Category Archives: Health and Long Life

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

Leave a comment

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!

Character, Family, Health and Long Life, Holidays and Traditions, Spiritual Well Being, The Rules, Uncategorized

A Little Christmas Wine

Leave a comment

She was just 18-and-a-half and not a drop of alcohol had ever touched her lips. This was partly because of temperance promises made as a youngster and partly because she lived at home until she turned 18. During those first 18 years of life, her parents kept pretty strict tabs on her activities. Not legal. Not allowed. Not according to their standard? Not allowed. This was her first Christmas away from home. She was now a full-fledged adult, married five months previous.

Along with her teenaged husband, she was living in Germany, land of cautionary beer. Her husband was on the fast track for sampling everything adulthood had to offer. The young woman was doing her best to cling to the strict religious rules with which she was raised. There were times they clashed. Christmas Eve was a narrow escape.
The young couple was invited downstairs, from a tiny attic apartment to the living quarters of the landlord, to share in the festivities. Sparklers on a Christmas Tree. A full spread of breads and cold cuts served at the family table. An exchange of gifts around the tree. And then, a cut glass decanter passed round with tiny crystal cordial glasses.

A quiet soul and not given to making scenes, the young woman endeavored to pass. But the 19-year-old son of the host noticed. “Why do you not drink?” he asked with some suspicion, re-offering the decanter. The new husband, who could make a scene when the principle warranted it, knit his brows and glared at his teenage bride. The meaning was clear, “You are embarrassing me!” Meekly, she took the cup. Not out of blind submission or intimidation, but in respect to her hosts. In her quietness, she had been reading earlier that day. And what she read, loud and clear was: “ [When you are invited to a feast] eat or drink whatever is put before you without raising questions of conscience.” Obedience to a higher ideal.

An hour later she became violently ill. But it was not due to a fastidious reaction of conscience. Nor was it caused entirely by the abundance and variety of bread and salami urged on the couple by hospitable Germans. The illness continued four months. In late July, she brought forth her firstborn son. And they named him something rather Irish sounding that meant handsome by birth. To the young woman, he was the most handsome baby she had ever seen. But he was only the teeniest tiniest bit Irish and not a bit German.

I would like to say she never gave a second thought to rules about what she ate and drank ever again, but that is not the truth. The truth is, she still had a lot of growing and learning to do and she had only just begun to think for herself.

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

Cinderella did not have an escort

1 Comment

The truth is, Cinderella had wanted to go to the ball for many years. There was live music at balls. More than just about anything, Cinderella loved music. Cinderella also loved to dance. At least, she thought she would love to dance if she ever really got the chance. Then again, maybe dancing was just one of those things that sounded really good until you did it, like public speaking or something. Perhaps in another life when all men were gifted with coordination and grace and courtesy and – most of all-a great sense of rhythm, she would get her chance to go sailing across a parquet dance floor.

Year after year the invitations came. She opened them eagerly and read every word, every description of the theme, the musical selections, the plated meal. Every year she would sigh and check her bank account and lay the invitation aside and think about it until it was too late to do anything about it.

Then one year there came a triple play for her attention. First, the invitation by traditional mail. Second, the invitation by email. Thirdly, dance lessons for that specific ball were offered at a local dance studio. Dance lesson that very evening. She would never have known but for randomly checking her email while on lunch break. Who could resist a special four-session discount? Without much deliberation, Cinderella went. She learned to Foxtrot. She learned to Swing. She heard the instructor comment on the level of dancing experience of the men who would be at the ball. Who were these men? Were they coming alone? As a team? Cinderella did not know. But it did not trouble her much, because she had not yet decided whether or not she would go. Or had she? Had she committed herself to going to the ball by taking advantage of discounted dance lessons? Surely not!

At the next session, the instructor made some off-hand remarks about dancing in an evening gown. “Evening gown?” thought Cinderella in alarm. “Have I ever owned an evening gown?” Now that changes things. “Here’s what I’ll do,” said Cinderella to her roommate. “I’ll just wear my ordinary black dress and take this pumpkin with me. Everyone will have to understand my fairy godmother didn’t show.” They laughed at the joke, but Cinderella was beginning to think she should uncommit herself.

That very weekend, she went to visit her cousin in another town. “Evening Gown?” said her cousin. “Here, borrow mine.” Cinderella had not expected that response. Once again Cinderella was forced to debate the wisdom of going to the ball unaccompanied.

Over the years, Cinderella had learned there were things you never got to do if you waited for someone to go with you. She bought the ticket. One single ticket. And in so doing inadvertently served a challenge into the court of the event planner. Fund raising events and dinner shows have tables. Round tables. Tables that seat an even number of event goers. Tables for ten to sponsor for thousands of dollars. Hundred dollar plates for couples to purchase in pairs. What’s an event organizer to do with a single ticket holder? Communicate, of course, which she did promptly via email. “Do you know anyone else who is going? Can I seat you with your friends?”

“You mean I can sit with my friends? Oh yes please! I know a violinist, a couple trumpeters, a French horn player, and a saxophonist.   We go back. Way back. Are there any vacant seats next to them?” asked Cinderella. But she only asked it in her head. Instead she responded, “Feel free to place me at a singles table or the odd place to fill out a table. I am quite comfortable with music lovers young or old.”

Replied the coordinator, “I’m glad you’re coming, even as a single date. I go on self-dates all the time, but I’ve never tried a formal event before. I like that.”

And that, my children, is how Cinderella became a trendsetter. One solitary woman, past a certain age who refused to wait for an escort or a man to help her complete her bucket list. Who realized it was time to take her place as a sturdy and august patron of the arts. Her gown is borrowed, her slippers are not glass. Though her pearls are real, her fur will be faux. Her coach is Red Pearl, a trusty Subaru. She is going to the ball. And she will definitely be home before the clock strikes twelve.

 

Character, Emotional Health, Health and Long Life

No Perfect People

Leave a comment

Once upon a time I had a fat prejudice. Worse, I was a baby boomer raised by a mother with a fat prejudice and I was married to a man with a fat prejudice. My mother liberally cautioned me about what other people would think and my husband told me point blank what he thought. Without a shadow of doubt, I knew that I would be acceptable only if I maintained my perfect weight and continually sucked in my stomach to present a perfect body. I was often hungry and lived with the motto, “you can never be too rich nor too thin.”

I am a baby boomer, so you may ask, “Why didn’t you just wear a girdle? Folks, I must confess, there were no girdles in my size. Even the control top pantyhose hung limp. I am now an aging baby boomer who has, of necessity and scientific logic, given up all hope of an hourglass figure, though I can still shop in the junior department and wear size 4 when I shop for women my own age. Four is the new 10, you know.

I work on the front lines in a destination building, a place where folks of all ages, personalities, nationalities and physical descriptions pass through by the thousands every week. I see couples of every combination. Some fight. Some make it their business to annoy each other. But many are endearingly and enduringly matched like a pair of well-used work gloves. I see men who are not GQ models nor Rodin thinkers (yes, good looks and intellect are important to me). And I see women who love them anyway. I see women morbidly overweight, high maintenance, fashion illiterate. And I see men who love them anyway. People, it’s not the fat or thin that leads to happily ever after. Nor is success guaranteed by obeying every social rule your mama taught you.

Rather, I think happily ever after is an attitude of acceptance of the humanness of the other. There are no perfect people. Am I advocating you lower your standard to accept me? Or that I play blind to your flaws? Denying or overlooking is no more effective than lowering your body mass. I am old enough to know that I will not dilute my standard and settle ever again. I have lost two marriages and become cynical of ever meeting a man who would suit me – and I him. So what kind of attitude of acceptance am I talking about? Perhaps, just perhaps, it is an attitude of acceptance of the humanness of myself. If I ceased my harsh judgment of my own imperfections, would that render me more understanding and charitable toward others? It is worth thinking about.

 

Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Hiking and outdoor beauty

The best years of my life

Leave a comment

“Rock and roll I gave you all the best years of my life…” “There were times,” she said, “I thought those words with some bitterness, substituting names of individuals to whom I had given my all only to be taken for granted or ignored. I did give some of my best years to my children,” she continued, “the younger two anyway, but these, these years are the best years of my life.”

She explained she is now stronger, physically, mentally, emotionally. She hikes farther, travels independently more, indulges in an adventure or two without fear of what other people think. These are good years.

Our conversation happened at the apex of a jeep ride 1,000 feet above timberline. A forty-nine-year-old woman watched the speaker hop agilely in and out of the jeep, heard her describe the rigors of local hiking trails and refused to believe she was sixty-one. “I thought you were my age,” the younger woman insisted.

No young woman. I wouldn’t want to be 49 again for the world. Age has its benefits. These are the best years of my life! Catch me if you can, Rock and Roll! I’ve changed my direction.

Yankee Girl Mine
Yankee Girl Mine
Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, Hiking and outdoor beauty, Leadership, Uncategorized

The best leaders have a solid Plan B

Leave a comment

Give me this mountain! I posted. Many of my friends thought I was out hiking a 14er. Justly accused of being obscure on social media, I was actually quoting song lyrics and an ancient Israeli spy story. I offered the caveat, Many of us face challenges in life. What is your mountain today? Truth be known, the mountain I was contemplating that particular day had to do with career change.

Story of my life, whether work or relationships A few days later, still referring to the same professional challenge, I commented, I may despair at first, but I am the type of person who rallies and then hangs in there past the point where all hope is gone. Not sure if this is tenacity or stubbornness; loyalty or denial.

Want to go to Crested Butte? Lift your spirits. Climb a mountain?countered a friend.

Our first day of hiking was perfect and according to plan; familiar to the two others and new to me. Lots of sunshine, a little rain and wading, awesome beauty, followed by hors d’oeuvres, a bus ride and dinner out. My hiking partner was returning to an old favorite haunt and wanted to show our host – a longtime resident of the area – a new trail. Day two we would log unexplored territory, a stream crossing in a Subaru and numerous negotiated puddles, a number of footwear and layer changes and hopefully a view over a divide. The weather forecast sunshine and a minuscule  chance of rain. It rained all night. The drizzle continued but patches of blue sky made us hopeful. We forded the stream, negotiated puddles, forged ahead into the gathering clouds and pelting rain. Socked in. So much for trust in the weatherman. On the other hand, I had confirmed my trust in someone else. My hiking partner was an impeccable leader, someone to be trusted. In the first place, she confidently powered through the ford. Secondly, she knew when to turn around and turn around we did – instead of stubbornly forcing our original plan.

Our leader unrolled plan “B”, or should I say, unfurled plan “B” for it was grand and we joyously followed. For me it turned out to be a rapturously rejuvenating hike. We caught the chairlift up and then summited Mount Crested Butte on our own legs. We saw pikas, deer, chipmunks, mushrooms, blue spruce and vistas that spanned the Continental Divide peeping into Maroon Bells and myriad Colorado counties. We got as high as possible. 12,162 feet high. Colorado Rocky Mountain High – without the aid of any legal or illegal green pharmacy.

1200CherryMtCrestedButtebyLindaspinner0887_588647934607250_5598420583143761034_o

I learn a lot about myself when I hike. This time I acknowledged the type of leadership and companionship I prefer. Oh the places you can go with a trusted leader. Too many times I have followed where leadership was either unsure, experimental and tentative, or stubborn and brash. I cherish those who are innovative enough to forge ahead, patient enough to think and explain, and likewise know when to retreat and regroup.   It is important to have options. Sometimes plan “B” is the perfect plan all along.

Oh Be Joyful waterfall
Oh Be Joyful waterfall
A tree grows in stone on Mount Crested Butte
A tree grows in stone on Mount Crested Butte
Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Hiking and outdoor beauty, Relationships, Uncategorized

Of Rocks and Relationships

Leave a comment

I am single.  She is single. We’ve both been around the block a few times. A couple of those trips ended at the alter and ultimately in divorce for both of us. Through it all, we have remained friends. We are occasional traveling or hiking buddies.

Ouray is always a good idea and it could not have been a finer morning on the Perimeter Trail.  We found access easily enough.  All streets lead to trails and I had camped, content and solo, there a few weeks before.  Layers off in the sun.  Layers on in the shade.  It was an active day as we made our accent, then cut across a meadow dotted with wild flowers. Carefully, we chose our footing while descending slick dark rocks with deep claw marks of a glacier. Deep gorges and a footbridge across a waterfall took our breath away and left us weak-kneed to tunnel through  caverns and surmount a mega-sized flume with the aid of a stile.  Trekking between the flume and a magnificent rock wall, I was suddenly overcome by the majesty of it all.  I cast myself on the rock, embracing it with all the expansive wingspan I could muster. My heartbeat pressed into the comfort of sun warmed Precambrian.

“Oh God,” she cried out spontaneously, “Give me a man like this rock!” But what I was thinking was more along the lines of Jane Austen’s perspective when she writes Elizabeth Bennet to say, “Adieu to disappointment and spleen. What are men to rocks, and mountains?”

I hug trees. I pat rocks. I embrace nature. Nature embraces me. I am comforted.

Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Hiking and outdoor beauty

Perception and decisions

Leave a comment

Perception and Decisions We made decisions. We would go early. Three digit temperatures were expected later in the day. We would explore new terrain.  We would not take our hiking poles.  It would be added weight.  We planned on two hours out and two back – a nice half-day hike.  It was beautiful.  The conversation was good.  After a few miles and hours on the unmaintained, but easy to find trail, we realized we had been heading steeply up, on loose rock for some yards. Not for the first time, our goal seemed just around the next switchback. Time to consider the logistics and practicalities of our return. Up is often easier than down, particularly without hiking poles. We were well out of the shaded canyon by now and sweat gathered at the hairline.  Time to go back, she said.  Stay right here, said I.  I will go just around the next bend and see if it opens up. More circuitous trail.  We turned and slipped and grappled our way down the hillside, always cautious of loose rock and cactus. The agreed stopping point was a most beautiful section of riparian canyon where we paused for repast. Lunchtime! We found the shade and comfortable, flat rocks for each of us.  I withdrew my lightening pad to use as seat. Hunger pangs had been gnawing for some time now.  We unwrapped apples, peanut butter, Kind bars.  She checked her watch.  It was 9:00 a.m.

 

Fiction is Truth, Health and Long Life, Hiking and outdoor beauty

Leadership, perseverance and hiking

Leave a comment

Leadership and Perseverance

It was 6:45 am and she was still sleeping in the neighboring room – with the door open for circulation.  Should I wake her?  Or should I steal out the door and commence hiking alone?  She has been meeting fellow hikers fairly frequently at 7:00 am, I reasoned. So I texted, “Want to hike before it gets too hot?”  We were at the trailhead by 7:30 – Gold Star to Wildwood – not a maintained trail but we were at least familiar with both ends.  We dropped a car at Wildwood and set out for adventure. We got beauty. Red rock outcroppings and rock formations galore – all the features you never notice from the busy valley below. We followed the path, we followed washes, we followed wildlife trails.  We got back on the beaten path and made our way along “the bench.” We confirmed that desert bighorn live here – all over the place.  “You are a good trail finder,” she said.   I nodded. Actually, I usually can sense where people need to go. I am also pretty good at getting them there. “People have not always acknowledged that in the rest of my life,” I said. She affirmed it was worth the steady ascent at the beginning of the trail. We found a random boulder. “I want to be on top that rock!” she said. And she did. We were not travelling an officially maintained trail and somehow we lost the usually travelled path. “I bet it is above us,” I said. “I bet it is below,” she replied. We cut straight overland through cacti, brush, chinle and talus. Then, the inevitable happened, she lost patience. “You are now fired as trail finder,” she jeered.  “Where have I heard that before?” I thought sarcastically. Yet, 30 feet later, we stepped out on an unmistakably well-used trail.  Some yards further on, we joined our destination trail, familiar and official. Another mile of rugged downhill hiking and we were at the car, fist punching the air, “We did it!  We did it!”  Hooray for us!  Four hours of Wednesday morning well spent, followed by salad at an establishment that glorifies local produce.