The Mirror

The other day, I glanced at the mirror as I was passing by, and for a second, I saw my eighth grade self reflected back at me.  Later in the same day, I glanced in the mirror and saw my mother.

Why is it that a piece of glass reflecting our image back at us is so very changeable?

I have long believed that when we look in the mirror, we don't see a reflection, we see a projection of ourselves.

I think the image in the mirror is always layered with our feelings, our thoughts, and our emotions of the time.

Happy, hopeful optimistic thoughts project a youthful face in the mirror.

Tired, worn out, pessimistic thoughts project an aging face in the mirror.

It has always been remarkable to me that when I look at pictures of myself, I can see clearly that it is a good picture, or a bad picture, but it always is me.  A picture can influence me to change.  If I see something I don't like about myself in a picture, I know that for at least a split second in time, that was me.  And if I don't like that me, I can change something to be more the me I want to be.  The mirror, not so much.

I don't always see me in the mirror.  Sometimes I see only that which I do not like about myself.  I see every imperfection amplified.  I see all the things that steal my confidence.  I see all the reasons to fall into the bad habit of internal mean speak to myself.

On those days, all I can do is avoid the mirror.  Because on those days, I forget that it is a projection and not a reflection, and I undermine my efforts to be kind to myself.

I wish that I cared less about my physical appearance.  I wish that I could be content in the knowledge that I exercise, and eat healthy foods, and try to be a decent person.  I want to care more about being a nice person than I care about my looks.

But I care.  I don't want to look sloppy, or frumpy, or like I don't take care of myself.

I have terrible allergies, so have never been able to wear makeup without a skin reaction.  So, I reserve wearing makeup for very special occasions, like weddings.

I see actresses and models praised lavishly for the "courage" to post pictures of themselves without makeup.  My face in the mirror rarely has makeup.  My face in pictures rarely has makeup.

I should be proud that I have the "courage" to face the world every day without makeup.  But I think that is just plain silly.  I have no problem at all with people wearing makeup or not.  It's your face, do whatever.

But I have been judged as not caring about my appearance because I don't wear makeup.  So there are external voices added to the internal mean voices in my head.

But there is something very important for you to know.  I don't make decisions about any of you based on your appearance.  I try to see past the external manifestation to the person you are.  I care far more about who you are and how you feel than I will ever care about how you look.

So I need to learn how to see the mirror with the same open heart that I see all of you with.  Because I can't bring my best self to you when I don't like myself.

I'll keep working on it.  Because it is important to treat yourself with the same love and compassion you treat others with.

Inheriting Idiosyncracy

Every family has their own uniqueness.  Often, we find out about our families uniqueness when we go to school, and find out that other families don't do things the way we do.  Some of the things that make our families unique are cool, and some are not so cool, but they are what makes us and our families what we are.

My family had a lot of uniquity.  I'll start with house rules.  When we ate supper, we all waited until everyone was seated and grace (blessing before meals) was said.  If we wanted or needed to leave the supper table, we had to ask the head of the table to be excused.  (That would be Daddy or Mommy, or Mom-Mom if at her house.)  If you leaned over your plate, or shoveled your food in like a starving person, Mommy would ask you if someone was trying to steal your food.  It didn't take long to know that meant sit up and slow down.  She would actually take your plate away if you persisted.  (Don't worry, we always got the plate back.  No one starved, she was making a point.)

After dinner, we had tea, and discussed current events.  My dad had read that Joe Kennedy did that, and he raised a President, so what was good for those Irish Catholics was good for my Dad's kids.  Dad was totally in charge of what was watched on TV.

Dad hated odd socks, so always folded the top of the socks into a pair before putting his socks in the dirty laundry.  He wore a suit to work for many years, and the first thing he did when he got home from work was change out of his work clothes and hang them up.

Mom had a million food rules.  Kielbasa could only be served cooked with sauerkraut, and boiled potatoes.  If you had meatballs, the only pasta you could eat was long spaghetti.  Meatsauce?  You could have any shape pasta, except ravioli.  Ravioli was only eaten with marinara sauce.

Dad had food rules too.  The food on his plate couldn't touch other foods, unless the food was designed that way.  Casserole? Yes.  Vegetables touching potatoes, or potatoes touching meat?  NO.

I never noticed my dad's no food touching rule.  I guess he knew it was weird.  When my daughter was about four, and stopped eating in her divided Sesame Street dish, I found out she had a thing about her food touching.  I tried to convince her it wasn't a problem.  No way she was going with that.  I told my mom about it, and she told me that Dad couldn't stand for his food to touch.  How did that get passed down from my dad to my daughter and skip me?

Dad also couldn't stand for anyone to touch his hair.  My mother loved to have her hair brushed.  I can't stand for anyone to touch my hair.

When Dad was cooking, if you wanted to help, you had to follow orders.  You could help how he asked you to help.  If you started doing stuff he hadn't asked you to do, he'd ask you if you wanted to take over and he would go sit down.  I get wildly aggravated if anyone messes with what I am cooking without asking permission.

What is learned and what is genetic?  I'll mix about any foods, and try bizarre combinations, so that trait of my mother's skipped me.  But my sister has it.  Certain foods with certain foods, certain foods on certain days.

What is the point of all this?  There is no normal.  We're all incredibly weirdly wonderful.  Some is learned, some is innate.  The more we think about our family's and our idiosyncrasies, the easier it is to accept others.  One of the ways I celebrate those I love that have left this plane of existence is to remember their weirdness, their specialness, their uniqueness.  And in celebrating that specialness of those that I no longer can interact with, I bring them back in a very real way.

Never forget the wonderful unique gift that is you.  Bring yourself fully to your relationships.  We will all be grateful for it.

Body Shaming

When did body shaming become such a thing?  I mean, there has always been the covert body shaming, presenting us with perfect looking air-brushed people that normal humans can never look like.  Models and celebrities with perfect hair and perfect skin and perfect bodies wearing amazing clothes and shoes.  So that all of us would look at a magazine, or at a TV show or movie and feel bad when we looked in the mirror because we knew we could never look like that.

But this body shaming thing has gotten very overt now.  And it is ridiculous.  I read the other day about a plus size model who lost some weight, and her fans are body shaming her for losing weight.  Really?  Amy Schumer is adorable, and regularly gets body shamed for her size.  Really?

This puzzles me in multiple ways.  One, why are we so obsessed with physical appearance?  Two, why are we so obsessed with weight and size? Three, why do we feel like we have the need and the right to comment on someone else's body?

Here is my take on it.  God made us all different.  Some bigger, some smaller.  Some shorter, some taller.  We each have our own normal.  Trying to look like someone else's normal is depressing.

There are thin people who are very unhealthy, there are fat people who are very unhealthy.  But there are healthy people in all sizes.  And commenting on body size and appearance under the guise of worrying about someone's health is disingenuous.  Because body size and health don't have a direct correlation.  And mental health is important too, and you can damage someone's mental health with your comments.

I know that we have an obesity problem in America, and that obesity is linked to many illnesses and diseases.   But really, we're all dying on the installment plan, and you have to be in a very intimate relationship with someone before their particular installment plan is your business.

If you feel the need to comment on appearance, things like "You look fabulous!"  "Love that color on you!"  "Great haircut!"  "Your makeup is flawless, love that smoky eye thing!"  "Your smile makes me happy every time I see it!" are all fine.

"You look like you've lost/gained weight?" Not a great thing.  If someone is proud of losing or gaining weight, when you say "You look fabulous!"  They will provide the information that they lost or gained weight, and then you can say something supportive based on what they have said.

Because what is important is what we can't see, and that is who the person is.  Kind and funny, snarky and witty, mean as a snake or sweet as a puppy, we're all different on the inside too.  And we all are attracted to different types of personalities.   There will be people you meet that become close friends, and others that will only ever be acquaintances.  That is all good.  But all the people you meet, you can build up, or you can tear down.  Why take a chance that you could be the one tearing them down?

Appearance is just not that important.  Look for the person inside.  Treasure the unique personality.  Celebrate your commonality with the people closest to you, and celebrate your differences with those you meet at random.

Life is too short for shaming or being shamed.  Love the body you're in.  It is the only one you have.

Accidentally celebrating Culinarians Day

This will be my third in a series of food blogs, tomorrow, I'll go back to other stuff.  This has helped me get my head back in a good place, so thanks for letting me share that with you.

On Sunday, while we walk, my husband and I often do our meal planning for the week.  This week is a short one for meal planning, as we are taking a little mini-vacation to the Gulf Coast on Thursday and Friday, so there wasn't as many days to plan for.

We decided to experiment, and make jambalaya stuffed peppers, with a creole tomato sauce.  I went and did my grocery shopping on Sunday afternoon.

When we woke up Monday morning, I heard on the radio that Monday, July 25 was Culinarians Day, a special day for anyone who cooks.  And boy, did I cook.

It started with making the creole tomato sauce from fresh tomatoes, bell peppers, celery, onions, and garlic.  I used a recipe from a website called Deep South Dish.  Here is a link to the recipe:  Creole Tomato Sauce.

I made a couple of changes, I used Splenda instead of sugar, minced garlic (the refrigerated kind in a jar) instead of fresh garlic, and I used cayenne pepper instead of black pepper.

I blanched my peppers in the same water I had done the tomatoes in, for about 3 minutes.

I made the jambalaya with rotisserie chicken, cajun smoked sausage, and Jambalaya Girl jambalaya mix.  Being from New Jersey, I have never developed any confidence to cook Louisiana foods without mixes.  Until Jambalaya Girl, I had never found a jambalaya mix that I really liked.  This one is fabulous.  The Jambalaya Girl brings her jambalaya to local road races so that is where we learned about it.  And the Jambalaya Girl is incredibly charming and fun, so we have added this jambalaya to our rotation of meals.  The box the mix came in has a stuffed pepper recipe on the side, which gave me the idea, but we didn't follow the recipe.

So, I stuffed the peppers with the chicken and sausage jambalaya, and surrounded them with the creole tomato sauce.  This is what it looked like going into the oven:

I baked them for a half hour at 350 degrees fahrenheit. This is what it looked like when it came out:

They were really good, but the peppers were still a little crisp for my taste.  We had them again last night.  I baked the remaining two peppers for an hour, and they were perfect.  I will definitely make this dish again and again.

I started this week wondering if I would ever feel inspired to write another blog post.  Taking a break from contemplation of bigger things, and sharing my cooking adventures gave me the boost I needed to get back to being myself.

I have a list of ideas for future blog posts now.  I am back to seeing the world through my usual optimistic viewpoint.

Thanks for indulging my need to deviate from the usual.  I hope you, like me, can find a way to shift your focus for a few days when you need to so that you can find your inner happy place.

It feels good to feel like me again!

Pot Roast Soup

Second of my culinary blogs - cooking is a safe and happy place for me - so hopefully it will provide a safe and happy place for some of those reading this.

I love pot roast.  Always have.  It is a dish I never learned to cook small though, so whenever I make a pot roast it is at least twelve servings, so usually six meals for my husband and I.

I use a three pound sirloin tip roast, and after the first cooking, we eat for two nights, and then I freeze the leftovers in two containers, so that we have two more two night meals.

Here is the basic pot roast recipe:

3 pound sirloin tip roast
2 medium onions, peeled left whole
8 ounces sliced baby bella mushrooms
8 ounces sliced button mushrooms
12 ounces peeled baby carrots
2 teaspoons minced garlic
1 package italian salad dressing mix
1 package ranch dressing mix
Olive oil

Brown roast in olive oil on all sides, place in crock pot.  Sprinkle roast with italian dressing mix, turn over.  Put garlic on roast, then sprinkle with ranch dressing mix.  Add all vegetables, and then enough water to cover.  Cook on low for 6 hours.

Take meat out and separate into three large pieces.  Then keep one large piece out and separate into four servings.  Serve meat with carrots and mushrooms, and a piece of onion if you like it.

You'll notice there are no potatoes.  Watching the carb thing.  I used to always put potatoes for my husband, but this time he decided to go low carb too.

So, we ate twice the first week, and I partitioned up the rest and put it in the freezer in two separate containers.  It seemed like I had an awful lot of broth, and very little vegetables, so I decided I would need to add more vegetables for the next round.

So, last week, we had round two.  I added another 8 ounces of baby bella mushrooms, and another 12 ounces of baby carrots.  We ate two more nights.  I had about a quarter of an onion, and some beef, and some carrots and very little mushrooms left in a lot of broth.

So, I made pot roast soup.  I strained the mixture into a pan, then I put the onion in the pan and used a stick blender to puree the onion.  If you like onion soup, you would love this broth.  If you don't like onion soup, I guess you could throw away the onion.  Then I chopped up all the rest of the stuff, and added some leftover Jazz Man rice I had in the refrigerator.  And then I added a generous squirt of ketchup.  (Sounds crazy - I know - but trust me).

My goodness!  It was absolutely fabulous!  I had lunch two days on my pot roast soup.  I can't really describe how good this soup was.  I will make it every time I make pot roast now.

And I almost just fished out the rest of the debris and threw the broth away.  But I hate waste.  So I experimented, and found a new favorite food.

Here's to experiments that turn out well and the excitement it brings when they do.

Diminished Output

I haven't been posting as much lately.  It seems that there is too much darkness, too much bad news, and I don't want this blog to be a dark place, yet I seem unable to find light to shine into the world.

I've been exploring the creative side of myself in cooking and crochet instead of in print.

I've been reading for a couple of years about making pizza crust using cauliflower, but every recipe I see has just too many steps and too much work.

Week before last, I had some leftover spaghetti sauce, leftover spaghetti squash, and some egg whites in the fridge.  I decided to try a spaghetti squash pizza crust.

Here's the recipe:

1.5 cups cooked spaghetti squash
1/8 cup grated parmesan cheese
1/4 cup egg whites

First I mixed the squash with the cheese.  Then I sprayed an ovenproof skillet with cooking spray.  I put the squash/cheese mixture in the pan, and then poured in the egg whites to just cover the squash.  I baked that for 10 minutes at 400 degrees fahrenheit.

When I took the skillet out of the oven, I loosened the edges of the crust, and turned it out onto a greased cookie sheet, so that what was on top in the skillet was now resting on the cookie sheet.  I added spaghetti sauce, and fresh mozzarella cheese.  I baked for 15 minutes at 400.  Here is what it looked like:

The good news is the crust was good, not too eggy, not too squashy, and held up well to hold and eat like a slice of pizza.  The bad news?  The meaty spaghetti sauce was too chunky, and the fresh mozzarella too wet.  So I think I will do this again, but use a thicker, smoother sauce, and a low moisture mozzarella.  But it was so easy, and worked as a pizza substitute with low-carbs.  And it really did taste good.

Next I'll tell you about my pot roast soup, and then today's adventure, Jambalaya stuffed bell peppers with Creole Tomato Sauce.

Just writing is therapeutic for me.  I hope you all don't mind this detour into my culinary adventures.  I need to write, but I need to lighten up.  I think this will take me through this little dark spot.

Opening up to new things

I'm trying a little experiment today.  Usually, I listen to country music, or classic rock, or classic pop, or 40's, 50's and 60's music.  I like what I like, and music is a comfort.  But today, I decided that I would pick the Top Pop station on Amazon Prime to listen to while I work on this blog and on my book.  I'm giving up the comfort of the familiar to find out if there is music out there that I like that I haven't discovered yet.

And isn't that just life in a nutshell.  In order to discover new things that we like, we have to leave the comfort of the familiar and try them.  And it is way too easy to stay comfortable in the things we like.

This is a relatively painless experiment.  I'm not losing anything.  And I have plenty of time to listen to familiar music on another day.

But choosing to leave the familiar and grow can be a very painful experiment.  A new job may not work out.  A new place to live may never feel like home.  And sometimes the familiar is snatched away from us, without our consent.  And then it is no experiment, it is a painful experience.

I'm discovering through this experience that familiar music is background, and new music forces me to listen.  It forces me to feel more.  More joy, more wonder, more pain, more sorrow.

And I think new experiences force more feeling as well.  And in the same way the music is opening up both positive and negative pathways, so do the new experiences.

I think that we can participate in the color leaching away from our world by staying stuck and safe in the familiar.  And as the color fades, so does our hunger for bright colors.  So in this drab world we allow to evolve, our brains lose familiarity with the pathways to brightness.

I'm realizing I need to make myself seek out new experiences and new stimuli, just to keep my brain familiar with how to respond to it.

When I was working there was constant change and new stimuli.  Since I have retired, I pick the stimuli.  And when I allow the news cycle to be my stimuli for new, most of the pathways in my brain are reinforced towards darkness.

Choosing new music has my brain reinforcing pathways to pleasure.  I'm chair dancing as I type.  I'm finding new joy in new music.

It is so easy to get lost in the dark.  There are so many unavoidable influences that push us toward the dark.  It takes a conscious choice to find the light.  Find a way to reinforce the pathways in your brain to the light.

Choose something new, and through that newness, experience creating new pathways in your brain towards the light.

Keep the pathways in your brain that find the joy well traveled and easy to get on.  There will always be sadness and darkness, we all need brains well trained to find the pathway to joy.

What can I do?

I sent this email to my Senators and Congressman today:

As my heart breaks for the slain Baton Rouge Police officers and their families, I, like many citizens am asking myself how can I help make things better?  How can I help promote communication and compromise, how can I help encourage finding solutions without violence?

I would ask that you do the same.  I believe that the behavior of the Congress and the Senate for the last few years contributes to the problems in America.  The unwillingness to find common ground, to pass legislation that is good for America, to have hearings on appointments; these behaviors demonstrate commitment to political ideology over commitment to the citizens of the United States.

I implore you to examine your conscience, and really think about your speeches, your rhetoric and your behavior.  Have you encouraged partnership and compromise?  Or have you encouraged division and partisanship?

We all have a role to play in making it better.  In decreasing violence, and in valuing and promoting civility.

I'm going to do everything I can to make it better.  I hope you will too.

Best Regards,
Anne Marie St. Clair

I hope at least one of them reads it and takes it to heart.  When we care more about ideas and ideology than we do about each other, we start down a terrible path.

We have arrived in America where that path leads.  We are a country divided.  We shout and hurl insults instead of discussing.  We "Stand our Ground"  instead of finding common ground.  We resort to violence far too quickly.

It is time to collectively join hands and sing a resounding rendition of "Kumbaya".  It is time to stop digging in and defending our positions and time to start reaching out to each other, no matter what our positions are.

We all have a better self within us.  It is time to bring that better self, our best self, to the forefront.  It is time to love one another with all that we have.

The killing has to stop.  The violence has to stop.  The hate has got to stop.  The fear has got to stop.  And all of us have a responsibility.

At Mass yesterday, Father talked about how looking at things differently can change your world.  He challenged us to look at all the things we have to do not as obligations or responsibilities, but as acts of love.  He believes that if you go about your day looking at the things you do as acts of love, you create the opportunity to make everything you do a prayer, and thereby bring great joy to your life.

I tend to look at much of what I do as acts of love anyway, so this is a natural fit for me.  I hope that you too can learn to see your daily activities as acts of love.  Because when we are all acting out of love, it has to get better.

Resilience

In May of 2015, I wrote a blog post titled "There is no Them".  I was trying to illustrate that we are all one people sharing a planet, and creating artificial divisions doesn't make anything better.

In the fourteen months since I wrote that blog post it seems that the us and them thinking has gotten even worse.  And I still don't believe that kind of thinking solves anything.

So what can an individual who is tired of the bloodshed and the hate and the divisiveness do?

It has to start with believing it can get better. It has to start with more love, more kindness, more inclusion, more understanding.

I heard a man on the radio this morning saying that believing that love is the answer is crazy, because the bad people just want to kill you.

How many of you reading this have ever been motivated to kill someone who never showed you anything but love?

Anger, and division and war haven't solved the world's problems. Why not give love a chance?

As I have said before, it is much more difficult to hate an entire group if you know someone in that group.  So some of the answer lies in making a more diverse group of friends.

How can you do that?  Join a club, find a hobby, volunteer.  America is still an amazing melting pot.  You can stay safe in a microcosm of people just like you, but it isn't all that difficult to find diversity.

What does any of this have to do with resilience?

I'm afraid that for the foreseeable future, there will be terrible, tragic events that shake our faith in human nature, and shake our hope for a peaceful coexistence where everyone has the opportunity for a decent life.

Resilience is the ability to bounce back, to recover from difficult events.

And resilience is easier when you can look at any terrible, tragic event, and look at who perpetrated that terrible, tragic event, and you can say, "I know someone who looks like that person, or who is the same religion as that person, or who is from the same country as that person, and I know they are a good person".  And then you can remind yourself that while there will always be people who will do harm, there will always be people who will do good.

And you will not get sucked into the despair that comes with thinking we are doomed.  Because we are not doomed.  We are humans, going through a sucky part of what will someday be history.

We can repeat terrible mistakes of the past and turn on each other.  We can marginalize and disenfranchise entire groups of people.

Or we can say there will always be people who wish to do harm.  We can't easily identify them.  But if we pay attention, maybe we can hear or see their wish to do harm before they act on it.

And we can only do that if we interact, if we listen, if we make sure that our circles all overlap.  So, more love is the answer.  More listening.  More compassion.  More understanding.  But most importantly, more action.  We must speak up when we think someone has the capacity to do harm to themselves and others.

We can break the chain.  We can find a better normal.  We just have to be willing to do it.

I'm Tired

I am sincerely hoping that this blog post strikes a chord with many who read it.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of the anger, I'm tired of the hate.

I'm tired of the unwillingness to have a conversation about anything important and contentious.

I'm tired of people raising their voices, believing that shouting somehow makes more sense than listening.

I'm tired of being sad about the state of the world and especially the state of the United States of America.

I'm tired of criticism.  I'm tired from hearing only about whose fault the problem is, instead of what we can do to make things better.

I'm tired of hearing about why a person is a bad person, instead of why an idea or an action is harmful or destructive.

Have we become a society, a people that can no longer solve problems?  That can no longer find compromise?  That will work against our own self interests and safety because we have been manipulated by the media? That has to hate people, instead of disagreeing about ideology?

I'm tired of listening to people who can only see things their way.

The problem is, I'm not sure what to do about it.

I try to listen to people.  I try to read and inform myself on issues rather than just emote about them.

I try to find common ground, so that conversation can happen and compromise is possible.

And then I hear more of the hate.  More criticism.  More negativity.

I refuse to participate.  I've been writing less and reading escapist fiction more.  I am crocheting more.  I'm checking out rather than being saddened by the state of things.

But I know I have to do better.  I have to figure out how to be part of the solution.  I have to figure out how to be a positive influence.

I miss the 1980's when we had "Hands Across America" to fight poverty and hunger.  And when "We Are the World" united artists from multiple genres to raise money for the victims of famine in Africa.  (And I know how little money actually got to the people who needed it.  But we cared enough to try to make it better collectively, and that is what is important.)

Where is the collective good to balance out the anger and hate?

I'm asking everyone reading this to do something positive today.  Be kind to a stranger.  Donate to a worthy cause.  Praise someone.  Meditate on how to bring harmony.  Pray for peace.

I feel like we need something big and positive to build unity, but I know that small acts of kindness, of compassion and of understanding can become a tidal wave.

I don't want to hide.  I don't want to be tired anymore.  I want to see more love than hate.  I want to hear more compassion than anger.

I'm going to find the energy to be the good I want to see in the world.  I hope you can too.

On race

When I was a child, my brother played soprano bugle in a Drum and Bugle Corps sponsored by an American Legion post.  The corps was interracial, as central New Jersey has always been a melting pot.

One night, when the fathers got to the American Legion post to pick up their children, there was some time to kill, so they decided to have a beer together at the bar in the post.  The bar refused to serve one of the dads, who happened to be a person of color.

The other dads left the bar, got their sons, and the sons all quit that Drum and Bugle Corps.  The corps disbanded, as so many other members quit too, appalled at the treatment of their son's friend's father, or of their friend.

That was the first time my parents talked to me and my brother and sisters about the obligation that comes with being white. I was taught that I have an obligation to reject racism, to reject people who are racist, to call out people who base their decisions on skin color, and to stand in solidarity with the people of color who I interact with.  I was taught that looking the other way when people are discriminated against is as bad as practicing discrimination yourself.

When I moved to Louisiana as an adult, I was not one of those people who thought the South had prejudice and discrimination and the North didn't, because I had been raised to really look and see what was real, and I had lived through the race riots in New Jersey in the sixties.

What I wasn't prepared for when I moved to Louisiana was the extraordinary breadth of the palette of skin tones that can be called white or black.

I have sat in rooms in Louisiana where the person with the darkest complexion identified as white, and several people in the room with fairer complexions identified as black.  And I came to understand just how artificial a construct race actually is.

That is not to say that people of color are not disproportionately discriminated against in America.  They absolutely are.  And those of us who are not discriminated against must stand with them, must protect them, must cry and bleed with them when they are hurting.

But race is an artificial construct.  The color of my skin no more informs you about me than the color of my hair, or the color of my eyes, or my height, or the texture of my hair.

Skin color is just another physical attribute.  We don't pick it, and we can't change it, it is just a thing.

I totally understand and appreciate that many people's life experience and formation has been influenced by the color of their skin.  I totally understand and appreciate that when you are under attack, it is normal to trust the people who look like the people defending you, and distrust the people that look like the people who are attacking you.

But just because someone shares a physical attribute with someone, that doesn't mean they are anything like them.  Would you consider thinking all white men with dark hair are psychopathic killers because Adolf Hitler and Charles Manson were white men with dark hair? It is equally ridiculous to make assumptions about a person based on the color of their skin.

And therein lies the great problem that we need to overcome in America if race relations are ever going to improve.  We all need to admit that the color of our skin has shaped our formation.  Has shaped the history of the United States of America.  We have to admit that institutional racism exists.  We have to appreciate the distrust and discomfort our brothers and sisters of color have of white people, and of the police and judicial system.

And then we need to stop letting skin color matter to us, and treat everyone the same regardless of the color of their skin.  All the while remaining conscious of skin color, so that we white people are prepared to defend and protect our brothers and sisters of color should that become necessary.  It won't be easy to grow past this horrible divide that seems the deepest it has ever been in my lifetime.

But we are all humans.  We are all connected.  We are all part of the collective fabric of our families, our neighborhoods, our towns and cities, our country, our world.  We can overcome this artificial divide.  But we have to work on it.  This is a problem that will never go away unless we actively work on making it go away.

Heavy heart

Once again, I sit with a heavy heart, and search for words to convey how I feel.  There is a part of me that wants desperately to give in to anger and despair, but I truly believe that if I do that I will become part of the problem.

It breaks my heart that evil acted in Dallas, and at this time five Dallas Police Officers have lost their lives.  It breaks my heart that Philando Castile was killed in front of his girlfriend and her five year old son, and that the children at the Montessori School where he was cafeteria manager will have to miss him every day during the rest of their time at that school.  It breaks my heart that Alton Sterling never got the chance to show the world that he was a changed man, who could live the rest of his life as a productive member of society.

I don't want to, and can't debate these deaths, as if there is some way to justify the loss of a life so that it is no longer heartbreaking. Every time someone dies, it is heartbreaking.  For someone.

And we all experience that heartbreak.  But when it comes at the natural end of a long and productive life, or when it comes at the end of a painful illness, where we can comfort ourselves that our loved one is no longer suffering, the heartbreak is easier to work through.

How can you work through the violent death of someone you love?  How can so many of us act as if the people that die violent deaths somehow deserve death?  How can we be so comfortable pretending that because that person is not our family, and we don't know them, and they don't look like us, that we still are not diminished by another violent death?

The senseless violence in the world damages us all.  Whether it makes us more fearful, or makes us more angry, or makes us easier to manipulate, or makes us more unkind, or makes us more callous; the violence in the world diminishes us all.

And it makes my heart even heavier that in the midst of the horror at the violence, people feel empowered to use words to create more dissent and anger.

Believing that sometimes police kill innocent people is not the same as condemning the police.  Believing that sometimes the police have no options to shoot to kill is not the same as victim shaming.

There is a world of nuance and complexity in every situation.  Very little in the world is clear cut.  As I've shared before, fear is not rational, and almost universally, fear produces illogical behavior. The rational part of your brain has a very hard time being heard over the fearful part.  So, in many cases, violence stems from this fear.

How do we stop feeding the fear?  Get to know people who are not like you.  Who don't look like you, who don't act like you, who don't believe in the things you believe in.  Find common ground.  We all breathe, we all bleed, we all need food and water to survive.  There has to be something you can find in common.

Stop believing that because bad things haven't happened to you that bad things only happen to people who provoke them.  Bad things happen.  There is a high degree of randomness to that.  If nothing tragic has happened to you, it isn't because you are better, or smarter, or more worthy.  It is because nothing tragic has happened to you.  As simple as that.

Be willing to entertain solutions.  And relentlessly campaign for change.  We need criminal justice reform.  We need better answers than fighting and violence.  We need a return to civility, to debate and compromise.  We need to teach our children that getting along with each other is a good thing, and that when we all give a little we end up getting more than we give up.

Remember that love is the answer.  And that you can make the world a better place by treating everyone you meet with kindness and compassion.

My heart is heavy and full of sorrow.  I am worried about my country, and about the world.  I worry that this latest violence will beget more violence.

I will not stoke the fires of anger and hatred.  I will show love to everyone I interact with.  I will be the good I want to see in the world.  I hope that you will too.

Preaching love and tolerance

I have been making great progress on my book again today.  My characters are becoming more and more real to me.  And as I write them, I am seeing things about myself.

All of my characters are flawed. They all suffer from something, and many of them suffer from something that no one can see.

There are central characters in the book, and these central characters, although also flawed, are characters capable of great love.

The characters capable of great love provide the opportunity for healing for all of the other characters.

And that my friends, is my long and short view of life on this planet.

We are all flawed.  We all need people in our lives who are capable of great love.  Those people capable of great love give us the confidence and the courage to try to heal ourselves.

I know that listening to an endless sermon on love and tolerance will usually result in everyone tuning out.

I'm hoping that by creating engaging characters, who are flawed, so can be identified with, and showing them as the instruments of positive change, that everyone reading my books can see themselves as an instrument of positive change.

You don't need to discover a cure for cancer, or write a Pulitzer or Nobel prize winning book, or be president of a corporation to change the world in a positive way.

All you need to do is examine your own brokenness, and realize that everyone is broken in some way.  Then you can reach out to others in their brokenness, and provide love, and reassurance, and support as those people you have reached out to try to heal.

As we seek to understand and support, rather than to dismiss and separate, we appreciate the opportunity for real growth.

It takes all sorts of different people to make this world.  We can't all be the same, we can't all agree.  But I truly believe we can all get along.  We just have to learn to look upon each other with love, rather than with condemnation.

This change in perspective, in attitude, doesn't require that you subscribe to any particular belief system.  This perspective just asks that you look with love on your fellow human beings.  That you acknowledge that you are who and what you are because of multiple experiences and fortunes of birth.  And that all the other fellow travelers through life are who and what they are because of their multiple experiences and fortunes of birth.  And we can all help each other.

I hope that my books will open the hearts of those who read them to be more tolerant, more loving, more understanding, more accepting. And I hope they don't come across as preachy.

What I have seen about myself is that I want to help make the world a better place.  But I want to do it by inspiring others to want to help make the world a better place.

Because I want the change to be bigger than I can accomplish by myself.

But if enough people want to make it better, it will get better.

Love is a better answer than hate.  Laughter is a better answer than anger.  Tolerance is a better answer than fear.

If we can imagine a better world, we can create a better world.

I hope my books can inspire your imaginings.

Time

For some reason, I have been having a hard time writing my books lately.  I finished my novella in April, and stalled.  I don't know where the words and ideas went.  I just couldn't seem to find them.

I woke up this morning ready to write again.  I spent a couple of hours working on my book.  I'm not sure how good what I wrote is, but copy to edit is better than a blank page.

The disappointing thing is that when I look at my journal entry from April 18 (the last entry I made) and try to remember what I have done with the time that has passed since then, I don't have a lot of accomplishments to point to.

I did complete a couple of crochet projects.  We went to West Virginia twice.  We walked.  And played in the pool.  I read quite a few books.

I'm wondering if sometimes I just need to not accomplish much.  If sometimes, I just need to be for a while.

My days are pretty much always full.  It is easy to keep them full.  Even if the filling of the days doesn't result in a product that can be pointed to.

There is housework, and cooking and laundry to do.  And as soon as they are done, there is more housework and cooking and laundry to do.

For most of my working life, there were deadlines and timelines and necessary tasks to be accomplished.  I still haven't figured out how comfortable I am without deadlines and timelines and necessary tasks.

I seem to have a compelling need to create deadlines and timelines and necessary tasks.  And I have an inordinate amount of guilt right now because I can point to so few accomplishments for the last few months.

I haven't neglected anything that needed to be done.  I've taken care of the business of life.  What compels me to feel guilty?

Has structure and schedule become so much a part of how I measure my value that I don't feel I have value when I am not meeting a structure and a schedule?

I was sitting by the pool yesterday, remembering the summers of my childhood.  When sitting by the pool and doing nothing was a wonderful way to spend a day.

I remember long summers with no agenda other than to play, and to read and to make happy memories.  And I never felt bad or guilty, just kind of sad when they ended and it was time to go back to school.

In the last couple of months, I pretty much played.  Other than the adulting that is necessary.  But instead of feeling good about it, I feel vaguely guilty.

I'm sure this is just another phase of adjusting to a different pace of life, a different stage of life.

Self-determination is tricky.  In some ways it is easier to have your schedule dictated than to have to decide how to create your schedule.

I'll figure it all out.  One day at a time. But today feels better because I have worked towards a goal.  I have words on paper.  My book continues to develop, and will be a book someday.

Independence Day

July 4, 2016.  July 4th is the day that the United States of America celebrates as our Independence Day.  Much of the conversation today, and on each July 4th centers around freedom.  Freedom is a concept that is central to American identity.  We are loud and proud in declaring the United States of America the land of the free and the home of the brave.

What we don't often talk about is how one person's freedom can impact another's.

The tricky thing about freedom is that if not exercised responsibly, my freedom can rob you of yours.

Let me explain.

I am free to listen to whatever type of music I like.  I can play that music in my house, in my car, in my yard, or in a park.

When I play my music in a public place at an extreme volume, I am depriving others in that public place of their freedom to listen to the type of music they choose.  This is an example of my freedom robbing you of yours.

Freedom is a gift.  The writers of the Declaration of Independence felt that all men were created equal, and that they were endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights, among which are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  Yet, some of those who signed the Declaration of Independence owned slaves.   A certain class of people in 1776 robbed another class of people of their freedom, in a profound and disturbing way.

And that same thing can happen today if we are not careful, and if we don't think carefully and responsibly about the exercise of individual freedom.

I'm not fear mongering that slavery will be brought back as a practice, but when you think about freedom, just how free are we?

I am blessed with an enormous amount of freedom.  I am free from debilitating health issues, I am relatively free from financial worry, I am free to enjoy my home and my yard.  I am free to own two wonderful dogs, and I'm free to walk them in a beautiful public setting every day.  I am relatively free from worry for my safety when in my house or in my neighborhood, as we have a high degree of citizen motivation to keep our neighborhood safe, and a good level of police presence.

Not everyone enjoys the tremendous freedom I enjoy.  Many are imprisoned by poor health, by economic disadvantage, by homelessness.  Still others are imprisoned by unsafe neighborhoods, and by public authorities that do not provide the necessary protection for their communities.  Many people are imprisoned by fear, fear that is fed by unscrupulous politicians and media personalities.  Many people's freedom is limited by prejudice, they are rightfully concerned about going certain places because they have to fear what will happen to them in those places.

Freedom is a gift, but without responsible exercise, freedom can be used as a weapon.   Every time I fail to see the plight of someone who is not able to fully enjoy the freedom I do, my indifference becomes a weapon.  It allows me to disregard their plight.  It allows me to do nothing to try to make sure that all of the citizens of the United States of America have the opportunity to enjoy life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

This Independence Day I am challenging myself to be very aware of how blessed I am to enjoy the freedoms I enjoy, and to be an advocate for those whose freedom is limited in some way.  We can only truly be the land of the free when everyone has realized the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, and until then, being the home of the brave means that those of us that have realized the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are brave enough to fight to bring that right to those who have not yet realized it.