As a young child, growing up under the guidance of the Christian church, a Sunday school teacher once asked the class what we wanted for Christmas. I raised my hand and said, “I wanted a lot of money.” She looked me in the eyes and said something I will never forget because I was embarrassed by my response to her question. I could have said something more meaningful, but that was the first thing that came into my 10-year-old head. Nevertheless, it was an honest response and meaningful in my life circumstances at the time. My teacher said, “Lay not your treasures on earth.” I thought to myself, what does that mean?
As a young adult, I acquired some of those treasures, such as well-tailored suits for work, my own car, the ability to go to exceptional restaurants to dine. I had the finest china from Wedgewood, the latest microwave/convection oven, and thin stemware in which to pour the best wine when I entertained people in my house. I enjoyed trips to ski resorts, and joined the most popular health clubs to play tennis after work during the winter months. Afterwards, I would enjoy a dry sauna for a half hour, and later sat around the club's fireplace enjoying some brandy to lift my spirits before heading home.
For years, I brought and brought things that I wanted but not necessary needed. I educated myself acquiring four degrees. These things elevated my self worth and confidence. They were things that gave me a feeling of being in the same class as my peers. I felt I had finally made it, I thought I was happy-but I was not. It wasn’t until I lost everything that I realized what these things really meant. It was a time of reflection. It was a time for cleansing my soul.
When I began to get my life back, I sought the companionship of the older generation instead of trying to keep up with the Jones. From socializing with my senior companions I learned their wisdom, and came to know what’s important in life and why. From their deaths I’ve became aware of what my Sunday school teacher had said to me so many years ago. Whether you have children or not, all the memorabilia and ‘stuff' that is collected over the years has no concern or meaning to anyone but you. The people that have to close your estate will only seek things of value. The rest will probability end up in the trash or at a Thrift shop.
In my memoir, Leaving a Voice, I talk about periods in my life where lessons are learned and wisdom acquired. How I came out of it all a better person, then I was—at least I think so. Now that I’ve grown up, I consider myself a jack-of-all-trades but a master of nothing but that bible verse, and I thank God for the eyes to see and knowledge to know.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Good Morning Murphy
It was seven in the morning; I stopped the alarm clock before it sounded off. The sky was dark and the air cold, but a song from the robin that took resident in a tree outside my window helped me to get out of bed. I sat on the side of the bed for about 15 minutes. You’ve heard the saying, if any thing can happen, it will, well this morning, my old friend Murphy paid me a visit and spent the better part of the morning with me.
I hadn’t seen Murphy for a while, but there he was making my life a little more eventful than normal, and giving me a reason to slow down and pay attention to what I was doing. I learned from the past that when I don’t take that moment, Murphy stays with me all day, and not even a robin can cheer me up. I had a class this morning and the hour was close for me to leave and pick up my friend.
The class was off campus, and I needed to print a map to show me how to get to the temporary location. The second hand on the clock seemed to be moving faster than normal, and the address was not where I had put it. It was five until the hour – I needed to be walking out the door in 20 minutes. While I waited for the CPU to load the street software, I looked for the address. At last!
Because the spacebar sticks, I pounded on the key to separate words and numbers. I felt like pounding my head-I should have done this last night. The search said the address didn’t exist. What! I took a deep breathe, and pounded the address out again using the advance search tool. Finally, I had a map to print. Now print, I thought, looking at the clock again. Red is flashing on the printer. Error message: Printer head stuck. I had never seen that error message. I reset the printer and started again. At last, it was printing-yahoo!
While the printer was doing its thing, I went to the kitchen to make myself some coffee to take with me. When I returned to the CPU, I grabbed the map, my purse, and briefcase and headed for the garage. I forgot my keys. Back into the house I went. Where did I put them? In the bedroom, maybe in the jacket from Sunday?
I ran up the stairs listening to my husband tells me to slow down - that nothing was that important. Down the stairs, I ran with the keys.
I’m in the truck, and pulling out of the garage when I realize I had left my coffee in the bedroom when I went through my jacket for the keys. Out of the truck I went again. By the time I got back to the vehicle, I felt as if I had run a twenty-yard dash.
I closed the garage – Oh No! I forgot my watch! I found the keys to the front door and run up the stairs again to the bedroom. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, what is my problem. The world was not going to collapse if I’m late. I walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, kissed my husband, and told him he was right.
I was finally on the road—behind a school bus that was stopping at every other block. By the time I got to my friend’s house, I wasn’t for sure if I should wait in front of her building or near the garage. At any rate, I waited two minutes and my friend came out of the garage. She pulled up next to me.
Rolling the window down I asked, “It’s my time to drive or do you want to drive?”
“I’ll drive I don’t feel like parking the car again.”
“No problem.”
I gathered my things, and locked the car. As I got into her car, I noticed the truck’s window was down. Out I went to unlock the truck and close the window. I was so exhausted when I finally got to her car, I didn’t want to move.
Even with the map, we still got lost, but that’s okay because we were not late. The classroom was next to a lunchroom with a thin partition that separated the two rooms. I was sitting next to that partition, and missed most of the lecture because of the noise.
I said good-bye to Murphy, as he joined the crowd in the lunchroom, and we walked out of the building. I laughed at myself and thought when I got home - Murphy must have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.
I hadn’t seen Murphy for a while, but there he was making my life a little more eventful than normal, and giving me a reason to slow down and pay attention to what I was doing. I learned from the past that when I don’t take that moment, Murphy stays with me all day, and not even a robin can cheer me up. I had a class this morning and the hour was close for me to leave and pick up my friend.
The class was off campus, and I needed to print a map to show me how to get to the temporary location. The second hand on the clock seemed to be moving faster than normal, and the address was not where I had put it. It was five until the hour – I needed to be walking out the door in 20 minutes. While I waited for the CPU to load the street software, I looked for the address. At last!
Because the spacebar sticks, I pounded on the key to separate words and numbers. I felt like pounding my head-I should have done this last night. The search said the address didn’t exist. What! I took a deep breathe, and pounded the address out again using the advance search tool. Finally, I had a map to print. Now print, I thought, looking at the clock again. Red is flashing on the printer. Error message: Printer head stuck. I had never seen that error message. I reset the printer and started again. At last, it was printing-yahoo!
While the printer was doing its thing, I went to the kitchen to make myself some coffee to take with me. When I returned to the CPU, I grabbed the map, my purse, and briefcase and headed for the garage. I forgot my keys. Back into the house I went. Where did I put them? In the bedroom, maybe in the jacket from Sunday?
I ran up the stairs listening to my husband tells me to slow down - that nothing was that important. Down the stairs, I ran with the keys.
I’m in the truck, and pulling out of the garage when I realize I had left my coffee in the bedroom when I went through my jacket for the keys. Out of the truck I went again. By the time I got back to the vehicle, I felt as if I had run a twenty-yard dash.
I closed the garage – Oh No! I forgot my watch! I found the keys to the front door and run up the stairs again to the bedroom. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, what is my problem. The world was not going to collapse if I’m late. I walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, kissed my husband, and told him he was right.
I was finally on the road—behind a school bus that was stopping at every other block. By the time I got to my friend’s house, I wasn’t for sure if I should wait in front of her building or near the garage. At any rate, I waited two minutes and my friend came out of the garage. She pulled up next to me.
Rolling the window down I asked, “It’s my time to drive or do you want to drive?”
“I’ll drive I don’t feel like parking the car again.”
“No problem.”
I gathered my things, and locked the car. As I got into her car, I noticed the truck’s window was down. Out I went to unlock the truck and close the window. I was so exhausted when I finally got to her car, I didn’t want to move.
Even with the map, we still got lost, but that’s okay because we were not late. The classroom was next to a lunchroom with a thin partition that separated the two rooms. I was sitting next to that partition, and missed most of the lecture because of the noise.
I said good-bye to Murphy, as he joined the crowd in the lunchroom, and we walked out of the building. I laughed at myself and thought when I got home - Murphy must have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
One Moment in a Day
One moment in a day is just one word on a page, and a day filled with moments is just an existence we share with the rest of the world. How we make these moments meaningful in our lives is what makes us the individuals we become. Why we make these moments meaningful is why we share this world with other things. Choose your moments well and life will be good to you.
Friday, March 5, 2010
A Wonderful Life
A wonderful life is mine today, so much different from yesterday
with peace of mind and freedom of spirit this I can truly say
that through the ups and downs I’ve seen, no fate was so disturbing
then to wake each day in fear of survival a life that’s undeserving
of any soul that lives on earth, where many the substance of giving
the gift to lift the bonds of despair with compassion, and an adequate living
in a world that’s not too kind to some, and for others a social obscenity
to ponder a world that’s unselfish in deed and aspires human dignity.
A wonderful life is mine today, so much different from yesterday
with each new day I impart on others, some comfort along their way
to appreciate the simple curiosities, the blessings so often neglected
when the vicissitudes of life can deny peace of mind to be reflected
in the balance of good and evil, and in the emptiness that gravitates
because life does not wait nor does life discriminate.
Take comfort in this I say, wealth is just an elaborate condition
for some to use to make a point, and for some to commission
that freedom of spirit emerges when we look within the soul
and find the good in everything, should be an unwavering goal,
to savor the simple wonders that life so graciously gives
and hope that you can show the same to someone else who lives.
with peace of mind and freedom of spirit this I can truly say
that through the ups and downs I’ve seen, no fate was so disturbing
then to wake each day in fear of survival a life that’s undeserving
of any soul that lives on earth, where many the substance of giving
the gift to lift the bonds of despair with compassion, and an adequate living
in a world that’s not too kind to some, and for others a social obscenity
to ponder a world that’s unselfish in deed and aspires human dignity.
A wonderful life is mine today, so much different from yesterday
with each new day I impart on others, some comfort along their way
to appreciate the simple curiosities, the blessings so often neglected
when the vicissitudes of life can deny peace of mind to be reflected
in the balance of good and evil, and in the emptiness that gravitates
because life does not wait nor does life discriminate.
Take comfort in this I say, wealth is just an elaborate condition
for some to use to make a point, and for some to commission
that freedom of spirit emerges when we look within the soul
and find the good in everything, should be an unwavering goal,
to savor the simple wonders that life so graciously gives
and hope that you can show the same to someone else who lives.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Who are you?
I’m 65 years old, and have worked with the older generation all my young adult life. When I became an older adult, I chaired a program that monitored the well-being of the elderly in my religious community. Normally I would see them weekly, but sometimes, I wouldn’t see anyone for months. If more than a month went by, I was amazed how much they aged since I last saw them. I never thought much about how fleeting one’s age can be until Mother Nature came knocking at my door.
Sitting at the doctor’s office with my 93 year old friend Irene, I would often complained about there not being enough time to do the things I needed to do. Irene would respond, “Wait ‘til you reach my age - time passes faster.” I never truly understood that until now.
Like magic, one night during my dormant hours, my body underwent a metamorphous. I woke up with noticeable jowls. When I got on the scale that evening, I was 5 pounds heavier from a soup and salad diet. A couple of months later as I was combing my hair, I realized I had a developed a double chin, and the scale that night read five more pounds.
When I first looked in the mirror I asked, “Who are you?” Then I asked the person looking back at me, if I had eaten something other than soup and salad, would my face have changed. “Sure it would have,” I said loudly and totally annoyed. Nowadays when I look into the mirror, I acknowledge that person even though I see someone I don’t recognize. It’s a different me, an older me.
Irene told me every seven years you change. I always thought this transformation was mental. For the past 56 years of my life, I had noticed a chance in my attitude, ideals and practices, with only minor modifications to my physical body. I rather took pride in looking younger than my age.
Lately though, I’ve taken notice of movie and media personalities that I grew up with over the years. There it was the double chin and that undeniable roundness that attacks the upper arms and middle section. I even had to redefine my bra size to include the bust line under my armpits that was never there before – I have yet to find a bra that will contain this new figure. Then there are the women in the stores, especially the ones I couldn’t tell how old they were- now I can. Youth has a wonderful profile.
I would like to conclude with two more thoughts. I often wondered why older women’s looked as if they had never wore makeup before, and why all those smaller sized clothes end up in boxes at the back of the closet. I told myself that one day I would wear them again, but the reality of it is I’ll never put them on again. Maybe next year, I’ll give the clothes to charity. As for the makeup, I have to admit I wear it more now than I did when I was younger, and pray I never lose my touch applying it. If I do, I will stop wearing it all together.
I wonder what shape my next body metamorphosis will experience. Will it be my last metamorphosis? Anticipating these changes, I’ve decided to slow down this physical body modification by walking more and snacking less. I must understanding when a young person passes me on the tracks it’s just an act of passing the torch. Also, when the young think I don’t get it, know that wisdom for them is yet to come. For me the most important and meaningful thing I can do for myself is accept, refine, and enjoy what’s given me.
Sitting at the doctor’s office with my 93 year old friend Irene, I would often complained about there not being enough time to do the things I needed to do. Irene would respond, “Wait ‘til you reach my age - time passes faster.” I never truly understood that until now.
Like magic, one night during my dormant hours, my body underwent a metamorphous. I woke up with noticeable jowls. When I got on the scale that evening, I was 5 pounds heavier from a soup and salad diet. A couple of months later as I was combing my hair, I realized I had a developed a double chin, and the scale that night read five more pounds.
When I first looked in the mirror I asked, “Who are you?” Then I asked the person looking back at me, if I had eaten something other than soup and salad, would my face have changed. “Sure it would have,” I said loudly and totally annoyed. Nowadays when I look into the mirror, I acknowledge that person even though I see someone I don’t recognize. It’s a different me, an older me.
Irene told me every seven years you change. I always thought this transformation was mental. For the past 56 years of my life, I had noticed a chance in my attitude, ideals and practices, with only minor modifications to my physical body. I rather took pride in looking younger than my age.
Lately though, I’ve taken notice of movie and media personalities that I grew up with over the years. There it was the double chin and that undeniable roundness that attacks the upper arms and middle section. I even had to redefine my bra size to include the bust line under my armpits that was never there before – I have yet to find a bra that will contain this new figure. Then there are the women in the stores, especially the ones I couldn’t tell how old they were- now I can. Youth has a wonderful profile.
I would like to conclude with two more thoughts. I often wondered why older women’s looked as if they had never wore makeup before, and why all those smaller sized clothes end up in boxes at the back of the closet. I told myself that one day I would wear them again, but the reality of it is I’ll never put them on again. Maybe next year, I’ll give the clothes to charity. As for the makeup, I have to admit I wear it more now than I did when I was younger, and pray I never lose my touch applying it. If I do, I will stop wearing it all together.
I wonder what shape my next body metamorphosis will experience. Will it be my last metamorphosis? Anticipating these changes, I’ve decided to slow down this physical body modification by walking more and snacking less. I must understanding when a young person passes me on the tracks it’s just an act of passing the torch. Also, when the young think I don’t get it, know that wisdom for them is yet to come. For me the most important and meaningful thing I can do for myself is accept, refine, and enjoy what’s given me.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Mindlessness
The name of my autobiography is Leaving a Voice. It is a culmination of my life through short episodes. Whether intentionally or unknowing, these events have led me to this point in my life.
Hitching a ride on my life’s journey is all the useless baggage that keeps certain events fresh in my mind. Regrettably, this baggage doesn’t trigger a complete account of the events as they occurred. Even though I can recall incidents that happened in my life, there are certain moments that are vague or absent. Sometimes there's a huge gap between the beginning of the incidents and the lesson learned at the end of the day.
The lapse of memory or gap in memory is the results of not living in the moment. Defined as a state of mindlessness, this condition can leave a writer searching to fill a void or complete an episode. Sometimes I question myself as to whether I really forgot what happened or if I was just preoccupied at the moment.
For example, I remember one episode during my high school years when our basketball team played an out-of-town game. With five minutes left in the competition, our team was down by three points. The referee called a jump ball between the opponent’s guard and me. Quickly I leaped up. Propelled by the momentum of the jump I stretched, spiked the ball, and landed crouched from the weight of gravity as the ball bounded into my hands.
I looked around. The crowd was silent, both teams stood without movement or words. Had I done something wrong? I turned to give the ball to the referee - too many steps. The ref blew his whistle. Charged with walking, the opponent got the ball and won the game.
With those thirty-five seconds came a lifetime of flashbacks and guilt, but the two hours after that incident vanished from my memory forever. I believe I had no thoughts because I never lived those moments. My thoughts were not in the present but in the past – the game play itself. So, things that happened to me or around me in those two hours passed without my mental knowledge.
Not every thing that happened that night stayed with me. After the incident, the next thing I remember was the ride home on the bus. The feeling of isolation, the profound embarrassment for making such a stupid mistake weighted heavily in my heart. I’ve lived every moment of that play from the time I leaped to reach the stars until my confusion at the end of the game every year of my life.
Writing my autobiography has made me aware of the mindless task I do every day. I believe this mindlessness is why I sometimes forget why I walked into a room. I’ve concluded that if I wish to incorporate my later years in my memoirs, it would be a good idea to live the rest of my life in the moment and enjoy its presence. These wakeful moments helps weave the strings of my life, and my complete thoughts of them.
2/11/2010 8:31:17 PM
Mindlessness
Hitching a ride on my life’s journey is all the useless baggage that keeps certain events fresh in my mind. Regrettably, this baggage doesn’t trigger a complete account of the events as they occurred. Even though I can recall incidents that happened in my life, there are certain moments that are vague or absent. Sometimes there's a huge gap between the beginning of the incidents and the lesson learned at the end of the day.
The lapse of memory or gap in memory is the results of not living in the moment. Defined as a state of mindlessness, this condition can leave a writer searching to fill a void or complete an episode. Sometimes I question myself as to whether I really forgot what happened or if I was just preoccupied at the moment.
For example, I remember one episode during my high school years when our basketball team played an out-of-town game. With five minutes left in the competition, our team was down by three points. The referee called a jump ball between the opponent’s guard and me. Quickly I leaped up. Propelled by the momentum of the jump I stretched, spiked the ball, and landed crouched from the weight of gravity as the ball bounded into my hands.
I looked around. The crowd was silent, both teams stood without movement or words. Had I done something wrong? I turned to give the ball to the referee - too many steps. The ref blew his whistle. Charged with walking, the opponent got the ball and won the game.
With those thirty-five seconds came a lifetime of flashbacks and guilt, but the two hours after that incident vanished from my memory forever. I believe I had no thoughts because I never lived those moments. My thoughts were not in the present but in the past – the game play itself. So, things that happened to me or around me in those two hours passed without my mental knowledge.
Not every thing that happened that night stayed with me. After the incident, the next thing I remember was the ride home on the bus. The feeling of isolation, the profound embarrassment for making such a stupid mistake weighted heavily in my heart. I’ve lived every moment of that play from the time I leaped to reach the stars until my confusion at the end of the game every year of my life.
Writing my autobiography has made me aware of the mindless task I do every day. I believe this mindlessness is why I sometimes forget why I walked into a room. I’ve concluded that if I wish to incorporate my later years in my memoirs, it would be a good idea to live the rest of my life in the moment and enjoy its presence. These wakeful moments helps weave the strings of my life, and my complete thoughts of them.
2/11/2010 8:31:17 PM
Mindlessness
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Just Don't Know...
Merging onto the highway, I jacked up the music. I found comfort in that.
As I drive at a decent fast speed, I’m thinking about my fantasy manuscript and maybe I will be able to finish the outline with everything in its place. I just don’t know where to go from there.
As I pulled into the driveway, hunger bit my stomach. I wanted to keep what I was feeling alive for just one more hour but the hunger would not release me…..
As I drive at a decent fast speed, I’m thinking about my fantasy manuscript and maybe I will be able to finish the outline with everything in its place. I just don’t know where to go from there.
As I pulled into the driveway, hunger bit my stomach. I wanted to keep what I was feeling alive for just one more hour but the hunger would not release me…..
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