CHANNEL
The TV is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
It makes me lie down on the sofa.
It leads me away from the faith.
It destroys my soul.
It leads me in the path of sex and violence for the sponsor’s sake.
Yea, though I walk in the shadow of Christian responsibilities,
There will be no interruption for the TV is with me.
It prepares a commercial for me in the presence of my worldliness.
It anoints my head with humanism and consumerism,
My coveting runneth over.
Surely, laziness and ignorance shall follow me all the days of my life.
And I shall dwell in the house watching TV forever.
After I read that I turned off the TV for a month during Lent. I read, wrote letters, cleaned shelves, helped my son with his science projects, baked cookies, put the photos in albums, did the mending, called my kids. It was the best Lent ever.
Can I do it again? Sanity is calling.
I don’t watch much TV in the summertime but these long winters when it gets dark around 5:30 just make it too easy to end up half-woman, half-vegetable in front of the boob tube. I always feel guilty watching the brain-freeze machine, but after a long day of water aerobics, mornings at my computer, lunch with the girls or my friend Jack, more work…well, that television often becomes my nighttime companion.
One Sunday, just before Lent, the following appeared in our church bulletin: (author unknown)
THE 23rd CHANNEL
The TV is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
It makes me lie down on the sofa.
It leads me away from the faith.
It destroys my soul.
It leads me in the path of sex and violence for the sponsor’s sake.
Yea, though I walk in the shadow of Christian responsibilities,
There will be no interruption for the TV is with me.
It prepares a commercial for me in the presence of my worldliness.
It anoints my head with humanism and consumerism,
My coveting runneth over.
Surely, laziness and ignorance shall follow me all the days of my life.
And I shall dwell in the house watching TV forever.
After I read that I turned off the TV for a month during Lent. I read, wrote letters, cleaned shelves, helped my son with his science projects, baked cookies, put the photos in albums, did the mending, called my kids. It was the best Lent ever.
Can I do it again? Sanity is calling.
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