Category Archives: Emotional Health

Character, Emotional Health, Hiking and Outdoor Beauty

A hiking mentor

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I live here, but I am new.

She is my guest, but she has been here many times before.

I am getting acquainted with all the trails and only take the long ones on weekends – days off from work.

She knows this place like the back of her hand.

I live in housing with four walls and have not yet camped seven miles out under the stars.

She has spent many October birthday weeks 4 X 4 camping at the end of Salt Creek and taking daily forays further into the wilderness.

Salt Creek is closed to wheeled vehicles now, open only to those visitors on foot. But she remembers exploring after hearty dinners around the campfire.

She is older than I – not much-but her memory is sharp. Her memories are good. Very good. This is her favorite place.

Now she is showing me around, introducing me to my own neighborhood. “Right over this hill,” she says, “right around this rock, I found a couple granaries and pictographs I don’t think the rangers know about. Over there, you can see a panel if you have binoculars. The ranger pointed that out, but I have never seen it.”

There are other things she teaches me too, like how to eat well while hiking or camping. What to prepare. Which items to bring. What footwear to choose.

Hiking alone is always inspiring. Wandering is fine. But sooner or later you need a hiking mentor to show you the good stuff.

I doubt I will ever attain her status – the ability to cook chicken cacciatore for eight and then pack it to the hut on Nordic skis.

But I do aspire to her confidence and belief in the abilities of others. Also, her calm patience when backtracking for a lost camera. The camera that carelessly slipped from my pocket and to the ground right after I took the eagle picture. The backtrack that added an extra mile to the ten for which I had steeled myself. The backtrack that we felt acutely in the heat of the day on the last two miles that terminated our trek and restored us to hot running water.

Never-the-less, we venture on another trail today, unflagging. Well-guided. Mentored. Ever learning.

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Character, Emotional Health, Spiritual Well Being

To be fed by ravens

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“Vaya con Dios,” Friend said.

“Who is this Dios of whom you speak?” She asked. “I will go out into the desert to find him. Perhaps I will be fed by ravens.”

And Friend replied, “40 days and 40 nights?”

Forget a mere month and 10 days; it had been over 40 years since the two friends had actually talked face-to-face. This cogent Facebook exchange was fraught with meaning. One friend was tired, exhausted, the journey too much. She was moving to the desert, hoping to reclaim a portion of her spiritual and emotional health – to find herself. And with this four-line dialogue, she had communicated an identification with the emotions of the Prophet Elijah.

A minor prophet from ancient Hebrew literature – not even major enough to have an entire book of the Tanakh (Old Testament) named after him – Elijah stood up to a wicked Queen Jezebel (1 Kings 19). He called fire down from heaven (1 Kings 18). He succeeded in his ambiance beyond wildest dreams and expectations. Yet, after the fact, exhaustion and depression nearly pulled him under.

She knows there have been great victories. Victories huge enough to be followed by great desponds. There have been supernatural successes. Successes rewarded by jealousy and threats.

Now, she is in the desert for healing and nourishment. It may take being spoon-fed by ravens. It may merely take daily hikes into the wild and beautiful. She has enough faith left to believe this will happen.

 

 

 

 

Character, Emotional Health

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, But Words Will Never Hurt Me

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Un-true! She knew it from the bottom of her heart where the remains of what had been her dignity, self-esteem, confidence-the energy with which she encouraged others-lay trampled, and mutilated.

In one page and less than 100 words someone had stripped her of a lifetime of achievement, shot down every success, touted her strengths as weaknesses, labeled those weaknesses evil, assaulted her personality and denigrated her very person.

Words have the power to uplift and launch the spirit to soar. Words have an equal and opposite power to destroy. Destruction is what she felt. Her ship and her lifeboat were swamped. She became physically ill. She was pierced to the heart and the stress from the untruths bled dry her creativity.

To make matters worse, she scolded herself. Instead of saying, “Self, I’ve got your back.” She said, “Self, what’s the matter with you? Where is your inner strength? Get hold of yourself. Have you forgotten? ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.’ Rise up! Get a grip! Nobody died. Nobody hit you. It is only words.”

Only words. Yes. Only words. But she was a writer. Words were her love language. All love and all language deserted her for days. Then she remembered. Somebody posted a silly little meme on Facebook. “Good friends help you find important things when you have lost them, your smile, your hope, your courage.”

And she decided to start being a better friend to herself.

 

Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Music and Theatre

Whoa! What just happened?

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In To Kill a Mockingbird, Atticus is handed a shotgun and calmly drops a mad dog. His daughter Scout thinks something like, whoa, what just happened? She had never seen a gun in the house, much let alone in her dad’s hands. She did not know her father had been a dead shot from his youth.

I lived for a time in Edmonds Washington – in the bowl. Weekdays, I worked with extracted body parts in a medical facility. There was no refreshment I loved better on a weekend than to walk the half mile to the beach-the edge of the sound-the freedom of a ferry port that could take you away on a moment’s notice.

On the beach was a small quirky thrift store that supported the attached senior citizen center. I was 55, so in a way I qualified for all the benefits. The center boasted a vintage linoleum tiled dance floor / concert hall and a cafeteria that hosted Grey Gourmet a few days each week. But it was the thrift store that could distract me – at first.

One Saturday as I browsed the blouses, books and unique kitchen gadgets assembled, I heard live music – a guitar, a mandolin – coming from the regions beyond retail. I picked my way to the hall that accessed the curtained restroom stalls and passed beyond to the next available room. I poked my head in the door to listen. “Hi!” called the guitar player and evident leader. “I heard the music,” I stated.

“We’re a seniors oldies band. We practice every Saturday morning.” I smiled.

“Are you a musician?” For the next 90 minutes, Vern called chords and I played along to some Elvis songs and other oldies I had never heard before. Hits caught in the gap between my mother’s generation and mine. On my way back home, I mused, “Whoa, what just happened?”

I practiced with the band for a couple months before my departure for Colorado. We played a Sunday dance or two in the ballroom – fish bowl conspicuous. My portion of the take was $3.00.

On an odd midweek day off I strolled Olympic Beach unshowered and barefoot with my corduroy pants rolled up a la Tom Sawyer. Suddenly, a voice hailed from the observation deck of the senior center. It was Craig, the 91-year-old ladies man from the Sunday dances.

“Cherry! Cherry!” He called, “am I glad to see you! Come in, come in quickly.” I obeyed. “Come. See the piano. We always have sing-along before our meal on Tuesday. Our pianist did not show today.”

Turns out Craig was the leader of sing-along. The usual pianist was retired after years of pleasing crowds in Branson. The darkness of dementia had overtaken her. Some days she forgot which song she was playing and launched into a medley. Sometimes she simply forgot to show-up.   The seniors gathered around the piano and commenced the enjoyment of oldies I didn’t know and harmonies with which I was intimate. 20 minutes later the Branson pianist arrived, taxied by a daughter my age. I graciously took my leave. On the walk home I murmured, “What just happened here?”

I never quit on my music. Invited, I will play any piano, anywhere, any style. Whatever style I am playing at the moment is my favorite style of music.   There have been nursing home gigs, years of folk music with elementary kids, decades of private students and plenty of church praise and worship. There are intervening years of enjoyable jobs that seem to have nothing to do with music on the surface, but are inextricably woven to music via location – the beauty and inspiration of a dock on the bay or a Rocky Mountain high.

So recently, I have found myself moonlighting with a John Denver tribute band. Evenings, I keep my habit of enjoying an hour of piano before bed. On my days off, I practice feverishly. The John Denver originals are familiar friends. The current pieces, written in a style and spirit honoring John Denver, can be quite intricate and challenging. Just this week, I had a break-through with a lead-in reminiscent of the Eagles and Desperado.

Quiet joy, like happiness, overtakes you when you least expect it. Rising from the piano bench I muttered, “Whoa, what just happened?”

 

co-dependence, Emotional Health

In loving manipulation

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All she really ever wanted to do was make a difference in the world – one man at a time. Maybe even just make a difference in the world of one man for a lifetime. Service was all she had to give. And we all know love expresses itself best through service. Well, don’t we? So she sat out to change his world one little detail at a time. Not to change him – she knew better than to do that; but to order his world, to organize his life for optimum success. She tidied his wardrobe. She cooked nutritious meals. She stocked the magazine rack and the bookshelf with cogent current events reading material. She was continually self-sacrificing of things she wanted and needed in order to put funds toward his success. She gave him wonderful backrubs to ease the tension of the day and to help him feel secure, cared for, and confident. She put off her own schooling in order to reach higher for his. And did he thank her? Well, of course not! It is embarrassing to be smothered and made to feel obligated. Besides that, maybe he knew intuitively that self-sacrifice is a lessor virtue – perhaps an easier virtue – than to love, really love. Honestly, she should have spoken plainly and let her needs be known. But before we fault her unduly may we remember she was never taught how to take responsibility for her own care – only how to take responsibility for others. Well, somebody’s got to do it! And of course, nobody else did. So she rose to the occasion and lovingly manipulated his environment. And it was disastrous. Obviously, he should have taken responsibility for his own baggage. Just as truly, but maybe not quite as obviously, it was incumbent on her to accept responsibility for her own choices and relational health.

Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams

Reveal a bit of yourself in music and business – advice from my children

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My three grown kids shoot straight. They speak directly, analyze and point out truth. My children are most supportive of all I do musically. For the last several decades, my byline has been, “raising young musicians,” and I raised them well. They are all musicians. I dreamed for them. I encouraged them. Now they reciprocate for me.

My youngest once admonished me, “get your own band, Mom.” Recently I had that opportunity. In fact, that is what precipitated my daughter’s chiding.

“Mom,” she said. “You can’t just go spy on them. It’s not right to spy on them and not reveal any of yourself.” She is right. The introverted, timid side of me protested. It wasn’t like I was sneaking about without their knowledge. I just wanted to find out a bit more about them before I committed myself, maybe before I even offered myself. Conscientious caution says it is better to be prepared before you go to an interview or audition. Do your research. Google the main stake holders – the key players, learn as much as you can. First impressions are first impressions whether business or personal and I want to make informed choices, know what I am getting into. The timid side of me loves to analyze and over-prepare so I can be confident. The shy side of me conducts great people watching and asks lots of interested questions. The reticent side of me waits for others to draw me out. Wouldn’t want to bore them, you know. They will ask if they are interested. Besides, I was taught it is better to be interested in others and not talk about yourself or show off. But my daughter is right. Sometimes you need to dare greatly – put yourself out there. I ponder my daughter’s comment in light of a new acquaintance, a person who talks too much, IMO, but then, she is very easy to talk to. Always interested in what everyone else has to say, it is no wonder she believes everyone reciprocally interested in her narrative. After awhile, if all you do is listen and you don’t reciprocate, others give up on you.

Enter my eldest with sagacity born of a lifetime in music. “If you ever get a chance to play in a band, do it. Bands don’t last forever, but it is magic while they do.”

I spied. I revealed. I woodshed day and night. I will play with the band for whatever length of time the magic lasts. But of course, if the magic goes away, I will never give up on my music. Nor will I forget the interpersonal lessons learned through band or business.

May all your relationships be enriched today with a proper balance of giving and receiving – – and with music!

Emotional Health, Family, Health and Long Life, Music and Theatre

Cremate me, then throw the concert of the century

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She wanted to die doing something she loved. And she loved hiking in beautiful places. Each time she hiked, she made her peace with the God of the Universe. On that particular day, she thought about dying. This is a beautiful place, she thought. I am comfortable here alone, in my solitude. I would be okay with dying here, although I am feeling quite healthy. But, if I should die, would my grown kids know what to do? Would they shed needless tears or spend useless money? Would they cry over the fact that I died alone, out in the wild? Tears of grief should only be shed because they miss me and loved me. There is nothing wrong with dying (or living) in solitude. Would they feel compelled, out of grief, loss or guilt to spend money on useless things like caskets and plots and headstones? Ah, there it was, the challenge of dying without money. It is expensive to die in a hospital. It is expensive to die on the trail. It is expensive to die in your sleep. It is expensive to legally dispose of a body no matter how and where that body breathes its last. Therein she was not ready to die. She had little money to leave to her descendants and less still that she was willing to have them spend on the dead! Money should be spent on life! What she did have in abundance to leave with them was music and a love of music. She had birthed, raised-up, trained and then released; not one, not two, but three passionate musicians to the world. Different genres, different eras, different goals, yet all three saturated with acute audio receptors, secure pitch, word-smithed lyrics and throbbing rhythms. Music told the story of her life and her contribution to the lives of others. And this is what she wanted to communicate to her offspring:

Cremate me. Scatter my ashes in a beautiful place. And if you choose to spend money, let it be on musicians. Throw the concert of the century. Tune the piano! If there are any black limos, use them to ferry musicians. Pack them full of instruments and bands. Let the music be well-prepared and well-performed. Skip the church and choose the concert hall or the amphitheater.  A church building does not add one bit of holiness. For that matter, skip the speakers and preachers. Do not. Do not go down the moralistic route of speakers who try to shame, blame, coerce or manipulate the audience into a change of heart or lifestyle. The only kind of speakers I want to celebrate my life are those necessary for amplification of sound. Let the virtuoso string players play their adagios. Let the pop vocalists belt. Let the guitarists and drummers rock. Let the gospel choir sway and stack up the harmonies. Let the pipe organ thunder Bach. Let it be music well-prepared and well-performed. Fill the time with musical memories. Let the music comfort and speak. A good piece of music needs no explanation. Cut the preaching. Nix the manipulation. Play the music. Tell the story with music. Love and support the musicians. Take a trip down musical memory lane in my honor. Take a hike in a beautiful place. And I shall be at peace.

Character, Emotional Health, Fiction is Truth, Goals and Dreams, Relationships

How to Set New Year’s Goals That Work

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How to Set New Year’s Goals That Work

You should do it, niggled the inner voice as her eyes scanned the title of the article. Set some goals. It was a voice she had learned to trust. You want to be successful. You want to move to the next level. You know goals help your focus, your self-esteem, your decision making. Think it through. Do it. “I will,” she said. “But first, I want to ask the God of the Universe some questions. There is something I have been pondering for quite awhile and I need an omniscient answer. The answer will have a bearing on the goals I set.” So. Ask your all-knowing oracle already, but make it snappy. The new year is advancing. “I’m a little bit fearful of the answer,” she said. “Because, no matter the answer, yes or no, it will disturb my comfort and my plans.” Maybe I should just go on not knowing, not asking and not setting any goals – you know-take life as it comes and kind of putter around at enjoyable things I like to do. Maybe something good will happen by accident. After all, that’s been my habit for more years than not and I don’t want to ruffle the waters or risk failure by aspiring to something unachievable. “Pull the tooth!” the voice fairly shouted. For goodness sakes, the subject came up, you didn’t court it, you were fine in your resignation, you merely read a best-selling book in which the main character said, “Someday you may think of marrying. Pick someone who thinks you’re the only person in the room.” Go ahead. Ask the question of the Universe. Do it.

The question

“Does such a man exist?” she asked. Let me restate the question,“ Is it possible there is such a man who thinks you are the only woman in the room? – for a lifetime?” “What?” squeaked the voice. “Romantic relationship is your New Year’s resolution?” “No,” she said. “Relationship takes two. Realistic goals are achievements that depend only on me. I cannot control another person. But if there is such a male, of course, I want one. Doesn’t every woman? I have always wanted one. In that case, a realistic goal would be to get out and meet more people. But that is not why I asked the question. An affirmative answer only begs a second question: What have I been doing wrong all these years? How do I fix me? Heal me? Frankly, that sounds like a lot of work. Yet, I must know the answer. But fixing me is not the goal. That is not why I asked the question.” “Then why did you ask the question?” queried the voice. “I am a writer of fiction,” she said. “But I will not write what is not truth.” Maybe all those stories I love to read with near perfect men or men who finally see the light and change are just wishful thinking, romances written by women. As a writer, I will not allow myself to perpetrate false expectations or false hope. If the answer is no; no there are no men capable of thinking you are the only woman in the room. “What then, do I have to write?” she asked. Yea or nay, either way, I must be able to write a woman who grows, who keeps on living, who knows herself, who overcomes obstacles and changes for the better, who keeps on loving – maybe even a woman who sets and achieves realistic goals.

Character, Emotional Health, Family, Health and Long Life, Home and Hearth, Relationships, Uncategorized

An abandoned house and a kept house – the tale of two households

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She lives in an abandoned house and spends her days away, searching for jobs, and her nights shivering under extra comforters because there is no warmth in an abandoned house. Another person sleeps there too, and is employed. But still, whether the occupants are at home or at work the house is abandoned, for you see, something that would make that house a home is missing. No one fills the role of keeper of the house. There are two who huddle there. It would seem they could come up with an understanding of how to make that house a safe haven or even a comfortable temporary harbor. But plans are most successful when everyone concerned is on board. A team of one becomes exhausted without reciprocity from the other.

Meanwhile, in the same state, two other unrelated and unattached people occupy a large house. They both work and they both travel frequently. The house is often empty of people – but never abandoned. Both people are housekeepers. Broken things get fixed. Needs of the house are addressed as a means of meeting the needs of people. Both principal occupants are agreed that a stitch in time saves nine and that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Both the principal occupants understand the value of beauty and cleanliness in making a house a place of refuge, renewal and restoration for all who lodge there. The house is a place of welcome for all who pass through, whether for tea, dinner, or a temporary bed.

All four of the persons living in the two households share a philosophy in common: people are more important than things. All four verbally champion: “Use things, love people.” (The polar opposite, of course, is to use people and love things.) Yet, in an attempt to emphasize loving, some ignore or neglect material things. Notice how the two in the second household operate: Needs of the house are addressed as a means of meeting the needs of people. How much more effective and efficient it is to use things to love people!

Character, Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions

She got a head start on her goals this year

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She got a head start on her goals this year and it happened most inadvertently.

“It is time,” said the inner voice.   “You’ve got to be kidding, “ she responded. It is not even December yet and you want me to set goals? Make New Year’s resolutions?

No. No resolutions. Resolutions are too often harsh, guilt producing, reminiscent of things you did not accomplish, places you did not carry through. You said it – it is not even December yet. So, how about just giving thanks? Let’s take a grateful tour down memory lane and accentuate the positive. What have you accomplished this year? These years? To this point in life? Have you done the things you wanted to do? Have you pursued your dreams?”

“Well,” she replied, “I love to make music. I’ve never been famous or even well known for my virtuosity, but I have made hundreds of vintage folks at retirement centers happy with my smooth and relaxing piano melodies. I never went on tour with the band, but it’s hard to feel any regrets. All my offspring are musicians. I have written musicals, staged musicals and invested in the lives of thousands of elementary age people both in the classroom and as private students. I sang. I danced a little. I played lots of keyboard, a few wind instruments, a little percussion. I can die happy. I suppose if I did have a regret it would be that I never learned strings.”

“Wait a minute,” said the inner voice. “Why does that have to be a regret?”

“It doesn’t.” she said. She reached for the guitar that sits next to her piano while simultaneously Googling guitar lessons.

She got a head start on her goals this year and that is how it came about that she could sing “Silent Night,” and accompany herself on the guitar before the end of 2015. Now all she has to do in 2016 is keep those callouses hardy through daily practice.

There are times when resolution means closure. And then you start the next grand movement. What next? What do you want or need or aspire to? There is a fresh year ahead. What is your next desire? Often, renewed desire begins with thankfulness. I am thankful for the music in my life. I am thankful for the circuitous road travelled. I anticipate the next bend in the road!