life lessons

On Faith

mimijk

Hi my friend,

What’s the good word for today? Are you beginning to see the whispering of spring? We’ve been graced with an early start to the season; as if there was collective impatience to add new colors to the palate. The exuberance of spring delights me – eager pansies, intrepid daffodils, birds returning from their winter perches. And yet…

There is a somber aspect to my perspective. Bear with me – I’ll get to it. When my parents passed away, I was convinced that if I saw a cardinal in the branches of the trees in and around our house, that it was some kind of cosmic message, assuring me that they were ok. We lived in northern VA at the time. You can imagine how foolish I felt when I discovered that the cardinal is the state bird of Virginia. I felt silly for sure and somehow a little disappointed. Was it better to believe the comforting thought or better to be disabused of such thinking? It was better for me, I think, to have held on to the notion that somewhere, somehow they were still here. It became something to hold onto…

Andy and I are circling 70 this year. He is scoping it out a few months ahead of me, and if we’re lucky it will be nothing more than another trip around the sun with many more still to celebrate and enjoy. I have to admit that I’m not ready to be a venerable age, and there is something a little dissonant about the number itself. I’m not ready, even though it really doesn’t matter whether I am or not. I’m grateful to my toes and scared as well. To age gracefully sounds pretty trite even if it is a decent objective.

I guess, there’s a part of me that still dances with ridiculous enthusiasm, still uses my brush as a microphone (when my throat complies), walk with EarPods secure and music that inspires something akin to rhythm, and find the best jeans in the boys’ department at the Gap. I want to believe what I know is unlikely, yet serves as my first line of emotional defense when seventy looms in unsettling kaleidoscopic display.

“In any life, imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been…of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.” Charles Dickens

But for this moment or any following moment there is some invisible thread that connects us to our memories and our tomorrows. I can’t think of any cord – fragile though it may be – that doesn’t extend for longer than my imagination can conceive, perhaps with cardinals flying all around.

Thanks for stopping by, be well and be happy…

life lessons, politics

Irony

mimijk

Hi my friend,

At the risk of redundancy, how are you? I wonder how you’re faring with these days of whiplash and cacophony – it seems like dissonance is the new normal. A strange soundtrack to be sure.

I’m careening between indignation and disbelief; two sentiments I don’t deal with very well. In fact I’m trying very hard to make sense of the nonsensical, and failing miserably. When Alanis Morrisette penned the song ‘Ironic’, I nodded in time and agreement, amused at the creativity of the lyrics.

Not today though – today I have a backpack filled with the ridiculousness of these times. So with no rhyme or reason, I submit the following with the hope that I’m not alone…

1). Dear Senators Graham and Hawley – your hypocrisy is showing – sit the hell down. As much as I agree with the perspective that streaming services need to be more diligent in creating safer platforms for children, it offends me to hear you assert that the CEOs have “blood on their hands.” You’re kidding right? He who throws the first stone, gentlemen …where is the sound bite about the NRA? Isn’t the absence of measures to ensure that AK-47s are excluded from individual purchase irresponsible at best? Or, that background checks should be rigorous? Does the fact that the majority of gun owners support reasonable regulations mean anything? And yet you do nothing. Hmm, I guess that means that you too have blood on your hands – just sayin’…

Dear Boeing – seriously? A few of your newly constructed airplanes have passed quality control, albeit with a few missing or loosened bolts. They assure us that every plane has been re-inspected, honestly it doesn’t do much to allay concerns..

Dear Puxatawny Phil – go ahead and burrow yourself. All the spotlights on you ensure that a shadow will be seen. Hardly prescient, I’m afraid.

Dear Literate People – if you don’t feel exorcised by the systematic banning of books, then your silence becomes complicit. Banning the Bible? The Merriam-Webster dictionary? Choosing to remove undeniable facts about our country’s history – because a discrete few want to edit the past? When did ‘woke’ become an epithet? Anyway, if you want to see the ever-expanding list of classics, just Google it – and then consider that anything other than a passionate defense, isn’t a defense at all.

Dear Politicos – give me a break. You flood my inbox, asking for money for elections that will take place in various eligible states. First of all, my name isn’t my surname, and it’s ironic that you plead for contributions yet can’t get my name right. Just for grins, I tallied up the requests for $20.00 – no surprise it would do up to a healthy contribution. Is it wrong of me to want to hear a stump speech that reflects aspirational ideas instead of negative assurances? Just throw me a bone – let me know what the plan is (caveat – I won’t vote for any misogynistic sycophants, those who limit the rights of women, denigrate minorities with extreme self-righteousness – but if your platform is filled with what you won’t tolerate, tell me how you’d change it)

I could go on, but your attention is being tested, I’m sure…So much irony, so much I find enraging. And in the purest sense we are all here to share the walk home (thank you Rumi), to accept the responsibility of being accountable to and for each other, to marvel at our ability to affect people without a clue that we have done so and to accept the mantle of love, for at the end of the day, that is our common denominator.

Take good care, my friend – I’ll write again soon. With love, me

life lessons

On New Year’s Eve

mimijk

Hi my friend,

I read this quote today and wanted to share it with you. I happen to be one of those people who think of a new year with a cynical perspective. As a child, the start of another year was marked by a guy named Vince Lombardo leading a questionably talented group of musicians in lounge lizard renditions of various songs. It was fun to stay up, feeling like we were doing something illicit (even though it was endorsed by our parents). We watched the ball drop, counting down with whoever was holding the mic.. And then it became anti-climatic – it was over, we were over-sugared and overtired. Forced fun is pretty fleeting.

At this point in my life, there is little difference between December 31 and January 1. I make resolutions that I manage to discard throughout the year. The only thing I really like to do is wish all those I love as well as those that I like a new year with good health and laughter and love and peace. But I can articulate those wishes at any time of the year. Somehow New Year’s Eve doesn’t corner the market on good intentions.

This new year begins with the world in such a state of disarray, it barely resembles anything I can wrap my head around (that’s probably why my head hurts most of the time). War, mass migrations, prejudice, bigotry, the sheer absence of attention to gun control, the insult to women and their doctors and ethicists. I can go on, but you know what I mean. These are the ideas that roll around in my head as we count down to January 1, 2024.

I’m tired. I think you are too. Yet we are here now, and if there is anything for me to resolve, it is my commitment to hold onto hope – it is the only feeling that remains aloft. I will hope that we cherish each other, and failing that, that we accept our differences rather than vilify them. I hope that my children and granddaughters live in a world that they can feel comfortable in – for its generosity of spirit in all things. I will do my part – to the best of my ability and I know you will too. That’s why we’re friends – and why I love you.

Happy New Year

life lessons

Paradox

mimijk

Hi my friend,

How have you been? Are you feeling a little dizzy as we careen from one beautiful moment to a hideous one? There seems to be a serious disconnect between the onset of the holiday season and the season of such discontent. I don’t know about you, but my head is killing me.

Tapping into moments of gratitude is pretty easy for me; I keep feeling a ‘but’ coming on. But there have been so many mass shootings in the US that they average two a day! Two a day…Are we really bearing witness or just silently shaking our heads? But there are two wars being waged and innocent people are dying, dying, dying. How the hell are we to gather and be thankful without acknowledging that this is an incendiary time – sort of feels like the world is just itching for a fight. Climate change, gentrification, prejudice in epic proportion, etc…we are dancing in a marathon with no steps and lousy music.

I feel a bit exposed in a way I haven’t felt before. I am Jewish, it’s in my DNA. My sister and I are part of the cohort of second generation Holocaust survivors. There are vibrations that course through the blood – guilt and gratitude, fear and faith, self-consciousness and self-righteousness. These days there’s a chronic pain that can’t be assuaged and a disbelief that’s impossible to reconcile. How have we not absorbed the reality that we can hurt each other or help each other – a binary choice, with only one positive outcome. And still people choose wrongly. I have no answer; we are destroying each other – which seems inconceivable considering that we’re all walking each other home (thank you Rumi).

And yet – Paul and Vic fly in from Toronto on Thursday, so we can be together for Thanksgiving a couple of days late. Camp K will have a full house and thankfully, we all do well together. I am going to immerse myself in cooking and preparing and will find grace in delighting in the small moments…I will find moments. And, my dear friend, I am grateful for you, and wish you more magical moments than you can count…

life lessons

On Silence

mimijk

Hi there,

Are you ok? I don’t know about you; these days, these days are testing my fortitude and yanking my heart. It’s a visceral dare, and it’s fixed – the more the challenge, the greater the difficulty to rise above.

I heard this song earlier this morning. And in its beauty I found a moment that allowed me to bow my head and whisper ‘thank you’.

We have family in Israel…an elderly cousin in Haifa (who says that she is ‘witnessing a second Holocaust’) and other relatives in Tel Aviv who bore witness then and do so now. as well as others in Tel Aviv who re bear witness yet again. Their comments reflect the reality that trauma can find safety nooks in the soul that are perfect for hiding. It also doesn’t take much to remember where they’re hidden. This isn’t my story though – it is theirs. However, I’m blown away by the sheer heft of hatred that has been let out of the bottle – Palestinians, Jews, African Americans, people from Latin America, Muslims…such disdain is nauseating.

life lessons

On Comfort

mimijk

Hi my friend,

How are your days going? Welcoming the autumn palette? Wishing the summer an ambivalent goodbye? Pissed off at the abundance of holiday items on sale before Halloween has come and gone? Pleased to see such inventory and rue those who don’t share in your delight? Fearing that we are engaged in some kind of destruction of the Constitution; or fearing that we’re not?

These times require that we find spaces of comfort – and seek them out purposefully. Dave and Susan Kannigan’s photos; books that are immersive in scope or messaging or both; intentional hugs; falling in love with the clouds as they pass. Where do you find comfort?

I think comfort can be situational – that which soothes one day, may be less effective the next. And sometimes comfort presents itself in surprising places.

I was at Mayo Clinic last week (all is well, but for some cascading autoimmune issues – anyway it’s fine) – and you might think I found the most comfort in the extensive testing that was done. I did, but the greatest comfort rested in the people I met. Whether doctor or nurse, radiologist or technician – they all drank the Kool-Aid infused with care. And yeah, it didn’t hurt that the patient summaries refer to me as ‘delightful’ and ‘not looking close to her age’ (don’t be a wise guy – it was meant as a good thing). In knowing that after each test and appointment, Andy was in the waiting room.

So I think there is comfort that is immutable and holds us like an old sweater…and perhaps as we grow older, we realize that you need to take it out of the closet and keep it near.

Beneath The Sweater And The Skin

How many years of beauty do I have left?
she asks me.
How many more do you want?
Here. Here is 34. Here is 50.

When you are 80 years old
and your beauty rises in ways
your cells cannot even imagine now
and your wild bones grow luminous and
ripe, having carried the weight
of a passionate life.

When your hair is aflame
with winter
and you have decades of
learning and leaving and loving
sewn into
the corners of your eyes
and your children come home
to find their own history
in your face.

When you know what it feels like to fail
ferociously
and have gained the capacity
to rise and rise and rise again.

When you can make your tea
on a quiet and ridiculously lonely afternoon
and still have a song in your heart
Queen owl wings beating
beneath the cotton of your sweater.

Because your beauty began there
beneath the sweater and the skin,
remember?

This is when I will take you
into my arms and coo
YOU BRAVE AND GLORIOUS THING
you’ve come so far.

I see you.
Your beauty is breathtaking.’

~ Jeannette Encinias

Repost: Deva Vibha

life lessons

On Forgiveness

mimijk

In the Jewish religion, the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are called the ‘days of awe’. The hope is that as the Book Of Life is opened at the beginning of the Jewish New Year, we will be inscribed in it again when the book is closed. In other words, it would be a good idea to do a lot of apologizing (sincerely), and spend some time in self-reflection.

In the past, I have posted a global ‘I’m sorry’ in FB or Instagram – hoping that anyone I’ve hurt is willing to accept such a blanket apology, Somehow I don’t think that’s what G-d had in mind. It seems to be that Judeo-Christian religions offer us an out – recognizing that genuine sorrow for our less than gracious actions may be absolved if our repentance is sincere. That’s where I feel like I’m trying to wrestle in a spider web. Aren’t apologies for behavior we may or may not remember a bit less than heartfelt?

We all can admit to being unkind, selfish, duplicitous. We have unintentionally disrespected our relatives and friends, played cavalierly with our planet, offered up some really righteous indignation, etc. And this is the sticky part of the web – if one is unable to admit such thoughtless behavior in the moment and/or to the person who was the unfortunate recipient – then what are we apologizing for and to whom? (Yes, it’s me in the web trying to free at least one limb)

So I’m thinking about the act of contrition. Maybe it isn’t about the aggrieved person or people. Maybe it is what changes within us when we are genuinely rueful. Perhaps regret genuinely felt, alters our self-perception. Brene Brown suggests “you either walk inside your story and own it, or you stand outside your story and hustle for your worthiness”. And there’s the nexus – the point where we truly own our stuff – and in doing so, understand contrition in a different way.

“These are the days of miracle and wonder; This is the long distance call…” (Paul Simon). These are awe-inspiring days and I’m trying to own my stuff, including the less-than-pleasant moments. A little self-reflection does more for the soul, than blanket apologies. And it is in that ownership I think, that one can truly say “I’m so very sorry”

life lessons

More A Musing Than Aha Moment

mimijk

Hi my friend,

The heat is so unrelenting these days, that it’s quite the challenge to run errands or a marathon for that matter. Ok, a bit of a 26+ mile stretch, for I have never even entertained the thought of doing a marathon. I am truly in the presence of my spirit animal – a sloth. Even putting keystrokes together to form this post has been more of a hunt-and-peck exercise than a flowing string of words.

And this has nothing to do with what I’m thinking about.

A long long time ago, in the days B.R. (Before Retirement), I read a survey about trust. The question posed to the participants asked who they trusted more – their parents, a teacher, a religious leader, or the Internet. And yes, the majority felt that they trusted the Internet above all else. I found that very unsettling, and yet when speaking in front of a diverse audience, there was little surprise (but for the parents, for obvious reasons).

I’m sure that time has changed this result, or at least I hope it has. At the end of the day, what does the Internet offer that makes it so trusted? Algorithms – reflections of the people who offer up personal information – wittingly or otherwise. And why? Because when asked, the internet offers up unconditional support as few relationships can and this is what we’re seeking.

Here’s a few things I can tell about you – without even knowing you. You have had some difficult times in your life and you have faced those times with courage and determination; you miss someone very much and would welcome the chance to speak to them again; you are empathetic and intuitive, yet don’t suffer fools; you are protective of your family and friends; you are an incredible person…

How’d I do? These are some of the comments you will find if your curiousity makes you answer one of the FB quizzes. And for a brief moment, you’re validated in some way, It’s a little like a palm reader telling you your married and you nod with enthusiasm at her prescience, rather than acknowledging that your wedding ring was on.

And look, if knowing that your emblematic song is “I Will Survive” or “Bridge Over Troubled Water” – that’s great. Just understand that this defines all of us at some point or another..

My friend Lissie Altman (author of Poor Man’s Feast and Motherland) included the following poem Intimate Invitation by David Whyte. And yes, it moved me to tears as I was reading because at core, it articulates what we all really want. To feel that none of us are alone; that the human condition can be totally enervating and there are times when you just want to lay it all down – and that’s ok. We’re still going to be waiting for you – trust this.

You forget

how, even when

you are barely

mobile,

even when

you feel bereft

of any horizon,

and even when

without faith

you felt held back

and afraid to move

even a little,

you can still be like

the beauty

we see in winter ice

just

beginning to

break and flow.

You forget

how you can see

the brave outline

of a single leaf.

How the stream

of clouds in the sky

can run right through you.

And the sun on your skin

seems to pass right through

to some inner completion.

And because

after all this time

you live and have lived

for so long without faith

in your own joys and your own grief.

You live daily

saying ‘love’

as if it were still far away.

But come here now,

into the arms of the waiting world,

put down that heavy burden

you have carried so long

and rest

from the hard everyday labour

of not hurting,

or not feeling,

or not hearing,

or not saying

or seeing.

Stop keeping the tears at bay.

give it all up,

just come home.

And never doubt – we got you.

Sending love always, m

life lessons

What Is Left…

mimijk

Hi friend,

Hope all is well on your end, and the heat isn’t causing you to go limp as soon as you venture outside (unless you’re in Australia, obviously).

Dave, I’ve been thinking about your post paying homage to Cormac McCarthy and listening to Joni Mitchell’s Circle Game. “Incongruent!”, you may say? Well yes, yes it is.

You quoted McCarthy in your post (davidkanigan.com) – “yesterday is all that counts”… he continued to opine that any other period of time is unknown until it happens. Um, ok…but no.

I’m not nearly as literate as McCarthy, but this has been rolling around in the pinball game that is my mind. I understand his perspective, although in my mind it gives all the heft to history. Personal history is at best a distillation of what we remember. Facts are self-edited for many reasons; one can’t revisit yesterday without the context of today.

Our family recently took a trip to Italy – a bucket list experience for sure. Whether determining which city makes the best gelato (per my granddaughters it’s Rome), making masks in Venice, or marveling at the Ufizzi, any and all iterations of being together was the greatest delight of all. I hold many precious moments in my mind, recognizing that they will become burnished with time. My memory will shape these moments as a potter smooths clay. Polished in the present. Shaped and defined in the now. “And the seasons, they go round and round…we’re captive on the carousel of time”…

The older I get, the more emphasis I place on right now. I hesitate to look ahead and I can’t get stuck in the past. Both are subject to the vagaries of personal perception. I need to focus on this moment, this precious moment, before it’s gone.

Next music prompt? The Talking Heads “Once In A Lifetime”…For now though, this moment, I’m sending much love your way – as always, m

life lessons

Angry, Grateful & Profoundly Confused

mimijk

Hi my friend,

I am acutely aware that we live with one emotional paradox after another – really I’m on it..

No, I’m not.

A quick comment about what I’m writing about – you don’t have to agree with me – I’ll love you anyway – but please limit your comments to those without a lot of snark. I’m barely handling the cacophony in my head and you could upend that delicate balance easily.

I wake each morning, with a quiet ‘thank you’ for the return of my soul into my very flawed body. I am grateful for this flawed body and recognize with a bit of ambivalence, that this is the only one I’ve got, so no pity parties (most of the time).

I celebrate spring – the smell of fresh grass, the awakening of flowers with their timid entrance before they burst with delight. Yesterday my granddaughter and I tried our best to grab some rain on our tongues – grateful; my other granddaughter FaceTimes with silly filters that turn her beautiful face into cats, puppies, unicorns and some really bizarre stuff – we laugh a lot – grateful.

Moments with my sons – again, beyond grateful – they are my heart and soul. Andy is still my anchor and rarely pulls on the string to bring me back, knowing that my flight path is different from his. He accepts the sneakers in the garage, placed there in case I have to run. It is true that after 30+ years, they’re looking a little frayed; I’ve never put them on.

Ok, arguably an attenuated picture, but you get the point. I spend a great deal of time tempering my anger with these reminders.

I am beyond disgusted with this country. This country which provided my mother safe harbor. This country where the first song ever sang in public school glee club was the music to Emma Lazarus’ ‘Give me your tired, your poor…’. The metastasis of hate that is quickly becoming too invasive to resolve with customary forms of treatment. This week the college in my town had to address racist and anti-Semitic graffiti plastered in public places. WTF?? Unconscious bias no longer is particularly relevant since all the prejudice is out there for all to see. My granddaughters will have fewer rights than me. I feel like I’m in a passionate minority of people who intrinsically want to restore what little social advances we have made. Basically, I want to bring flowers to a shoot out. Is there a branch of government that isn’t so politicized that they can lay claim to sincerely being ‘for the people’?

I’m done – believe me, I could go on. And on.

“He took of his fleece jacket, and then I saw his t-shirt. It said, ‘Fuck your feelings’ superimposed over an image of a big ram’s head. The ram had become the unofficial mascot for the confederates who were always complaining about people like me being sheep – which was weird, because a ram is a sheep.” – Christine Grillo (“Hestia Strikes A Match)

It’s a beautiful morning here; and we will have rain in the afternoon. There is no better way to end this musing. Be well and take good care, we’ll talk soon.

life lessons

A 1:00AM Musing

mimijk

Hi my friend,

Thought I’d send you a hello in the middle of the night, for I was thinking about you. I hope all is well and that Mother Nature isn’t too ticked off wherever you are. She is clearly annoyed with us locally, for 100+ degree temps before summer even arrives, suggests we have definitely pissed her off.

Bogey, Lucy and I were out a little while ago, and the weight of the air was so heavy, it almost felt like a blanket. I could feel it despite knowing there was nothing I could see for confirmation. There’s so much that one responds to without sensory back-up. I can feel air circling my skin, and can’t touch it. I can hear a fascinating chorus of birds, locate their whereabouts in the trees, yet can’t see them. I think I can make the case for Antoine de St. Exupery who offered up these words in The Little Prince – “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye.”

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate all the gifts that the senses provide – but do I marvel at the sight, or the feelings evoked? When I listen to music, play hide and seek with the fireflies in the backyard, sit at my desk surrounded by all that is familiar and soothing, I am responding to that which is unseen. The way they make my heart feel.

Which brings me to why I’m writing you today.

There are people who I have followed on WordPress for years. Never met them, never spoke to them, and would likely not recognize them if we passed on the street. And yet, they are my friends – a term I don’t use flippantly. We commiserate in comment sections, check in with each other on email, rail at times, commiserate other times and occasionally marvel at our common ground. Ground that we walk in figurative step, covering invisible miles through the ether, yet as firm under my feet as the street. There is wonder in this.

So today I’m just saying ‘hi’ to you, wherever you are. I’m so, so glad we’re sharing some time and space, and if you’re reading this in the morning, a cup of coffee. “We are all connected in the unending chain of belief and doubt. Together we can answer each other’s questions.” How awesome.

Have a good day – see you soon.

life lessons

Dear Senator Cruz,

mimijk

Please sit down. And if you’d be so kind, grab your friends joining you tomorrow at some gun lobby fete and encourage them to do the same. Just.sit.down.

My granddaughters got home from school yesterday. They hugged their parents, perhaps ran outside to play or grabbed a snack or just engaged in 6 and 7 year old silliness that increases exponentially as the end of the school year approaches. They fuel the air I breathe, their day-to-days inform my narrative as their Gigi.

There are families experiencing a pain that is unfathomably deep and permanent. Forever reconfigured, forever defined by one who is missing. And if you haven’t had enough of this horror, this talent that we have in the United States to be the best at killing each other for no damn reason, then perhaps you shouldn’t read this.

I am not against the Second Amendment, but when I heard the Senator start talking about the radical Democrats who want to limit the rights it accords and arguing for more security measures at elementary schools, I bowed my head and sobbed. This is the best you’ve got? How about acknowledging that if you’re the literal constitutionalist that you pride yourself to be, you recall that when written, the Second Amendment was talking about muskets. A minute to load, one shot, reload. No AR-15s, long rifles, armaments designed for war available to anyone.

I don’t want to bow my head in moments of silence, whisper prayers of healing for broken hearts, shake my head in disbelief that we can’t even get a damn reference check bill passed, despite over 80% of the population supporting it. I don’t understand why we feel it is enough to extend sympathies and not do anything past the flippant.

My little girls will burst into their homes this afternoon. They’ll have news and wonder and giggles and fits and hugs and breathlessness. Their parents will hold them and tickle them with kisses and at night, cuddle them and smell that delicious-after-bath-smell that only little ones have. And they’ll whisper ‘I love you’ as they turn out the light.

To thank G-d for allowing your child to arrive safely at home from school each day, is unimaginable to me – and yet, here I am, overwhelmed with sorrow and an almost superstitious need to repeat ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’.