Regarding a rock and a hard place and blooming where you are planted

I once bought a bag of wildflower seed from the garden department of a big box store. Taking them home to my mountain cabin, I paused to read the directions while ripping open the bag:  Prepare seeds by soaking overnight.  Prepare soil by loosening with a rake.  Make a small trench about 1/4 inch deep.  Distribute seeds evenly the length of the trench.  Gently press down soil over the seeds.

You’re kidding me, right?  These are wildflower seeds. That is an acre of land.

Pinyon pine growing out of the rock, February 2012

I have always been a little suspicious of theories that say you absolutely cannot move on to the next level until you have fulfilled all the criteria of the place you find yourself. Take Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs, for example.  I have observed that some people get stuck in one level, they say things like, “I can’t possibly move forward  until all my needs are met.”  Yet, there have been leaders and achievers throughout history who, finding themselves deprived of some basic needs were still able to move forward and succeed. I admit, water and air are non negotiable, but there seems to have been some flexibility concerning the need for food, sleep, and security. These were savvy souls who knew, not just how to bloom where they were planted, but how to thrive no matter the circumstances.

Once again, I find myself between a rock and a hard place.  Moving forward is required.  Yet, the expectation of fulfillment of my needs must be pared down.  Earlier this year, before the advance of spring, as I went out walking to contemplate my options, I came upon  a wonderful visual affirmation. It struck me so forcefully that I went back home for my camera and made an extra trip just to snap the picture. Sure this is a native desert tree-a pinyon pine.  But please notice, it is growing out of a rock!  There was little to no soil in which to sprout in the first place and rainwater is very infrequent. Yet, the seed took root and continues to thrive.

Cherry Odelberg enjoying an inspirational walk

I have some questions about how I got here in the first place.  I don’t know how I have survived this long on increasingly less.  Money and love and security may be in short supply, but, hey, there is plenty of sunshine.  I intend to thrive between the rock and the hard place. Not being a pinyon pine, I might even bloom where I am planted.

Change happens on the trails of life

What a shock when a familiar path is obliterated; when you arrive at a well known trailhead and someone has covered the tracks – intentionally.  Covered the tracks so well with brush strewn here, rocks stacked there, water thrown like rain on loose soil, that you do not recognize the landmarks for the hike you took less than a week ago.

Consider that this is a well trod route, the walk you have taken at least once a week for several months.  Further, it is the most direct walking route to something you prize.  It is the cutoff to where your family lives.  In a pinch, you could walk the way in the moonlight, so well do you know it.

Now, everything has changed. It’s not that you didn’t know change was coming. Your curiosity and adventurous spirit led you to explore bits and pieces of the new trail as you saw the preliminary flags.  You walked the line, never sure you were really entitled to be there, always looking over your shoulder for some angry landowner that had staked claim. But those first indicators were months ago.  The flags went away. Besides, you were never able to see the way clear to where the new trail and the old were to intersect; how to get from here to there.

Not so today.  Today you were jolted from reverie by the realization that you were walking on newly blazed trail. So mind jarring was the realization as you plodded in the freshly disturbed soil, you retraced your steps just to see where you left the old familiar path.  It was hard to find.  That was when you accepted that you were meant to walk the new path.  The old way had been intentionally covered over; covered over by someone in charge.  You were not to go the old way any longer.

It’s time now, to take a little different path to your family, perhaps even to your destiny.

Forgiving the meddlers

I know that to forgive does not always mean to forget.  It is not wise to forget the lesson learned through pain or crisis. 

I also know that forgiveness is essential to my personal health; mentally, emotionally, spiritually – even physically. 

I have traveled the lonely miles of grief over relationships lost; pursued the stages; learned to be angry – very angry- and not sin; learned to accept, admit, own – in short, stop blaming and forgive the most significant other involved in the pain and failure. I have tried to understand the other person and in understanding, I have even begun to be grateful for the lessons learned and grateful even to the person who hurt me most; simply through not being the person I needed him to be.

I think it impossible that a man or woman could spend decades in close relationship with another and not have residual affection, memories and understanding that aids in final forgiveness or reconciliation.

But there are others now, whom I must forgive. They are those who put their oar in, interfered, meddled, took sides and spread falsehood in their ignorance. There are those who thought God had given them the insight that what was best for them was best for me.  They scolded me as to what I ought to do.  Having a word from God, they thought it incumbent to force it on me.

Paid professional counselors, when they make recommendations; or on the rare occasion where they give advice; make it clear that there are no guarantees.  The recommendation when acted upon may or may not have the desired outcome. They do not shame or heap blame; they simply make clear the choices.

Novice busybodies on the other hand, advise from their limited information and bias with little regard for the spirit of the one they are accusing and great regard for their own opinions.  In their determination to fix you and make things line up to their sense of right; they may tell you what you need to do and say. In a pinch, if you are not responding according to their rules; they may even say or do it for you.

It is these overly helpful, zealously opinionated folks I must begin to forgive today.

An Easter message to moms of grown – or growing – children

Photo courtesy of my friend Jody Pautsch-Wygans who loves to raise chicks

Please stop trying to do it for me. I am capable of bursting out of my shell myself. All the time I have been in this egg, this cocoon, has been preparation for me doing it myself. You know how chickens and eggs work.  You are the one who taught me if the hen – or a human – tries to help the chick out of the shell prematurely, often the chick withers and dies. Take a hint from this chick; if you continue to interfere in your well-meaning efforts to promote my life, I will die. Already you are hovering so close I cannot breathe. Have you no faith in me?  Do you think I am not capable?  Not able to do it on my own?

When at work, It is a welcome sight to see the relief crew arrive when you have fulfilled your responsibilities and completed your shift.  It is another thing entirely to be “relieved of your duties.” In the work world, when I am relieved of my duties, I hurt, I am displaced, I am no longer needed.  There is nowhere I belong. I languish.

When you are a rescue parent and you swoop in too soon – rescue prematurely, you communicate to your child your lack of faith in his or her ability to figure it out – to solve the problem. In your fear that your child will not solve it the right way – the way you feel it ought to be done – you relieve them of their duties. You have just fired them from their position of self-management.

So, take a hint from the cute Easter chicks out there.  Do pay attention to your chicks. Ooo and aaaah, and cheer from an appropriate distance. Stand close enough to hear if they call for help.  In times of danger, spread your wings if they need protection. But if you have offspring already hatched and grown, please don’t try to pet or force or meddle them out of the shell. Believe the best in them.  Believe they can do it. They have a shell to peck (and probably even the education to do it). Don’t impede progress by getting underfoot in your helpfulness. Trust them, rather than relieving them of their duties.

Laughing Down Memory Lane it’s a small world, after all

Perhaps it’s the fact that eight months ago, I moved back to the town I grew up in. Or, maybe I have high school on my mind because I anticipate a milestone class reunion this summer.  Then again, I did get a call from a fellow Sweet Adeline the other day who insists we sang soprano together in a capella  choir.  She was a junior my senior year. Mostly, I suppose, it is because there is something familiar about the name of my newest adult piano student.  Something niggles in the back of my mind. What am I missing?  What incident from my past should I connect with that name?”

Whatever originated the impulse; as I readied a couple of boxes of books for storage yesterday, I stopped and took a trip down memory lane in my high school annual.  Once again, I am mortified by my poor showing.  Had I no sense of fashion? No self-confidence?  Even in high school, I was musically adept; student directing the choir, acting as rehearsal pianist for the tenors and basses, beginning my apprenticeship as piano teacher. Musically talented, yes; but, in every other area – a nerd, unpopular, un-sought-after.

I graduated with a fairly large class – over 400.  The class before me was also large, and the class that followed.  Given that it is a small world after all, and that I have spent many intermittent years in my old home town, it should not seem strange that I occasionally run into former classmates in the social and business world. I have attended church with a handful, and participated on worship teams with others. In my early thirties, I even dated the class president from a preceding year.  Thankfully, he did not remember me; had never known me, in high school.

I always cringe when I know a renewed acquaintance will go back to the yearbooks and see me as I was:  girl nerd poster child.  I wonder, do others also shrink from this possibility?  They, too, may have changed in the intervening years.  So, last night, I lingered with the yearbook, looked in their faces.  There are a few whom I would not want to meet on a dark street.  Woe to me if I did not remember them from high school and take necessary caution.  Some character traits do not grow better with time. There are others who, like me, were not completely formed by the time we graduated high school.  It did not yet appear what we would be.

Others, even in high school, bid fair to succeed – the girl who was always smiling and friendly to me, whom I always thought a snob, simply because she was a cheerleader?  She became a senator.  I found my Sweet Adeline colleague in the choir picture. Though I sing high tenor with the Sweet Adelines, I was an alto in high school.  Happily, I think she is mistaking me for a more popular girl who shares the first name by which I am now known. And my new piano student?  Standing right next to me in the a capella choir picture!  Yes, it is a small world after all.

Follow your heart – trip over opportunity

There is nothing quite like a career change or a job hunt to raise the internal debate of  Heart vs. Head.“Follow your head, not your heart!” scream the practical voices, bent on success.“Follow your heart, not your head!” sooth those to whom love is paramount.  So which is it? For most of my life, I have been able to argue both sides to an issue and come to an impasse with myself – without anyone else having to voice an opinion.

heart

It is such a perilous thing to follow one’s heart.  So risky. I mean, that’s your heart out there leading. It could get broken, smashed, stabbed. At the very least, you will expose your soul, become vulnerable. You will cry and you will feel like dying.  What if?  What if I follow my heart and it turns out it is just my imagination? My own rebellious nature?  Now here’s an argument to put fear in the mind of those raised with an overabundance of rules, religion, and regulation:  What if I follow my heart and it turns out to be my own evil desires and lusts?

brain

Following your brain seems like such a responsible thing to do.  It is equally perilous to your self-esteem to follow your brain, not your heart.  If you think it through deeply, if you follow every bit of logic you can muster, weigh the possibilities, twice think through the outcomes, then it is your intelligence you are trotting out there for the world to see, your credentials. Should you fail, you will be labelled for all time as “stupid.” And for the deeply religious and legalistic, again, a trump question:  When you follow your brain, are you just following your own willful nature?

Follow your whims?  Let your brain govern your heart?

So, I can only report what has happened to me.  I have often followed my brain with the result that I became overly responsible. Taking to heart the message that God (or your Higher Power) tells you what to do, but gives you the responsibility of figuring out how to do it, I push and scramble. I try to make it happen – to force outcomes. Like Abraham’s Sarah, I know God promised me a child; so I go find a surrogate mother.

Looking back over my life, the really great jobs have come from times I followed my heart, did what I was created to do, those things in which I found joy; and in the process – I tripped over opportunity. Yes, I say, “follow your heart,” but with this caveat:  make sure you have enough brain, skill and preparation to take hold of the root of opportunity when it trips you.

Write!

I took my usual course of action and went for a walk.

Life had taken an unexpected turn, so I stressed;

And questioned;

What now?

Clear and unmistakable;

Concise as one word;

Came the answer.

WRITE.

Still, I continued to question.

Who will I write for?  Who will buy my stuff?

What? What am I supposed to write?

When will I find time to do this if I am frantically trying to make a living?

Where am I supposed to write if I am homeless?

Why is this happening to me?

Then came another one word answer:

YES.

What kind of answer is yes?

Asked I, in near desperation.

Yes what?

Who

What

When

Where

Why

How

Yes, that’s write.

Simple.

Concise.

Yet, to my human emotions, so complex.

 Cherry Odelberg, January 30, 2012

Spit-shined boots

Woah! Spit-shined boots! This is my own private cliché. This is my exclamation when I experience that darkest moment that is just before dawn and I know by experience I will soon see the light at the end of the tunnel

Spit-shined boots happened to me again this morning. In my capacity as the new member of Musique, I was diligently, and exuberantly, rehearsing the tenor part for a song that has become one of my favorites. I have thought for a week now that I had the notes down and the memorization in the bag; yet, as I sang with confidence, I began messing up here; forgetting a word over there. Suddenly, the light dawned. Yes! Spit- shined boots!

I learned about spit-shined boots in 1972, from my first husband who was a stract trooper, in the army. Basically, this means he was strict about every last detail of appearance and behavior. Infatuated, starry-eyed, young bride that I was; I sat with him weekly as he spit-shined oxfords and boots. Under his instruction, I learned to do the process myself. Cotton ball, Kiwi, water. Kiwi, water. Kiwi water. Water. Kiwi water. water. My shoulders ached, my eyes were glazed. Just when I was exhausted, he would say, “more water.” Ah, I could see the shine developing under the cotton ball! We were almost done! Then, he would say, “more Kiwi.” The first time this happened, despair came crashing down on me. I so wanted to be done with it. With experience, I came to understand that more Kiwi did not mean I was starting over. More Kiwi is the final polish before the dazzling shine.

The tough moments in life; the times I have already invested too much to go back, but I despair of ever seeing the success of completion? Those are the times I encourage myself with spit-shined boots!

One Year To Live

As far as I know, I am in excellent health for a fifty year old – and I’m 57. But, think

With my daughter, Thanksgiving 2011

with me for a few minutes; what would change in my life if I was told I had one year to live? Gone would be the long-term goals. In their place, would remain stark priorities; things that could realistically be completed in 12 months if I stepped up the pace. I could not afford to waste any time. My bucket list would be overhauled from, “someday I would like to have a Phd. in Music,” to “what information and knowledge do I need, right now, to make better music?” “I want to be published, and achieve a certain amount of acclaim,” becomes, “I want to write my heart, get it all on paper, for the benefit of those who follow after and the great conversation.” Suddenly, it would be clear to me exactly what I wanted to do and what was important.
People who have only a year to live spend lots more time with family. They renew old friendships and polish up their relationships, making sure all those stories that need to be told are told; that all the words that need to be said are said; that all the missing pieces are put in place. I want to make sure to fulfill my mission, complete my calling, fulfill my heart’s desire, keep my soul in excellent heath by performing lots of music, walking, writing; and reading what philosophers and sages have written. If I had only a year, I would want to maintain good health and an attractive appearance, so that I might go out with a bang, sail into port grandly. To that end, I will cut my hair, iron my clothes, choose my wardrobe carefully. But, one year is not long enough for braces or facelifts. I want to invest in life-long friendships and loving and tending of family. There is no time to waste on pursuing or flirting with new relationships.

I will endeavor to live 2012 as though it is my last year. I will invest more time and soul in family, music, writing, spiritual and emotional health, and friendships. While I want to live as though I have been given only a year; I am not one who can live as though there is no tomorrow. Inevitably the doing of these things – travel to be with family for milestones and memories, daily needs of food and shelter- present financial challenges.
I want to be about the business of putting my house in order; settling my debts; reconciling my accounts; mending fences. A year of life is short. There will be challenges. Never-the-less, I have decided to live 2012 as though it is my one and only year to live.

Merry Christmas – It’s been a year

A year ago, I was living 1100 miles away from where I am today, working as a checker at Safeway in north Seattle, Washington. I was also writing on the side, practicing my keyboard in my cousin’s guest bedroom, and walking two blocks to the library six out of seven days a week to check my email, job hunt, and keep up with my friends on facebook.

A lot can change in 365 days.  I am now living in a beautiful little adobe house on the edge of public lands and walking trails, a few miles outside of Grand Junction, Colorado.  I am working full-time as a family focused personal assistant. I am self-employed, ideally suited to be a personal assistant both by education and experience; and my current client is very dear to me.

The people I work with

 But, what about the 365 days in-between?

In January, I went to work for a medical anatomical laboratory as a lab assistant, moved to a charming studio apartment in Edmonds, Washington; fell in love with the sea and decided to stay there forever. I took dance classes with my cousins and some friends I had known since junior high.  Eventually, I stumbled on a senior citizen band and became the piano player by default. It had always been my plan to fly my children up to visit and maybe interest them in collaborating on some sort of music business.  Or, maybe, I would just make enough money to travel to see them all the time. Abruptly, in June, my job came to an end. Not wanting to leave, I began beating the streets for get-by jobs, and interviewing for positions in my area of interest. My son Kevin; hearing that I was going back for a third interview at a preschool in need of a music teacher; communicated that he was in need of a personal assistant whose duties would encompass preschool, childcare, photo/video shoots, and various music business. Once again, I packed all my belongings in my Subaru (and on top) and drove the 1100 miles back to Colorado. Being a family focused personal assistant to a music and media oriented client is a perfect fit. Like any good personal assistant, I simply keep things organized and do all the things Kevin would be called on to do around the home and office if he were not out serving clients and making money. When he has a shoot out-of-town, and decides to take his wife Sarah as assistant; I stay round the clock instead of going home at night. If Sarah is doing books, I entertain the kids. If Sarah is engaged with the kids, I go assist with the video shoots or take care of office filing.

The most memorable highlight of the year was our family working vacation to Southern California. Andrea managed a week off college.  Philip flew from Ft Collins to Las Vegas to join us.  We spent five days together at a beach house in Dana Pointe.  And we…took a lot of pictures, of course! What a grand vacation with all three of my children and all my grandchildren.

Putting One Foot in Front of the Other, Hiking for Life!