The Moon and the Tides

Is everyone affected by the moon like I am? There is a connection between the phases of the moon and the tides, so I'm told, and I believe that completely. I also think there is a very personal connection between myself and the moon.

For one thing, I've discovered that my hair grows faster during one phase, and doesn't grow at all in another. Probably my moods are affected, too, but I've never kept track since everything affects my moods.

I nearly always have trouble sleeping when there is a full moon. Why? I even have blackout shades on my bedroom windows, so it's not the light. I awakened shortly after 4 am today and tossed and turned until just after 5, when I gave up and got up. When I entered the kitchen I was amazed at the amount of light coming through the blinds, raised them up and there he was... the old man in the moon looking right in at me. It appeared to be a completely full moon, sharp edges and all. I checked the calendar, and sure enough! Full moon!

Sometimes I wonder just how much control we each actually have over our lives. Being connected to everything, as I believe we are, then I suppose it follows that we are affected by everything in some way.

Does this sound like superstition? Hocus-pocus? Am I someone who needs to be concerned about my "sign" and its corresponding daily horoscope? Well, shoot, these questions just confirm my notion that it pays to believe everything, so no matter what happens I won't be left out as a non-believer!

A Little Bit of Everything

It's been a busy month, and though I continue to take pictures to share, I've not found (or not taken) the time to post them with a story or at least a comment on my blog. So...



Most recently I drove up to South Bend for Mike's dad's estate auction, and here are a couple pictures from that busy day. Several family members were there to help out, both to act as deputy sheriffs to prevent theft and also to help one another get past the sorrow of seeing the sale of the "stuff" that represents a person's life. Makes one realize that the value of our stuff cannot compare with the value of loved ones.


One misty August morning, Mike's camera caught this deer (dear) family in our front yard. I expected them to decimate my garden, but they simply wandered on by as if they were only imagined.




My flowers continue to amaze me with their contrasting colors and textures, so here are a few shots of these miraculous beauties.

























Speaking of contrasting colors, take a look at this picture of one day's produce from my garden. The garden itself may be ugly as can be, but the vegetables are great!


What's doing best in the garden? The volunteer sunflowers! There are also volunteer tomatoes and cantaloupe and gourds, thriving with the rain and sunshine of August.

Books, Books, Books

I think I’ve figured out why I read so much … well, actually, why I read so much fiction. Not that I don’t enjoy an occasional historical novel, or a biography, or even a “how-to” self-help book… but for the most part, my choice is fiction. Not just any fiction, though; for instance, the “bodice-rippers” that some women enjoy seem light and fanciful and silly to me. Neither do I prefer science fiction, though I’ve read a lot of it in my time. Mysteries are fun; nothing like a good “whodunit”. I enjoyed all of Harry Potter (not purely a children’s series), and most of Stephen King (shudder). In fact, I’ve found that once I discover an author who “speaks to me”, I will make every effort to read more books by that same author. What a joy to find a really fine writer, a master of words, a magician with description and dialogue, a lover of nuance and suggestion, someone who moves the reader into the story with ease!

Some people say that reading fiction is pure escapism; others say it’s to live a fantasy. I’ve come to realize that it is far more than that. A good story has a beginning, a middle and an end. The characters appear, interact, develop and change, and find their place in the plot. The story takes on a life of its own, and becomes part of the reader’s experience/knowledge base/consciousness. Whether or not the author intends any effects, a good novel affects the reader. Sometimes it provides a means of relaxation or of reward, and yes, a way of getting away from “real life”. How and why that happens is the interesting part.

In a good novel the reader is presented with a setting and a situation, and from there on it becomes more or less complicated and more or less convoluted, but it always has a resolution. Actually, I find it rather comforting to realize that we readers are not responsible in any way for how things turn out. We can laugh or cry, and run through the entire gamut of emotions, but a novel, a piece of fiction, is, after all, make believe.

On the other hand, there is real life. It has a beginning, but we don’t know when we are at the middle, and who knows when or how the end will come? Life gets complicated, and more often than not there is no resolution… we just advance blindly into the next maelstrom. Our thoughts and actions and emotions are very, very real, and we are definitely responsible for how things turn out. The pressure is on, and it never lets up… we can’t close the book until we have time to look and see what happens.

Can there be any wonder why so many avid readers escape into fiction?

Thoughts on Fathers' Day

My own father died nearly 55 years ago, so it’s no longer a big deal that he’s not around; he would be closing in on 100 years old by now, so most likely gone anyway. I have to admit, though, that I do allow myself to feel a little bit sorry for myself on Fathers’ Day. He was a good and loving dad, funny and gentle and generous with his three daughters. I like to assume that he would have continued to be a positive influence on my life and that we would have grown to have a close relationship as I grew older. Why not imagine the best that could be? Who really knows?

I was only thirteen when he was suddenly just… not there. He died in a horrible one-car accident. At age thirteen, I think I must have been in love with my dad. (Perhaps at age fourteen I would have found fault in everything he said and did, but we never had to suffer through that.) I lived for the times when he was at home. He was a traveling salesman, gone for a couple of days or a couple of weeks at a time, depending on the customers on his regular route, and our lives were built on “when Daddy was coming home”.

Needless to say, there was a huge, empty hole in my life when he died (as there was in my mother’s and sisters’ lives). Home never meant the same after he was gone, and though my mother tried valiantly, her own grief overshadowed her ability to give me what I needed. I finished high school and went many miles away to college before I began to discover who I might be without a father.

One of the reasons I have the husband that I do is that I felt he would be a good father. Observing him with his nieces and nephews, I realized that they liked him and laughed a lot, a big selling point. He had an impossibly high standard to live up to, because in my mind it was as though my own father had achieved sainthood, but I think he did a pretty good job of being a father to our four offspring.

Now our kids are grown, and one of them has fathered children of his own. As far as I can tell, and recognizing a certain bias, I would say he is a wonderful father. I recognize, however, that it’s horribly unfair to give any man a grade on how well he rates as a father. Even his own children have impossible expectations, and that goes both ways… some fathers have impossible expectations of their children as well. So it’s a good thing we have Fathers’ Day when they can be treated in special ways… given gifts and hugs and thanks… receive cards and emails and phone calls.

Personally, I think it should be called Dads’ Day, though, because it’s easy to father a child but much harder to be a good dad.

Joys and Sorrows

There is something wonderful about getting older; it probably starts about the time you find yourself rapidly approaching the age of 50. You will see people in their 50s "doing" genealogies and scrapbooks and putting their photos in order, perhaps even getting them all on the web. Why? I think it's because around that age we begin to become more conscious of our mortality (whoa!); we have become grandparents (egads!); our own parents seem suddenly ancient (oops!); our own retirement is closer (yea!). We start thinking about hobbies or about traveling abroad or taking a cruise. So, it's a mixed bag; part of it is joyful and some if it is sad; but in either case, it is a sort of wrapping-up of our lives. It's definitely time to start our own "Bucket List". (If you've not seen that movie, see it! It's about making a list of what you want to do before you "kick the bucket", and Morgan Freeman starring with Jack Nicholson makes for a hilarious, unforgettable movie.)

One of the joys of getting older is recognizing that we actually have a smidgen of the wisdom we've been seeking. We catch ourselves sharing that wisdom with our kids more often (who don't "get" it yet, but will!). Another joy is learning how to slow down, sometimes as a result of that wisdom, sometimes just because our bodies insist on it, and behave badly if we overdo. Another great joy (and also a reward) comes when you find yourself in good health with energy to spare, find yourself trying out the new things that come along with progress, find yourself seeking other outlets for your imagination, find yourself interested in learning new things.

One of the greatest sorrows of getting older is discovering that our parents are reaching the end of their lives, are not well, and need more care... but this is something we have come to expect. However, when we learn that some of our friends, neighbors, relatives and peers are struggling with disease and experiencing a tortuous journey through extended treatments, we struggle along with them. Talk about coming face to face with one's own mortality! Does one ever learn how to accept pain without despair? Death without fear? Loss without emptiness and the agony of depression? When those we love are trying to make it though a worrisome and anxious time, how do we help? How can we keep from feeling terribly guilty about being so glad it's not us?!

I guess this is when we dig deep down into that (however shallow) well of wisdom and call up our better selves, our kinder and gentler natures, and express our caring about and sharing of their pain. Surely we've learned something along the way that taught us to be accepting of whatever the future offers. On the other hand, maybe not. All I know is, feeling helpless is pretty awful, whether it's in relation to others or to ourselves.

Generosity

American Heritage Dictionary: “1. willing to give or share; munificent; unselfish 2. Lacking pettiness or meanness in thought or behavior; magnanimous”

Roget’s Thesaurus: Giving; magnanimous; tolerant; forgiving; benevolent; openhanded; bighearted

So, what does it really mean to demonstrate generosity? I believe that to describe someone as “generous” we are attributing to them all of the above qualities, for if you have ever known a truly generous person, you realize that you are in the presence of someone very special. Their hearts and hands are open; they do not judge; they are kind. They’re neither meek nor weak; they simply show true generosity of heart and spirit at every turn… and in their presence, I am in awe, and feel the lack of their qualities and the desire to develop them. They make it look easy, and maybe it is easy for them, maybe some people are simply born that way, but I tend to think that it takes a lifetime of trying and learning to give freely, to care and to share. Like many other things, it is an ideal for us all to strive for, and whether we reach it or not, it’s the trying that counts.

A very generous person opened her heart to me recently, and I am the lucky recipient of some concrete results of her magnanimity. She didn’t think it was any big deal, but that’s probably because humility is yet another quality of a truly generous person. Because of her I now have reading material that should last me five years… and I have three wonderful, matching, brand new storage chests… and I have a milk pitcher that matches perfectly with a cookie jar that I’ve had forever… and I have a wonderful antique yardstick that still has the original metal ends on it… and on and on. There’s no way you can adequately thank a person like that, much as I would like to!

Thoughts on Gratification

Marty commented on my previous post that instant gratification is nice, and I've been thinking about degrees of gratification and sources of gratification.

Seems to me that simply working hard toward a goal isn't particularly gratifying, even though you know you are getting somewhere. Of course if you like the work and enjoy the process, then every step of the way can be satisfying. To my mind, though, it's especially nice to reach a level of completion when you can cross the job off a list. I'm a dedicated list-maker, and can find joy in simply crossing things off.

Even better, though, is being able to see the fruits of your labors. It can be a finalized report, all crisp and perfect. It can be a freshly painted room that turns out the exact color you were looking for. It can be the finalized clutch replacement on your Audi ;) It occurs to me that these things are special because they can be noticed and shared and appreciated, which leads me to the realization that all of us need attention and need to be acknowledged, some of us more than others.

There are skabillions of other little and large "jobs" we do every day. Cleaning house and doing dishes and cooking meals might be gratifying for a while, certainly when we are first on our own and in our first apartment or house or condo. It doesn't take long for that kind of work to become ordinary and tedious, though, partly because it is so repetitive, but perhaps more because it isn't noticed. Why a person needs to be continuously thanked and praised and respected for this kind of work is a mystery... but there it is... ask any housewife or clerk or factory worker.

Being able to prove our abilities to someone, to show what it is that we can do particularly well, is also very satisfying... but that wears thin, too. When we start a new job it is important to please the new boss, to learn quickly and to perform well. If we are noticed as an asset to the organization, that recognition becomes a stimulus to even better performance. However, in my experience it never fails that any new job quickly becomes "same old, same old", the recognition we crave isn't forthcoming, and the job becomes a source of dissatisfaction rather than gratification.

There is one "job" that seldom fails to please. Women have exclusive ownership of this experience and that is... having a baby! Nine months to enjoy the process, to get lots of attention, and finally to produce clearly visible "fruits of their labor" (sorry, I just had to get that in :) Parents share the job of rearing a child and can create a mutual admiration society as they watch the physical, mental and emotional development of that child. Gratification never ceases for parents who have children who grow into loving adults.

I guess each of us just has to pick and choose our own goals in such a way that they have the possibility of providing a feeling of personal success. Life is so full of changes along the way that our list of things to do alters as well, as do the sources and degrees of our joy.

Right now I am cleaning up my yard, selecting one ten-square-foot area at a time, and enjoying both the process and the completion. My life hasn't always been this simple, and I derive satisfaction out of realizing that, too.