Category Archives: The Rules

Character, Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, The Rules

In complete and utter defiance

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It was a snow day. For children set free from the classroom, a lovely idea. For many others, a snow-day means an avalanche of additional work. Rising before dawn to access road conditions. Administrative work of cancellations and re-schedules and no-shows. If one has a critical healthcare job and must go to work, wondering who will watch the kids. For contract workers and some hourly workers, the added stress of no pay that day. Snow days may be beautiful, but snow-days are extra work and less pay.

As often happens with a snow day, her extra work began the day before. Sunday. A day of rest with up to 12 inches of new snowfall expected. It was snowing when she rose. She shoveled off the first few inches, took a hike and returned and shoveled the next two inches. Bathed. Pursued the practice of music. Shoveled snow again in partnership with a neighbor. Made a last sweep of the sidewalks before darkness fell and then slept the usual sleep of an aged snorer.

Rising Monday morning, she realized the weather had not rested at all. Again she joined her neighbors to clear the sidewalks and automobile windshields. Physical exercise enough, but for mental health, she insisted on pursing a walk anyway. The sun was out. The snow glistening.  “I am not going to let the urgent demands of snow removal and appointment cancellations rob me of the enjoyment and beauty of this day!” she said trudging forward.

Accordingly, she walked to the hardware store and purchased a snow saucer. Visited the grocery for the requisite essentials; milk, bread, olive oil, soup crackers, bacon. Transported her purchases home on the snow saucer across the packed snow; tow-rope in one hand and hiking pole in the other. Stowed the groceries and headed to the nature trail with the saucer, in complete and utter defiance to the knowledge that office work was calling; calling several hours earlier due to snow cancellations. But beauty was also calling. Fun was calling. For too many years she failed to heed the call of beauty or of fun. She is now an old lady. Fun cannot wait any longer. The office can wait its proper turn.

When is one old enough to break the rules? Those rules. The rules one sets for herself. The rules such as, complete all your work before play, clean your plate before desert, respond to the urgent needs of the moment before meeting your own needs.

Goals and Dreams, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions, Spiritual Well Being, The Rules, Uncategorized

The rules of independence

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There’s been a noticeable uptick in creative output at her house. A flurry of lyric writing. Sheets of ragged edged parchment stacked against the music shelf. It is contagious. The rise in rehearsal and songwriting is not limited to one person and one wooden piano bench. Voices sing spontaneously again. A mandolin is pulled from a gig bag and strummed. The electric piano and headphones are in use before dawn, the acoustic and authentic strings at midday, the electric bass at high noon. Collaboration happens. All this. All this because a rule was broken and she had to ask for help.

She has a life-long rule of independence. It stems partially from an inherent abhorrence of asking for help. She chokes on the words. She would rather do it herself than outright ask for helpers. When one recruits helpers there is risk. Risk of rejection. The potential helpers may say no. The potential helpers may be balky and grumble the entire time they are assisting. The helpers may resist instruction and insist on doing it their way. After all, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself! For the most part, independence is a good thing. One needs to self-actuate, to take responsibility for one’s own future, not to expect others to make all decisions and take care of you. Independence can be the opposite of unhealthy co-dependence. So yes, let’s hear it for independence. But what of community? What of interdependence? Fiercely, fiercely, because she is not perfect and she has scars, she insists on independence.

She is 5’4”and she is 67 years old and she has rules. She must be able to move all her possessions by herself. That way she is not beholden to anyone. The bed frames fold up. The table folds down. The chairs fold up. The bookshelves look classy, but they are compact, collapsible. No matter how many trips or steps she has to take, she can move them herself. She has been successful at keeping this rule for 14 years – with one exception. Her beloved piano. It has wheels. It is of moderate size. She can move it all around the living room and all around the house by herself, but she cannot move it across the threshold and into a transport vehicle without help. So last weekend, she had to capitulate. In order to bring that one final treasure into her house, she had to ask for help – nay, beg for help. Some helpers are more willing than others. Some parts of the project are easier than others. Loading the piano was a challenge. Driving the truck was normal. Unloading the piano at destination was carried out with ease. You see? That’s the trouble with asking for help. One never knows how the thing is going to turn out. Everyone who asks has to weigh the risks. Everyone who agrees to participate has to weigh the risks. Even when moving a piano, the risks are not always physical. The first emotional risk is rejection, the second is that of not being in control, and the big one for her is loss of her prized feeling of independence. But do the risks outweigh the positive outcome? You be the judge. The piano makes the house a home. Guests and residents linger in the warmth of the living room. Solitary rehearsals are long and satisfying. Once again the confining, inhibiting, restricting rule-laden lid has been pried from the roof of creativity.   

Health and Long Life, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions, The Rules, Uncategorized

Free Music

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Yesterday, I did it. It’s taken me 14 months, but I finally played an original, complete, coherent, eight bar melody on the public chimes at the top of the sky steps at Ft Lewis College. You may well ask why it has taken me so long. After all, college music theory III required a complete Sonata of three movements plus coda in less than a semester’s time -half of which time was spent learning the rules governing a sonata. My sonata, named something prosaic like Praxis Sonata, critically acclaimed by the entire class, garnered me only a B on my final report card. A B!  In music! Even then, I knew my instructor was generous. Why? Because he knew something my classmates did not know. I had failed to analyze the piece – to mark in the jots and tittles right on the music. And though I worked frantically with my pencil on the bound and presentable copy whilst other students performed ahead of me, I had not completed the analysis before the final bell. 

Give me seven giant, floor-mounted windchimes at the top of a trail and two attached mallets, what could possibly be difficult? I’ll tell you what: They never gave me the rules. I have spent a year trying to figure out the theory of the thing. Not diatonic. Not arranged in ascending or descending chronological order. One of them is even out of tune with the other. Seven. Not six like guitar strings. Not a major scale. Not a mode. Nada. Not an Aeolian harp. I discovered the chimes early in March 2020 and played them at each passing so my ear could make out the pattern. No pattern developed. By Labor Day I could play two bars of the French Marseillaise, but after that, the available tones gave out. I pondered what I knew of world music and puttered about making incidental riffs whenever I hiked in that neighborhood. Most of the hikers and stair step masters ignore the presence of the chimes. They wear motivational earbuds so what do they care? Once, and one time only in the entire 14 months, I saw a child walking away from the chimes. Otherwise, the chimes are my oyster and mine alone, I guess. I’ve heard oysters need irritation to compose pearls. I was plenty perplexed.

With March 2021 came the advent of distanced outdoor concerts downtown every Friday. On the walk home, it seemed only natural to take in the art gallery in my path. And there I saw them; miniature, hand-held tone bars in sets of five. What were they? Freetone bells. Freetone bells made by the same artist responsible for several outdoor musical installations around the community including parks, pre-schools and Ft. Lewis College. Not one of the five tone sets is just like any other. They are all free. Each sounds its own unique pitch without regard for harmony or the chime hanging next in line. 

Do you know what that means? No rules. You are free to strike any chime you like in no particular order. But me? I’m still bound to the definition of music as organized sound. I’ve spent a good deal of time and research trying to get to know these chimes. So far, I’ve got them organized into 8 bars of passable melody. I’ve still got to figure out how to work one outstanding chime into the mix, but six out of seven isn’t bad – it’s kind of like my life. Here’s to the future; with or without rules!

Character, Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Spiritual Well Being, The Rules

An Old Fashioned Girl and Sneetches

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First, let me say that I am aware there are far more important things going on in the world than my sense of fashion and what I ate for breakfast. Conversely, what I wear and what I eat may directly inform my immunity to disease and strengthen me to engage in meaningful activity whether active or passive.

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An Old Fashioned Girl She had always been a little bit old-fashioned. Her high school classmates can attest to that. But after her release into adulthood, she gradually drew abreast of fashion, in some instances becoming a trend-setter. And so it was with the reintroduction of bandanas. She was like everybody else, yet ahead of the game. She had a collection of 15 and wore a different one everyday. But lately she seemed to be falling behind again. Increasingly fewer folk were sporting bandanas on the trail. And then, her city enacted a face-covering in public spaces policy. Sadly it met with open rebellion and scorn. Yet, she had always been a bit old-fashioned, and that often entails following the rules.IMG_4756The Rules If you bristle that your rights are being violated when you are asked to wear a mask – or a shirt – or shoes – or a uniform-or a bathing suit – please save that energy and zeal for issues of prejudice we have recently witnessed – like Stars Upon Thars. In my opinion, mandatory testing should not be for all – nor should mandatory immunizations – or immunizations that have not been fully tested. But hey, bandanas for all is no great sacrifice – nor is a six-foot rule grievous to she who rather likes her space on the trail or in the grocery store.IMG_4704boulevardbandanaKeep on Doing Good 

  • If you would protest, stay fit and stay well. What you eat for breakfast and what you wear may be important.
  • If you would cry out, don’t cry “wolf,” save your voice for what really matters. Keeping your instrument (be it voice, strings or pen) well exercised will keep your music – and you – alive.
  • Be strong! Flaunt your fashion! Keep calm. Save your protestations for things that really matter.

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Keep doing it – day after day! Keep putting one foot in front of the other. Be courteous to your neighbor. Fight evil. May Love be with you.

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

A Little Christmas Wine

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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, Relationships, The Rules, Uncategorized

Marriage, I do not think it means what you think it means – musings by a marriage cynic

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Some of my friends – and mostly friends of friends – are euphoric. A few days ago the Supreme Court of the United States ruled that any mutually consenting couple of any gender may marry, in any of the 50 United States, and be legal.  Forget common law unions, you can have a little piece of paper that says you are legally hitched. You who celebrate, may I ask what you have gained? If Millennials don’t marry, if Baby-boomers once believed in free love anyway; who is this marriage ruling for exactly?

Marriage

Marriage. You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.
Marriage. You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

You may say this Supreme Court ruling was in favor of love. Will marriage guarantee you are loved? For centuries couples have married for love and just as many (if not more) have married for security, power or position. The legal act of Marriage does not put an end to longing and yearning. You will not be alone anymore, but you may still be lonely. Married or not, your love may or may not last.

You may say this ruling makes it possible for those in love to make a legal commitment.  Let me know how that works for you.  In my experience, people who are committed are committed with or without the legalities and people who are commitment- challenged are not magically changed by a legal document.

Is this SCOTUS ruling resoundingly in favor of sanctioned sex?  As a consummate legalist, this where I bit the dust, not once, but two times. What is it about this word sanctioned that adds catalyst to sex? If there is any more powerful motivation than sex, for a legalist, it must be the word sanctioned. What else is motivation enough for giving up your good birth name and taking on that of another? For becoming collateral? For placing all of your worldly goods, talents, reputation and education at the behest of a spouse – legally – so you have to go through an even more convoluted legal process if you ever want to get back what was yours in the beginning?

Do you think this ruling insures society’s affirmation and acknowledgement of your relationship? Opinion or Feelings are deeply rooted and not often changed by mere laws. There were people who did not sanction nor acknowledge my second marriage.  It was legal.  It was reasonable and well thought out. No matter the reasons or legalities – I was a divorced woman so a second marriage could never be acknowledged.

Do we need this ruling to legitimatize procreation?  It no longer takes a conjugal relationship of one man and one woman to procreate. I know of more than one family that consists of a committed man and woman and a test tube baby.

Do you see this as a nod in favor of companionship?  You can have solid, caring committed companionship without the legal paper that says you are married. Loyal friendships often endure for decades, simply because they are unchallenged by the legalities of marriage.

Do you think legal marriage automatically provides medical benefits? I was married for a total of 31 years. During only eight of those years did I enjoy medical coverage as a benefit of legal marriage.

To raise children! Perhaps that is the most worthy goal for legal marriage. It takes two.  At times, it even takes a village. Preferably extended family.  My heart goes out to the single parent trying to give the best life possible to children who do not have two very present parents fulltime.  Once again, I am not convinced that a marriage certificate guarantees a stable childrearing team, but yes, let’s do our best to provide a nurturing environment for the children.

It is my sad conclusion, after a lifetime of experience and observation, that you cannot legislate morality or love or commitment; nor control it with a bit of legal parchment.

Truth is, there are many wonderful things to be had with or without the benefit of legal marriage:

Love

Companionship

Commitment

Procreation

A village

Sex

Respect

Independence

Nature

Music

Beauty

In spite of my litany of negatives, some people still want desperately to be married.  And some need desperately to be sanctioned. Though I’m sticking with Inigo Montoya, in conclusion, may I heartily say,

“Dear Friends of every inclination,

May you be happy; may you be merry;

May you be gay and marry;

But most of all, may you love and be loved in return.”

 

 

 

Emotional Health, Fiction is Truth, Goals and Dreams, Spiritual Well Being, The Rules

You Win at Life

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A few weeks ago a Facebook friend posted her results from one of those little 10 or 15 question multiple choice quizzes that purport to read your personality or your future.

“I make history!” she said.  “What answer did you get?”

She is an educator and a former colleague of mine.  We share a common understanding of the value of history and core education. The test sounded interesting.  Not the kind of test you put a lot of stock in like Myers Briggs or even Rorschach, but just for fun.

So, I clicked the link. I had my fun.  I got my answer.

You win at life!

What?????? I must have clicked a couple wrong answers along the way.  Me win at life?  Obviously, that was not a very credible test.  I took a quick glance over my history and laughed.  But shame followed closely on the heels of the laughter.  Because, you know, it’s not nice to win.  Or is it?  When you win, does it automatically mean you have manipulated, cheated, intimidated, made someone else your step-ladder to success?

I dwelt in faulty thinking for a spell, second-guessing past success and past mistakes and chastising myself for being so transparent that a recreational test found me out.

This is precisely the type of emotional cerebral activity that garnered me the accusation that I think too much.

Is it wrong to succeed above your fellow man, or is winning at life an opportunity to raise others up?  When I look over the past decades, I see I have reinvented myself many times just to survive. Does that make me a winner?

Maybe, just maybe this little test was meant to encourage, not to chide.  After all, when you take a quiz titled, “Which Disney Star are You?” Everyone ends up a star.

So, my friend makes history and I win at life! That is palm reading I can live with, a daily reminder:

Be encouraged!

You can get through this!

You win at life!

 

Character, Goals and Dreams, The Rules, Uncategorized

Influence and power to better the world

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Last week, I watched a football movie – The Blind Side.  It was more, much more than a football movie.  It was a movie about power and influence and talent; charity and loyalty; opportunity and emotional healing.  And yes, it was a rags to riches story.  Financial wealth played a key role.  Money made possible many things – for both the teenage foundling and his mentors; but the integral message I got was about the incredible influence and power of one woman to change the world. Even the money came from nature and nurture.

I am a huge nature AND nurture believer.

In my lifelong pursuit to find out what makes my children tick; the purpose was to tailor my nurture to give them the tools they needed to succeed. Why do I remain skeptical of power? Why does power get such a bad rap from me?

Yes, money is power.

Intellect is power.

Beauty is power.

Physical strength is power.

Talent is power

Why don’t I own my power? Because power gets what it wants.

I was taught – and somehow have always believed – it’s not nice to get your own way.  Is that true? What if I ruled my household as a Southern matriarch; getting what I want because it is righteous and good?

Is all power a bad thing; or just the abuse of power?  Power, like money, gets what it wants.  Is money the root of all evil?  Or just the love of money above all else?

A little power – like a little wine – can be a good thing.  It’s the intoxicated or drunken part that is abusive.

Owning your power is different than assuming power; just as self-confidence is not the same as arrogance.

Owning your power does not mean seizing or amassing power so much as it is using what power you have. Am I using my power to best advantage?

Do I have wants?  Yes.  Do I have needs?  Yes.

Why don’t I get what I want or need?  Because I will not utilize my power.

What power do you have?  Are you comfortable with it? Luxuriating in it?  Using it as your gift to the world?

Pick up the power tools.   It feels good to use – not abuse or neglect-your gifts. 

Character, Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, The Rules, Uncategorized

To Say I’m Sorry

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It is no exaggeration to say I have been on both extremes of the pendulum when it comes to saying, I’m sorry.  If the pendulum swings in an arc, I have been on the outer reaches of all 360 degrees of the circumference.

As a  child, it was extreme emotional punishment to be made to say I’m sorry.  It made me squirm. Sorry for what?  For things I didn’t do; but somebody got their feelings hurt and demanded retribution. Resistance was futile.

“Do you want a spanking?  Then say you’re sorry and be quick about it.”

What’s a child to do?  You hang your head, all the time feeling only the injustice of it. You mutter out, “I’m sorry.”

But was I really sorry?  No.  I needed to escape that squirmy feeling. I was sorry I had to yield to someone else’s petty demands.

Sometimes the dialogue goes this way:

Me:  “I’m sorry.”

The Offended: “Are you really sorry? Cause if you are truly sorry, you won’t ever do it again.”

Won’t do what again?  Hurt your feelings or offend unwittingly?

As I grew into the relationships of young adulthood, I learned to use I’m sorry as a tool, to say it quickly and often; to assume ownership of infractions that were not mine.

But it came with a price; loss of myself. Not only did the words I’m sorry accept the blame for whatever disagreement was immediately at hand; I’m sorry continued to mean I will never do it again.  I will never cross you again.  I will never disagree with you. I will try my utmost to second-guess what you want so that I never displease you. To say I’m sorry inevitably meant; I was wrong.

Even now, in an attempt to people-please, I catch myself indulging in the false humility I’m sorry. This is the one that comes across as obsequious, submissive, I wouldn’t want to get in your way, but I just did. A better word-choice would be, excuse me or pardon me.

Other “I’m Sorrys,” crossed my path. There were times a person close to me needed to be called to account or challenged. At those times, I heard the words, “I’m sorry, ok?” spoken in a tone that indicated, “now get off my back.”  That tone, I think, does not really mean I’m sorry.

Nor does this:

Spouse: I said I’m sorry.  You know how hard it is for me to say I’m sorry.

Response:  So?  The difficulty excuses you and makes the apology count for more?

Once, I heard a man say to his wife, “I said I was sorry.  That means you can’t bring it up ever again.”  Say what?  You can put a moratorium on ever talking about it again by arbitrarily saying, “I’m sorry?”

To this man, “I’m Sorry” is a legal injunction which says, “you can’t expect anything more out of me on this subject.  You can’t bring it up ever again.”

I wonder; did he mean his apology?  Did he ever make amends?

Speaking of spouses and relationships, I can hear the music now:

“Love means you never have to say you’re sorry

Love means without a word you understand.” 

It sounded comforting from the Sounds of Sunshine, and gorgeously idealistic as it dropped insipidly from the lips of The Lettermen in the seventies. I wanted to love and be loved in that idealistic, magnanimous way. Perhaps John Lennon was the realist here, “Love means saying you’re sorry every fifteen minutes.”

There comes a time when making amends is key. When a person is truly sorry for something they have done; when they are willing to take ownership and make amends; when they voluntarily promise – to the best of their ability – not to hurt again. Especially when a person takes action to make up for the hurt – those times are life-changing, relationship changing and therefore world-changing.

After five plus decades, I am still hesitant to say I am sorry.  Why?  Because the words are so easily misconstrued.

Me: I’m sorry.

(S)he: That’s more like it.  Now we’ll get down to business and do it my way.

Me:  I’m sorry.

(S)he: Well, what are you going to do about it?

Me:  I’m sorry.

(S)he:  You’re just saying that because you didn’t like the results.

Sometimes, there is nothing I can do to fix it, because I didn’t do anything in the first place.

Other times, I am not sorry for what I did; but I am sorry for the hurt to others.  And you know what?  I think you can be sorry without admitting guilt. Truth is, we all have places in our lives where we need or want to say I’m sorry. It has happened before and it will happen again.  At the moment, I am deeply sorry for the pain and relational carnage to bystanders caused by some of my actions. I am not sorry for the actions I took.  I am sorry that others were hurt by the actions I took to protect myself.

These days, when I say I am sorry, it does not mean things can go back to the way they were.  It does not mean I’ll never do it again.  It does not mean I was wrong and we will do it your way.

It means I will never put myself in a position for that to happen again.

Addiction, Character, co-dependence, Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, Home and Hearth, Religion, Spiritual Well Being, The Rules, Uncategorized

The case of the tragic M&Ms

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A handful of M&Ms sat side by side in a cut glass bowl.  They are tempting, and offered to me repeatedly – even urged on me.  I decline. But, everybody loves chocolate, you will say. And you are right.  Even I love chocolate, but I am allergic. Ah, you murmur, “that is tragic.” Not so. A simple, specific food allergy is something you can remedy immediately.  A tragedy leaves you helpless, wounded, hopeless. 

The M&Ms treasured in my antique heirloom bowl stand for misunderstanding and misinformation; miscommunication and misguided. I once knew an older woman who would attempt to mend broken relationships with the platitude, “It doesn’t matter. That was just a misunderstanding.”  To which I say, “It does matter!” It was far more than misunderstanding.  No amount of re-phrasing will clear up misguided misinformation!”

A few weeks ago, Novel Matters linked up a video presentation on cultural misunderstandings of poverty vs middle class vs affluence. You might think of it as the tragic case of M&Ms and Money. It was hugely informative to understanding the differences in background we bring to relationships.  Listening to Dr Ruby Payne speak cast an illuminating spotlight back over the decades of my upbringing and subsequent relationships.   I found myself thinking, “if I had only known.”

Money, as researchers have told us over and over, is one of the major conflict triggers in  relationships. We could probably recite the list together:  Money, Children, In-laws, Sex, Expectations, Religion….  For this post the other one that makes the list of tragic M&Ms is Marital intimacy.

Rarely do I agree 100% with a speaker, book or movie. I wonder how many relationships could be salvaged, healed or immunized if the video that follows went viral?  True to the 2,000 year legacy of the name, Mars Hill, the video that follows clears up misinformed, misguided, misunderstood, miscommunicated belief.

If you are a woman who has been shamed for desire, suffered the contempt of those who were misinformed, or deprived by pornography; let the healing begin.

Let Him Kiss Me