The book I read yesterday

I read a really good book Sunday.  The book's title is "The Choices We Make"  and the author is Karma Brown.  I bought another one of her books today, it was that good.

Earlier in the day, I had finished another good book, "In Farleigh Field: A Novel of World War II" by Rhys Bowen.

They were two completely different books in some ways, and very similar in others.  They took place on different continents, in different time periods, and were written in very different styles.  But they both were stories about people, and the things that happen to them.

And both dealt with one of the emotions that all humans seem to experience, grief.

Grief seems to be universal but it comes in many forms.  We grieve for lost opportunity, we grieve for the past, we grieve for friends who are not what we thought they were, we grieve for lost loved ones.

In one of the books, two of the characters try to console each other by appreciating the depth of the other person's grief.  And that made me wonder why we compare like that.

Is the grief we feel when we lose our mother or father different than the grief when we lose our spouse?  Is the grief of losing a child different than the grief of losing a sibling?  Is the loss of a close friend, especially a close friend you have had daily contact with since childhood different than the grief for a baby that dies within hours of being born?

I think that for all of us, different losses strike us differently, but there is nothing to be gained in comparing our loss or our grief to someone else's.  Tremendous grief is simply the by product of tremendous love.

And it doesn't have a time table.  And it doesn't have rules.  When we lose someone or something we love, there is an empty space that will never be filled.  And sooner or later, we get used to working with that empty space.  Grief doesn't end.  The edges get less sharp on a daily basis, but there will always be days when a fresh wave of grief exposes the jagged edges all over again.

I shared before that one of the pieces of grief that often goes undiscussed and unexplored is grieving the person you were to the person you lost.  When a relationship exists, it has its own rules and norms and idiosyncrasies.  The person I am with my sisters, the person I am with my husband, the person I am with my friends, they are all me, but they are all slightly different.  There are experiences and memories I share with each person in my life who is important to me that belong to just us two.  And when they are gone, they take that piece of me with them.

One of the thoughts that was shared in one of the books was the power of talking about the people we love who are gone in the present tense.  To remember them always as living and with us.  I think there is tremendous power in that thinking.

I try to talk about my lost loved ones as if they are in another room, or away on vacation.  My belief system allows me to look forward to being reunited with them at some point in the future.  My belief system also allows me to feel their energy still present, and to feel that they know when I am thinking about them.

I often dream about those that I love that have left this plane of existence, and often wake up feeling very comforted at having spent time with them.

The most important thing that I took from reading these two books is that our love and compassion for each other are essential.  Life is hard, and unexpected.  Grief is inevitable.  There is someone you know and love who right now is struggling to learn how to live without someone they love.

Just love them. Don't compare.  Don't minimize or maximize.  Love them, listen to them.  Ask them what they need from you. Hold them.  It is the least, and the most, we can do.

So much we never know

Yesterday as I was walking with my husband, we decided to spend some of our time walking in our neighborhood.  As we walked, I started to think about the people that live in the houses we pass.  We were about a half mile away from our house, and don't know any of the people living in the houses we were passing.

I started to wonder if they were happy homes, or homes filled with sorrow.  I wondered what kind of work the people living in that house did, and if they were healthy and fit.  I wondered if the people in the house were a family, or if someone lived there alone.

I wondered if anyone in one of those houses was lonely, or hurting, or feeling lost.  I wondered if anyone had just had something wonderful happen, like a new job, or a promotion, or a graduation, or falling in love, or a new child or grandchild.

Metairie, LA, where I live, has a population of around 139,000.  I know very few of those residents personally.  There are a lot of people I see on a regular basis, that I don't actually know.

People I go to church with, people who exercise on the levee, people who go to local road races, people who go to local car shows, the cashiers and shelf stockers and managers at the local grocery stores, the wait staff at the local restaurants, the neighbors that I know their names, and say "hi" to, but I don't really know.

To be honest, as a matter of course, I don't give all those people a lot of thought.  I appreciate how friendly some of them are, but I don't think about whether or not they are happy or sad, if they are living the life they choose or just surviving the life they are stuck in, or somewhere in between.

I had lunch with a good friend on Friday, and she and I talked about all the universes that people live in that have very little intersect with the universes that other people live in.

We got there talking about running and walking and cycling and having a dedication to fitness as a lifestyle.  We were discussing how many people who do not pursue fitness think that runners and walkers and bicyclists are strange or weird.  We talked about how people who don't live in your universe can be very derogatory about the things you see as good ways to spend your time.

The different universes conversation was reinforced on Sunday, when my husband and I were watching a young man set up a course with orange cones and poles and an arch in the park near the marina.  As we continued to watch, he brought out a drone which had to follow the course he had created, including circling the poles, and flying under the arch.  A whole other universe I know nothing about.

We then talked about frisbee golf, and the International Rock, Paper, Scissors championships, International Scrabble tournaments, Chess tournaments, and on and on.  We kept ourselves entertained for a couple of miles trying to think of universes we know nothing about.

So, where am I going with this?

There is so much to know and understand and wonder about that is not contentious.  Actually asking about someone with interest, learning about what makes them happy or sad, what they like to do with their time, what is important to them is incredibly enriching.

I may never want to play Bridge, or kite sail, or show dogs, or participate in rodeo (just a few of the things we came up with on Sunday) but it is fun to learn about those things from someone who enjoys those things.

And you can spend hours of conversation just asking and listening and learning and building a relationship, even if it is improbable you will ever see that person again.

There is always more to know, and wonder about, and learn about.  There are always subjects to be discussed and questions to be asked that are not harmful or threatening.

Try as hard as you can to open your eyes, your heart and your mind to those universes you know nothing about.  Try to have conversations with people you don't know that focus on learning about them, just because they are humans who deserve your attention.

We can make this a better world; one open, interested, concerned conversation at a time.

What is truth, what is real?

What is truth?  It seems so easy sometimes to think we know what the truth is.  But sometimes, something is shown to us, or we read something, or we hear something, that forever impacts our ability to think that the the truth is easy to see.

Because we all process the things that happen to us in different ways.  We all create a truth in our own life narrative that is survivable.  Let me give you an example.

On the situation comedy "All in the Family"  there was an episode where Archie Bunker and his son-in-law, Michael Stivic, got trapped in the storeroom of Archie's Place, the neighborhood bar owned by Archie.  In the course of the episode, Archie talks to Mike about his father.  He is adamant that your father is never wrong.  He elaborates that your father puts a roof over your head, food on the table, and does everything he can to make sure you turn out right.  So your father loves you, you love him, and your father is never wrong.  The gut-wrenching part of this story is when Archie shares that his father beat him until his father "busted his hand", that his father locked him in a closet for seven hours, all to make sure he turned out right.  And there is the uncomfortable thing about truth.

Most of us would say what Archie's father did to him was abuse.  Archie's truth was that he had a good father who did everything he could to take care of Archie, to love Archie, and to make sure he turned out right.  That was Archie's reality.  It was what made his truth bearable, and survivable.

For those not familiar with the program, Archie had one child, Gloria, who he adored.  There were multiple times in the show where Archie proudly proclaimed that he never laid a hand on Gloria, demonstrating that the cycle of abuse did not continue to his child.  So even though he professed his truth as abuse being an expression of love, he chose to express his love for his child in a different way.  One could say that was because he was lying to himself.  Or, one could say that he processed his life experience into a truth that was survivable.

And we all do what Archie did.  We all interpret and process the events in our lives in a way that is survivable.  Even if you were raised in a multi-child household, and your sibling processed an event you shared in a totally different way, that doesn't make one of you a liar.  You each found your own truth.  You each processed that experience in a way that made it possible to have your own life narrative.

I'm not trying to say that there isn't a difference between the truth and a lie.  There are physically observable things that are true or not true.  If I am at my desk writing, I can't be in the grocery store shopping at the same time.  It is either raining when I look out my window, or it isn't raining.

But a lot of what we argue about, a lot of what I hear one person call another person a liar about is simply because the two people processed an event differently.

I remember one time observing friends who are a married couple arguing quite passionately.  I was getting more and more uncomfortable as their argument escalated.  I was waiting for tears, or violence or something terrible to happen.  At a point, they both started laughing!  And then agreed to move on to another subject.  I was stunned.  I talked to the wife later, and she said they did that all the time.  Their normal included escalating arguments, followed by nothing.  No resolution.  No hard feelings.  No resentment.  Just a bunch of noise and then back to life as usual.

And I'm sure that couple has no recollection of that specific argument, because it meant nothing to them.  I remember it because it was outside my normal, outside of my life narrative.  Outside my reality.

For some people, that kind of relationship wouldn't work.  Some people need to have a winner and a loser in an argument.  Some people need resolution.  Some people hate arguing and need to agree all the time.  And all those things are fine.  There is no truth about what makes a relationship good or bad other than in a good relationship, both parties are getting what they need and want, and each partner feels recognized and valued.  And different interaction styles work for different people.  So there is no one right answer.  There is no one truth about how two people have to interact to have a good relationship.

And that is hard to remember.  It is hard to not want to superimpose what we see as truth, what we see as good as the only reality.

When we allow that there are many truths, there are many realities; we can open ourselves to learning about how others process things and see the world.

And then we can start to find common ground and build relationships with people who have a different truth, a different reality than we do.

And life becomes richer.

When I listen to someone I know relate an event that we both lived through, I try hard to not tell them that that is not how it happened.  I try to listen to how their recounting of the event is different from my memory, in the hope that I learn to understand them better.  Because I believe that life is all about relationships.  And when you try to understand how the different people in your life process the events you share your relationships become deeper.

I encourage you to try to see those other truths and those other realities.  I hope you find the experience as enriching as I have found it.

Why I love reading

I finished reading the book "Treasure Me" by Christine Nolfi last night.  The book was the second book in the Liberty series.

The lead female character in the book, Birdie,  is a pickpocket, and petty thief.  Her mother is a felon, and her father also a thief who has been in prison for most of Birdie's life.

In real life, I would find it hard to give Birdie a chance.  In fiction, it is safe to give Birdie a chance.

I had read a book years ago, "Runaway Mistress" by Robyn Carr.  (Re-released in 2016 as "Swept Away".)  The lead female character in that book, Jennifer, was a professional mistress.  She was orphaned young, with no marketable skills but incredible good looks.  Men took care of her.

In real life, I would find it hard to give Jennifer a chance.  In fiction, it was safe to give Jennifer a chance.

The theme of both books was one of inclusion and redemption.  They both told a powerful story of women who were born into or lucked into bad circumstances, who made questionable life choices to survive, and who eventually rose above their questionable and/or illegal behavior to be good citizens.

Can people really do that?  Can petty criminals find a path to a better law abiding life? Can women who have traded their bodies for survival move on to lives with good employment and stable family life?

Does life imitate fiction, or does fiction imitate life?

And that is why I love reading.

It makes me question everything.  I often profess to believe in every human's ability to be a contributing, productive member of society.  But do I really believe it?

What do I know about being eleven years old in a ratty motel, not knowing where my mother is and having not eaten for days?  Who wouldn't pick a pocket if they'd been taught that skill, or grab money out of a purse to get something to eat?  Or steal food from a store?

When I read about a character who does these things, the author typically lets me see inside the character's mind.  I can see their fear, their frustration.  I can see if they desire and enjoy the life they have, or if they yearn for a better life.

I have known people in my life who chose to do things that hurt other people.  I have known people who stole, I have known people who are violent, I have known people who seem to have been born without a conscience.

I can't see what they feel or think, I can only see what they say and do.  And, as much as possible, I avoid those people.

And when I read books or stories of redemption, I wonder if I should try harder to see what those people feel and think and give them a chance.

In all the stories of redemption I have read, redemption is always aided by someone who cared enough to try to help.  It takes an amazing amount of courage to try to help.

I think I'm pretty good at helping those in my safe world when they need a hand up.  There are always people who need love and support.

But the most needy among us won't typically appear in my safe life.

No answers here, just questions.

But it is why I love to read.  Because reading challenges me to open my mind, and to open my heart.

There are a million realities out there I know nothing about.  Reading allows me a glimpse into them.  Reading allows me to question myself and my actions and motivations.  Reading opens my eyes to all the realities I do not experience.

I hope you find something to read that challenges you.  That makes you think about things differently.  That makes you wonder about things you have never wondered about before.

Reading provokes me to grow, and sometimes that growth is painful.  But it is always worth it.

Marginalized

The idea for this post came to me while walking a couple of weeks ago.  I typed the title, and then closed the post.

I've been trying to pull together my thoughts ever since.

I have heard the term "marginalized" for as long as I can remember.  The dictionary definition of marginalize is:

treat (a person, group, or concept) as insignificant or peripheral.

I understood what it meant, but I never understood how it felt.

I do now.  Living in a very red state, and disagreeing with just about everything the current administration and congress are promoting, I feel marginalized.   There is no respect for my opinions or positions from those who are supposed to represent me.

I send faxes and emails.  I know my senators and congressman are going to vote along party lines no matter what I do.

I wish I had understood how bad this really feels.  I know what I am going through is nothing compared to people whose civil rights have been violated for generations, and who will continue to be marginalized because their appearance identifies them as belonging to a certain group.  But I have so much more empathy.

I have heard people say about one marginalized group or another "They shouldn't all stick together"  "If they would identify the 'bad' ones, we would be more accepting of the 'good' ones".  I understand now how that will never work.

When you feel abandoned, you look for solace in community.  And when you find community, you turn to each other, and support and protect each other, because you are all you have.

And if that means you accept unacceptable behaviors, it is because you need the protection of the pack against the predator, who is society.

So your sub-society, your marginalized community becomes more insular, and more defensive.  You protect your own, even when they do wrong, because you know you can not trust society to address, or even to see your concerns and your issues.

And you start to look for and trust only those you can identify as one of your pack.  And that is what sucks about being a middle aged marginalized white woman.

I look like the very people who have marginalized me.

Again, what I am experiencing is small and unimportant compared to the truly, systemically marginalized communities in America.  But now that I have felt this, I have a greater duty to fight for those communities.

I still believe we all have more in common with each other than we realize.  But I also now believe that making someone feel marginalized compromises their ability to see that we all have more in common with each other than we realize.

So the other day, when I was walking with my husband, we saw a woman wearing a hijab pushing a stroller with a little boy about five riding a bicycle.  I said hello, and smiled at her.  The little boy riding the bike started following me and my husband.  He asked if we were racing, and I told him no, just walking fast.  We were near him when he was trying to ride up to the top of the levee, so my husband and I cheered him on. That isn't something I would necessarily usually do, but I felt like it was important. He caught up with us on his bicycle to thank us for encouraging him.   He went back and forth between his mother and us for the next half hour or so.  When it was time for us to cross the street and go home, I told him it was nice to meet him, and to tell his mother that he was a very nice boy.  I wanted her to know she and her family are part of my community.  Even if we don't look like we are.

And that helped me feel less marginalized.  Because even if my government doesn't want to hear my voice, my voice is still important.  Especially to others who feel voiceless.

Learning something new

Yesterday was an interesting day.

I wrote a dark blog post.

Southeast Louisiana was hit by a number of tornadoes, one of them very large.

I wrote a few words in my novel.

I taught myself to knit.

After writing my blog post, in which I admitted I was stuck in a dark place, the weather got dark too.  My phone is registered with the emergency broadcast system here, so it alerted me multiple times that tornadoes had been sighted in my area.  The emergency alerts advised me to take cover, and be prepared for a tornado to strike.

We were lucky, others around me were not.  Two tornadoes touched down within five miles of my house, one to the west, and one to the east.  The tornado to the east was large and the damage devastating.  Fortunately, no lives were lost, although it will be many months to years for those affected to rebuild.

The randomness of a tornado is a powerful reminder of how quickly a life can be changed forever.  Tornadoes aren't political, or religious.  They are not motivated by hate or love, by fear or by courage.  They are simply an awesome force of nature.

How you vote or what you believe won't protect you from a tornado, nor will it condemn you to be in the path of a tornado.

For all that we try to control our environment and the things that happen to us, tornadoes remind us that we are not in control.

My regular readers know how much I cherish the illusion of control.  I desperately needed something positive yesterday.  There lies the rest of this particular story.

My husband bought me a storage container for my yarn.  As I have gotten more and more enthusiastic about my crochet hobby, my yarn inventory has grown.  I have been keeping my yarn in a large Amazon box on the floor of my bedroom.

On Friday night, Scarlett decided to jump into the box and throw yarn out.  She also scratched and kicked and made a mess out of my yarn.  My husband decided a more stable storage system was needed.  So the storage cart arrived yesterday.

As I was sorting through my yarn, I found a bag of yarn I had purchased from the sale bin at JoAnn's craft store over a year ago.  It was shiny and on sale and so I bought it.  I never found anything to make out of it, and didn't like how it looked when crocheted.

So, I fired up YouTube and watched a couple of instructional videos on knitting and taught myself to knit.  I used really big needles, because that is what I had handy.  (I use them as broomstick lace pins for crochet.)

Here is the product so far:

And here is what I learned besides how to knit a scarf using the garter stitch.

I learned I like crocheting better than knitting.  (But maybe that is because I am better at it.)

I learned that learning something new is exciting and invigorating.

I learned that opening up to something new sparks creativity and joy.

I learned that I can still improve my state of mind by choosing activities that lift me up rather than bring me down.

I learned that even an impulsive decision can lead to something good if you just keep looking for a way to make it good.

I also learned that even writing something dark opens me up to looking harder for the light.

I know I will still have to struggle to stay positive until I get myself reconditioned to finding the positive and to seeing the light.

But I have another weapon in my arsenal now.

Learning, especially a tactile learning experience is very uplifting for me.  Who knows what will be next?

Still waking up in an alternative reality

I haven't posted for a while.  It all goes back to the idea that this is supposed to be an inspirational blog, and I'm slap out of inspiration.

I'm closer to identifying the problem though.

I'm stymied because I am waking up in an alternative reality.

And this reality, to be honest, sucks.

It is a reality where the United States and Russia are presented as equivalent by the US President.

It is a reality where all news that does not conform to what one pathological liar believes is characterized as fake news.

It is a reality where a bill was introduced to sell off federal lands for no profit or a loss.  (We the People defeated that one).

It is a reality where there is a bill before Congress to abolish the EPA.

It is a reality where the least qualified and most dangerous presidential cabinet in my lifetime is sure to get approved by a partisan self serving senate.

I could go on and on and on.

I keep hoping that I wake up one morning and this horrible farce is over.

But I wake up and the nightmare continues.

So, I fax and email my congressman and senators.

I read too much news.

I am a prisoner in my own mind in a sick obsession with how bizarre the whole world has become.

I have to find a way out of this.

My regular readers know that I believe we have the power to change our lives by teaching ourselves to think about and notice those things that lift us up.

I have to put my money where my mouth is.

I have to find something positive to focus on so that my energy reserves are renewed.

If any of you have suggestions for blog topics, please let me know.

In the meantime, I'm going to try to write because it helps me process.

But I'm pretty sure my writing won't be very inspirational.