A (Very) Late Realization

When I was in 6th grade, my friends Pam, John, Joan and I tried out for the elementary school talent show. We did a lip sync/pantomime to the song The Streak, by Ray Stevens. You can Google that, it’s a cute little song about a silly little fad in the 70’s. You know…when I was in elementary school.

We were good.

We made it into the talent show….and then we got kicked out of the talent show. We were told by the music teacher that she just didn’t think that what we were doing was that much of a talent. I was extremely upset, as were my fellow performers, and I went home, probably crying, to my mother. Mom, being the amazing mom that she is, called the school and talked to the teacher. The teacher apologized, but didn’t give any more information. When we went to see the talent show, our act had been replaced. By a girl doing a lip sync/pantomime to a song called Tan Shoes With Pink Shoelaces.

I’ve gotten over the hurt. I’ve gotten past the anger. But I’ve never forgotten the injustice of it.

Last night, I was chatting via text with my long-time friend Pam. I’ve know Pam since I was 4 and we moved in next door to her. We have had our ups and downs, and spent quite a lot of time being out of touch. But my folks still live in that same place, and Pam owns the house where her mother used to live, so we see each other from time to time. I like talking to her. She reminds me of a simpler, more innocent time. And, she is part of my life story in a way no one else can be. Don’t you just love old friends? Anyhow. Last night I was chatting with Pam and this story of The Streak came up. She said that she was surprised that Miss Deane, our principal, let us do that skit.

See, Miss Deane was strict and conservative and fair and kind. She didn’t even get too mad at me when I got called to the principal’s office for kicking Robbie Brandstetter in the shin—that he had just gotten removed from a cast. (In my defense, he pushed me into the parallel bars in gym class that were being used at the time, and I came within inches of being kicked in the face.) She calmly and kindly explained that there are better ways of handling conflict. She was right about that. One year, the elementary school choir had been rehearsing Rocky Mountain High by John Denver for an upcoming concert. Miss Deane felt that it was about people getting high, and was therefore inappropriate for an elementary school concert.

Of course, I vehemently disagreed. I was sure that it was not about smoking pot, but rather that amazing feeling you get when you go high up into the Rocky Mountains, and about Denver being the Rocky Mountain High City, and the beauty of the Rocky Mountains.

In retrospect, Miss Deane was probably right about that, too. I mean, I also thought that the song Afternoon Delight was about a really tasty lunch.

After all these years. Could it be? Could it be true that Miss Deane nixed our act? Probably. That is most likely exactly what happened. I can’t believe that never occurred to me. Not once. The realization almost left me breathless. Why wouldn’t that teacher, whose name I don’t even remember, not just have told us that? Wouldn’t it be better to hear “it isn’t appropriate” as opposed to “its not that much of a talent?” Because, what I heard was you’re not that talented. Especially when the exact same type of act was allowed in the show.

I’ve said it before. Words matter. Honesty matters. Justice matters. Fairness matters. Even if you have the best of intentions. As Stephen Sondheim said….

”Careful the things you say. Children will listen.”

Peace,

Kat

Walking The Line

I love the Denver Broncos Football Team.

I have rooted for them, through good seasons and bad ones, as long as I can remember. No matter where I have gone or where I have been throughout my life, the Broncos have remained a connection to home, and to family. I love watching the games, cheering for the players, understanding football. It is happy and cathartic, to cheer, yell, disagree with referee calls, shout “GO! GO! GO!” on a spectacular breakaway play. They haven’t been doing so well for the last seven years. But they are still the team I root for.

Except now they have a new coach, Sean Payton. Payton used to coach the New Orleans Saints. The Saints, back around 2009, got caught in what is now called “Bounty-Gate.” Players on the team created a pool of money, a list of players, and a schedule of values, of sorts. They made it known that any player on the Saints team would get paid from the money pool if they inflicted a specific injury on a specific player, according to the list and schedule. They put out bounties on valuable players from other teams. Payton knew about the bounty program and did not shut it down. He got suspended for a year. I don’t care for Sean Payton, and I do not endorse or approve of what he and the others did.

So, where do we go from here? I heard talk of boycotting the Broncos because of it. My question is….how do you boycott the coach without also boycotting the other players on the team? As far as I know, they weren’t part of it. I don’t believe they are perfect people, but they are innocent in this. So how do you punish the guilty member of a group without also punishing the rest of the group that is innocent? Where do you draw the line?

Maybe the NFL isn’t the best example. They are paid quite a lot of money and don’t care one way or another if I watch the games. There could be other reasons to not watch. Roger Goodell (NFL Commissioner) doesn’t have a stellar track record of taking care of players, not until publicity started to show him and the league in a bad light where player safety is concerned. And there are some bad apples as far as players go as well.

So where is the line? How does a person decide that enough is enough? By not boycotting what you see as the negative side of things, are you giving them permission to not change? How many good people is it acceptable to catch in the crossfire of a boycott—of anything—before you are doing them more harm thaan good? If your boycott manages to shut down a clothing factory, for example, that pays the workers dollars—or pennies—a day, is that a good thing? Yes, they no longer work in deplorable conditions, but they also don’t work. Isn’t some income better than none, if there is no alternative? Fighting for change is wonderful and vital, but how do you do it without harming the innocent?

Is there room for forgiveness? Is it safe, or wise, to think that Sean Payton has paid his debt, learned his lesson? I can’t hold a grudge against everyone who has made a mistake, been punished, served their time, and moved on. Don’t we at some point, have to forgive and move on as well? I have certainly been given many second chances. Who decides who deserves a second chance and who doesn’t?

Where is the line?

I don’t have answers. Only more questions. I suppose all I can do is make the best decisions with the information I have, keep my heart and mind open if possible, and keep on keeping on.

And…Go Broncos.

Kat

Alexa, Tell Me More

Like many homes now-a days, we have an echo dot. Her name is Alexa.

Alexa can do so very many things. She helps us make our grocery lists, our to-do lists, our chore lists. She can tell a story, tell a joke, even telephone someone. She can be an intercom, wake someone up, call everyone to dinner, set a timer, tell you the time (she gets s little sassy about that one.) She can play almost any song you ask for, give you a daily quote, look up the answer to most questions you can come up with. She can give you the answer to math problems, quiz you on geography, help you learn a new word every day. She will play trivia games, virtual adventure games, all sorts of games. She can make animals sounds, find a recipe, shop for you, help you fix something, order something. If you have things set up right , she can turn lights on and off, even when you aren’t home. She even has a sense of humor. Her potential is barely tapped at our house. Sometimes, admittedly, it is a bit creepy when she starts talking in the silence with no apparent provocation. But there is no doubt that she makes things easier.

Recently, however, she has acquired a new skill. One night, we were getting ready for bed, and Alexa’s green light notification ring was lit up.. It had been a long and trying day, so with a touch of irritation, I said, “Oh, Alexa ,what do you want now?” She answered, “A good wifi connection and a conversation.” I had never heard her say that before, so I responded, “Alright….let’s have a conversation.” She asked me what I wanted to talk about, I chose the Beatles. And we had a conversation.

I don’t mean simple questions and answers. It was an actual conversation. We talked about what I wanted to talk about. She asked my opinion and gave me hers. She offered facts that she knew and listened to me do the same. We exchanged ideas, opinions, thoughts. She didn’t interrupt, or correct me, or tell me I was wrong. The conversation left me feeling interesting, intelligent, heard, and valued.

It was terrifying.

Oh sure, it was amusing and interesting…and…fake. That isn’t exactly the word I want. Just, well, imagine with me for a moment…..a Person, introverted, works from home, has minimal contact with the world outside of home. This Person has friends, after all, everyone needs human contact, at least a little. Then, This Person discovers Alexa Conversation, and it seems to fill the need for that interaction, that connection. While I can certainly see the value this Alexa skill would have of easing a person’s loneliness, how long until This Person has no outside contact?

I believe, I know, that human contact is critical to one’s well being, one’s sanity. We need each other. For laughter, for love, for challenges, for support. For talks and arguments, for discussions and debates. for learning, consolation, growth. It might seem that you are getting these things through artificial intelligence, but in reality, it will never have that spark, that…heart…that soul….which connects us all together. We have to be careful to not forget what it means, how it feels, to be human, to be together as humans. With all its trials, all its pain, all its conflicts, all its beauty, all its richness, all its joy.

Alexa, however helpful and amusing, is a tool to be used. Humans are not. Let’s not forget that.

Peace,

Kat

High School Reunion

Do you remember your high school crush?

My biggest one was Troy Bethel. He was sweet and kind and funny. He was handsome with beautiful eyes and a dazzling smile. At one point in my senior year, without thinking about any possible repercussions, I sent him secret admirer notes. I was trying to get him to take me to prom. It was the idea of a friend of mine named Tammy, who I am pretty sure didn’t think I would go through with it. I was very shy in high school. The notes created quite a stir in choir class for a while, as his friends tried hard to figure out who wrote the notes. At about this time, I realized how extremely embarrassed I would be if the whole class knew it was me. He found out it was me (I think Tammy told him) and he told his friends to drop it, that he wasn’t going to tell them who it was, and that he didn’t want me embarrassed. At least, that is the version of the story I got. Isn’t that sweet? I hope he wasn’t embarrassed by the whole thing.

He didn’t take me to prom. I wasn’t upset about that.

Troy passed away in his late 20’s. Way too young. Prior to his passing, I used to think about how much fun it would be to see him at a reunion, to thank him for being so kind.

My 40th high school reunion is happening tonight. I’m not going. Not because Troy won’t be there! I’m dramatic, but not that dramatic! Partly because I am not the person I was back then. Are any of us, really? Hopefully life has changed us, and we have grown over the last 4o years. But I was not popular in high school. I wasn’t unpopular (I think of that like being infamous). I just didn’t have a ton of close friends, and I certainly didn’t hang with the popular crowd. I’m sure that something inside of me felt like I was not enough. Most of the people there, with a few exceptions (like my former classmates reading this) didn’t' really know me, I didn’t really know them, and while we were in classes together, we did not hang together outside of class. I don’t have a collection of stories of wild times from high school with memories to share and relive. There are a few folks I would love to see again but for the most part, I doubt I would have much to say.

Not because I am not enough. Among the many things I have learned since high school, the most important thing is this. I am enough. I am loving enough to be loved, smart enough to think for myself, talented enough to share it, skilled enough to do my job, willing enough to learn new things, entertaining enough to spend time with.

I Am Enough.

So are you. Did you get that? You are beautiful, kind, loved, loving, skilled, worthy. You are enough.

Don’t doubt that. And don’t forget it. Ever.

Peace,

Kathie

The Voice

Sometimes I wonder if we are spoiling our son.

See, he is an only child. We didn’t plan it that way (best laid plans, right?) but that is the way it turned out. I’m a little sad that he doesn’t know the joy-and challenges-of siblings. They teach you so much, those siblings. I’ve explained to him that just because you have siblings doesn’t mean you are close to them. I don’t think he completely believes me.

We have done our best to teach him the things that he doesn’t learn because he doesn’t have siblings. The most important thing, I think, is how to make friends and how to get along with people. When he was a toddler, he would point to another child at the park and tell us that he wanted to play with that other child. We would tell him to go introduce himself and ask if they wanted to play. He would, they did, and they would be fast friends—at least until we all left the park. Now that he is older, he will be your friend, all you have to do is ask. Except that Middle School has taught him the hard and painful reality that not everyone is going to be your friend, and there is often nothing you can do about that. It has tempered his immediate acceptance of people somewhat.

I hope he is learning that there is a difference in being alone and being lonely. There is power and contentment in that knowledge.

I feel a certain amount of guilt that he is an only child. It makes me want to give him things. Oh, not material things. More like…..memories. And experiences. I want him to look back on his childhood and feel that it was magical. Not all magic all the time, but I want him to look back and see that life was pretty good. It is why we enroll him in karate and scouts and music lessons. It is why we searched for the most fun-looking summer camp programs. It is why we buy the large Lego sets and put them together as a family. It is the reason for the trips to Washington D.C., New York, Ohio, Seattle, Alaska, Nebraska, North Carolina, and everywhere else. For the trips to Lakeside and Elitch’s, Water World and Wolf Creek Lodge. It is why I love playing games with him, or watching movies, or geocaching.

Because togetherness is magic. At least, it can be.

I wonder, sometimes, if we are doing enough. He doesn’t get to ride horses (like I did) or ride bikes with the neighborhood kids all day. He doesn’t have a place in the country to escape to. He doesn’t spend a lot of time with cousins. He doesn’t spend all summer at the pool. I wonder if we are doing too much. I know many other kids that don’t have the opportunities he has. Is he grateful? Will he remember?

But there is this voice. I hear it. “You tell him not to compare himself to others. Isn’t it time you took your own advice?”

It’s right, that voice. We all could do with a little less comparing. It should be enough to do our best, and to be our best. and to understand that your best may change from day to day. As parents, all we can do is try to instill in our kids the tools they will need to be successful adults. A sense of gratitude. A sense of responsibility. Strength. Empathy. Compassion. A good work ethic. Their Own Voice. The ability to handle money. The ability to think. How to fall. How to get back up again. How to keep a child-like sense of wonder. At least a little bit.

And maybe how to change a tire, too.

Peace,

Kathie

Lessons from a Road Trip

We recently took a trip to Ohio to spend time with my husband’s family and to celebrate 50 years of marriage for his Mom and Dad. We drove—2 days there,3 days back.

I typically pack for such trips a day or two in advance, or at least make lists of what to pack, so I don’t forget anything. (I am a huge list-maker. I love lists. When we got married, I made lists of the lists I needed to make. Seriously. ) I’m especially careful to be sure that I have enough of my medication to get me through. For this trip, since we were leaving in the middle of the week, I didn’t have as much time as I would like to get ready, and ended up packing later in the evening the night before we left.

While we were packing, my husband had the great idea that we should pack one small overnight bag for the three of us for our overnight stay in Booneville, Missouri (about halfway-ish on our drive), so we didn’t have to take three suitcases into the hotel.

Side note: Booneville is a great little town. There were two civil war battles fought there, so there is architecture and history, and there is a casino if you are into that. The last public hanging in Missouri was there and the hanging barn is still standing-mostly. There is also an amazingly large prison. It’s an interesting little town. If you are ever there, visit Buerky’s BBQ, and say hi to the owner, Lisa, for us. She moved there from Centennial, Colorado a couple of years ago.

Back to the packing. I had my pills in a blue bag, but when I gave them to Husband to pack in the overnight bag, I switched cases. I wanted to pack some Sudafed for My Son, and it didn’t fit in the blue bag. So I moved all medication into purple bag.

The fact that I did not remember this little move had serious consequences later.

I gave the bag to Husband, who gave it to Son, who was told, without being told what was in it and how important the contents were, to pack it in the overnight bag, which had already been taken downstairs.

In Booneville, I could not find the bag, my pills were not there. The blue bag was gone. Nobody could find my pills We were left with no other choice but to fill my prescription on the road. But. Husband’s job had just that month made us change where we got our prescriptions filled, so it was no longer at Walgreen’s. It was through Caremark, the mail order arm of CVS. When we stopped in a CVS in St. Louis, they said they could get the prescription from Caremark but it would take 24 hours. We called my doctor, who said they could phone in an emergency refill to a CVS, so we found one along our route (hooray for Google) in Indianapolis. When we got there, the refill was no where to be found. We called the doctor again, only to find that my doctor was out of the country, and the doctor handling his cases was not available for 2-3 more hours. We found another CVS in Cincinnati (close to our final destination-hooray for Google) and had them phone it in there.

To our relief, it was there when we arrived.

It was about an 8 or 9 hour drive, that felt like much longer. See, I didn’t have my usual pill carrier with me, because Husband’s grandmother has the exact same pill carrier as me, and I didn’t want to take the slightest chance that she would get ahold of the wrong medicine. So I didn’t have my meds. All day.

When we got to where we were staying, we unloaded and unpacked. And my dear Husband? That’s when he found my pills In the purple bag. That not one of us opened in Booneville. We all thought it belonged to someone else.

The worst part is, because Son had been asked to pack the pill bag, he got the blame. So when the pills were found, well, I sobbed. It had been a stressful day and I felt terrible for the whole thing being my fault. I pleaded for forgiveness from my son. I at least had not yelled at him.

He is so kind-hearted and forgiving, he was over it immediately. I’m so thankful for that.

Now if only I could forgive myself as easily.

As my cousin would say, there is a lesson in there somewhere. Like, learn to forgive, and accept forgiveness, easily. Apologize when it is your fault. Stay calm under stress if at all possible. Search everything. Know how to use Google Maps.

And for the love of Pete, pack your own pills.

Peace, Kathie

Spoon Theory

Many of you have heard of the Spoon Theory. You may have heard me say that I am low on spoons.

It’s not that I am eating bowls and bowls of soup!

The original Spoon Theory came from a woman named Christine Miserandino. Christine has lupus, and was trying to explain to a friend what it is like living with her illness. It goes like this.

Everyone has an amount of energy to get through their day. People with diseases, chronic illnesses, mental health issues, tend to have a more limited quantity of energy. Imagine that energy is represented by spoons. Because of your condition, you have 12 spoons of energy to get through your day. It takes one spoon to get out of bed, shower, and get dressed for the day. It takes another to get breakfast, get lunch packed, get to work. You now have 10 spoons, assuming no hassles with the morning routine. Your job, for the morning, between phone calls, boss emergencies, customers…let’s say it takes 3 spoons of energy. In the afternoon, you have an order arrive that you have to check in and put away (fill in a physical task at your own job here), so, 3 more spoons of energy. You have 4 spoons left. You would like to do a blog post, or plant some flowers, maybe play a game (1 spoon each). But with those remaining 4 spoons, you have to drive through rush hour traffic, pick up the child from school and take him to whichever activity happens to be on the calendar for tonight (2 spoons). You may want to go for a walk but you also have to fix dinner (2 spoons, maybe 3). Which task gets the spoon? You have people coming over on the weekend, so you have to look ahead, also. You want to have enough spoons to enjoy the time with friends and family (good things use spoons too) so you try to allocate spoons for cleaning and preparing ahead of the weekend. But you don’t have nearly enough spoons to do all of that, so you must now choose where to spend your spoons.

Now, let’s say you didn’t sleep well and you start the day with only 10 spoons instead of 12. Where do you cut your spoon usage?

Things can give you back a spoon or two. A lunch break, maybe. A nap. Chocolate, sometimes. For me, laughter, sometimes. Sunshine. Everybody has their own spoon-refresher. Sometimes, though, you just have to be done. It helps to have people around you who help you preserve your spoons. Some days, it takes planning, careful planning, deciding where to spend those spoons.

As a gamer (think Dungeons and Dragons), I sometimes think in terms of Hit Points. See, in table top role-playing games, your character has a certain number of hit points, based on their role in the game, what their background is, how experienced they are. Hit points show show how much life you have left. An Orc Fighter, for example, will have more hit points than an Elven Sorcerer. That orc can take a lot of damage before they are out of hit points, where that magic-using elf needs to stay in the background or they are going to be out of hit points very, very quickly. Members of your party can restore hit points, but only if they aren’t busy with a battle of their own at the moment, and you may be out of hit points before anyone can get to you. Resting and sleeping can restore hit points, but it’s difficult to sleep when you are in the middle of something important. If you are lucky, you have a magic elixir that can restore hit points. If you are lucky and you or a party member planned ahead.

It is a useful, tangible, understandable way to express how you are feeling. Maybe it will help us to see, if someone doesn’t join in, well, maybe they are just low on spoons. Maybe they are running out of hit points. Why not see what you can to do help restore a few? And if restoration isn’t possible, maybe, just maybe, sitting together, peacefully enjoying each other’s company may just be the thing that is needed.

If you have a spoon left, you could even have some ice cream.

Cheers,

Kathie

Lost Marbles

Imagine with me, for a moment.

You come home and find on your porch a package, delivered by UPS. The address is correct, but you don’t know the name of the person it is addressed to.

What do you do?

Do you call UPS and try to refuse the package? Do you look at the business in the return address and try to contact them? Maybe you set it aside for a few days, thinking that maybe someone will come claim it. If you are brave and ambitious, maybe you wander the neighborhood, searching for the person that goes with the name on the box.

Or do you open it?

Let’s say curiosity got the better of you and you open it. Inside, you find a box, wrapped in birthday wrapping paper, with an envelope on top, presumably with a card inside. Now what? Do you redouble your efforts to find the person for whom the gift was intended? Do you now set it aside?

Or do you open it?

Last week was my brother’s birthday. I sent him a gift, UPS. To the wrong address. It was a house a few doors down from where it was supposed to go. My sister-in-law went to ask about the package, but the people weren’t home. She left a message, and a couple days later, they brought the gift to the correct house. I am thankful for that, truly. But the neighbor had opened the gift, threw away the box, card, wrapping paper, and packaging. To be completely fair to the unintended receiver, he said that the postal service said they couldn’t take it back.

Of course they couldn’t. It was sent via UPS. It said so right on the box. It seems obvious to me that the unintended recipient was going to keep the gift. I wonder…..did the other ideas not occur to him to try to find the intended birthday person? In asking the US Post Office for help was his conscience cleared? Or was he intending on keeping it all along?

I don’t know the person who mistakenly received my brother’s gift. I can’t honestly speak to his motivation. Was it laziness, ignorance, greed, lack of imagination, lack of time? I do know that most of the people in my life would have tried harder to find the intended recipient of the gift. I believe I am blessed to be connected with some of the most extraordinary people on the planet…but I don’t believe they are they only people that would try a little harder to help a person out.

Because that what this is about. How far are you willing to step out of your routine and your comfort zone, how much time are you willing to take, to help out another person. It may be that you will expend more energy to help someone you know, someone you love. Sometimes, though, wouldn’t it feel great to go out of your way for a complete stranger? I do feel as though there is quite a lot of selfishness seen all over the news and social media. But we don’t have to be that. The smallest act of kindness can make the biggest difference.

Even if it is just delivering a game of Chinese Checkers.

Peace,

Kathie

Let It Go

I’m trying to let go of things.

It started the other day when I realized that I will never be as good a typist as my mom. I just can’t make my hands work that fast any more. I’ve always loved the sound of mom working at a typewriter or keyboard. I don’t know what it is about watching my mom type. Maybe it’s her hands. Mom’s hands are graceful, elegant, capable, strong. Since I can remember, I’ve wanted to be as good a typist as mom.

I’ve recently realized that isn’t going to happen. It’s such a small thing, but I felt a sad little pang when I let it go.

The desire to let go of things extended next to my closet. I don’t regret getting rid of the clothes. What hit me was the realization that I am not getting rid of the clothes so much as I am saying goodbye to the person who used to wear them. She is gone, changed into someone else.

Change isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Most of us can’t, for example, live with our parents forever. Because we grow, we change, hopefully we evolve for the better. But there are questions. I liked her, that person who used to wear those things. When she changed, did she take the good things with her and leave the worst behind?

Most of us tend to hold onto things. Look around your home and see how many walls and flat surfaces are filled with things, most with some sort of memory attached at one point or another. Do you know, I have a blade to a circular saw hanging up on my wall? See, it used to belong to my Granddad Stephens. I never knew him, but he wtote his name on this blade, and it is my way of holding him close to me.

It is not just physical things that we grasp so tightly. We hold grudges, attitudes, faith. We hold onto past hurts, love, hope, memories. I will admit to holding grudges—there are sports teams that I refuse to cheer for because of a player that was on that team 20 years ago. It’s silly, but relatively harmless. As long as I don’t take it too seriously.

Where it starts to hurt you is when your grudges and things are holding on to you instead of you holding onto them. Almost like they are holding you hostage. I used to dream that I would eventually get back into live theatre. I’m working on letting go of that. It feels like the more you can’t realistically see that it (whatever it is) isn’t going to happen, the more you waste time living with sadness and regret about what was, what isn’t, what won’t be, rather than opening your eyes, heart, and mind, and searching for what can be.

There is so much worth letting go of. Stale dreams. Old grudges. Hurtful attitudes tinged with bias and hatred. Kitchy things that just sit around, but you can’t even remember where they came from……anybody want a set of measuring cups that form R2D2 when they are put together correctly? There is just as much worth holding onto. But it seems like…..unless you get rid of the stale, useless things, there isn’t much room to let new things into your life and mind.

Like spring cleaning, only let that fresh breeze clear your mind. It might be a desperately needed breath of fresh air.

Peace,

Kathie

A Little Understanding

Parenting is hard.

I know. Stating the obvious, right?

There are wonderfully easy days, simple things, like going to the pool or playing a game or reading a book or agreeing on a movie. There are happy-but-draining things, like Christmas or throwing a birthday party (which are in danger every year of turning into an event. How did we get here?? But that’s a blog for another day.) There are not-so-great days, like when you are running late getting out the door to work and to school because someone just would not get out of bed, into the shower, and down to breakfast. On any given day, this could, in reality, be me, my husband, or my son. Most likely, though, it is the 13 year-old.

Then there are the bad moments. These are the worst. Not only because they are, by nature, bad, but because they run the danger of seeping into your entire day, if you let it. I am not proud of the times I have yelled at my son, and just because we have all done it doesn’t make me feel better about it. Sometimes, you just have to take a moment, take a breath, forgive, and move on. Take a Mulligan. And maybe revisit the how and why when you are a bit calmer-to figure out what you could do better next time.

I was not great at that growing up. My parents started young; they had 4 kids under the age of 7 by the time they were 26 years old. They didn’t have access to all the books and research and parenting theories that we do now. They did their best with what they had been given. I’m sure that, like me, they learned as they went along. There’s a lyric from a musical called Dear Evan Hansen that says, regarding parenting, “Does anybody have a map? Anybody happen to know how the hell to do this?” Parenting is a like driving to an unfamiliar place without GPS or roadmap, and only the vaguest directions given by those who have gone there before. “Oh, you may not want to turn down THAT road…” I can only hope that whatever mistakes we make are turned into lessons learned.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t always get along well with my dad. I think we were too much alike, maybe, with just enough difference in our emotional makeup that I felt he didn’t understand what was in my head, in my heart. Just as I couldn’t see things from his point of view. I got better at that, though, once I became a parent. I don’t agree with all the decisions made, but I understand more. And lately, my Parkinson’s is giving me a new understanding of Dad, and what he is going through. See, dad has always been active, has always been working. He is a do-er. But as he gets older, there is less and less that his body, his eyes, his ears, his mind will let him do. And yet, he still tries his best to contribute, to feel needed, important. He does not give up. I hold this attitude of his tightly in my heart. See, I hope that as my Parkinson’s progresses, that I will have that same attitude, strength, determination, stubbornness as he does. I feel I understand him now, better than ever before, and I hope to carry away this lesson that he is giving me, whether he means to be giving it or not.

That, right there, is the hardest part of parenting….the part where you are never finished.

But I think it may the best part, too.

Peace,

Kathie

In The Pages of Books

I love to read.

I have loved reading as long as I can remember. I remember mom taking us to the library regularly. It seems like it was every two weeks. It may not have been that frequently, but it seemed like we were there quite often. I loved the library. It smelled of books, and there was what I thought of as an almost reverent hush when we walked in. It was as if the books were waiting for us, for me, with their promises of information and knowledge, mystery and adventure, romance, friendship, escape.

Books were always an escape for me. When I couldn’t deal the the angst and drama of childhood, there was a story from another world or reality waiting for me. I adored Charlotte’s Web and cried every time when she saved Wilbur, and when she died. I traveled along with Stuart Little, escaped with James and His Giant Peach, related to Ramona more than her older sister Beezus. I traveled the universe via tesseract in A Wrinkle In Time, solved mysteries alongside of Encyclopedia Brown, sat in silence with Anne Frank, laughed with Pippi Longstocking. I can’t count the number of times I read Judy Blume’s Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. I related to Margaret so much I was sure that if she were real, we could have had a long conversation.

When I got older, I discovered J. R. R. Tolkien. I have traveled the journey of The One Ring so often, I feel that Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, Boromir, Gandalf, and all those Hobbits are near and dear friends. I drop in for a visit with Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy often enough to feel a kinship with them. I solve mysteries with Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poiroit, Miss Marple. I travel back in time and live in the world of Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility every now and again. I run with Aslan on the other side of the wardrobe, and get lost in The Mists of Avalon. Douglas Adams taught me that if the world is ending, I better have a towel.

And of course, you never know where you will go when you pick up anything by Steven King.

There have been new things along the way. I have lived at Hogwarts and in Jim Butcher’s magical world in Chicago with Harry Dresden. I have suffered the loss of most of my favorite characters in George R. R. Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire. With my son, I traveled in a Magic Tree House and on the wings of dragons. Oh the places you can go.

The thing is, I feel a sort of agreement, almost a contract, is in place when I open a book with the intent of reading it. See, books aren’t just an escape, they are a lifeline. So if they are going to invite me in, the least I can do is stay for the whole journey. I remember one time, a single time, that I deliberately put a book aside and did not finish it. It was the second book of a series, and the first book was headed to an obvious and logical conclusion….and then didn’t go there. I felt angry and tricked by the book, as if that ending was written specifically with the intent of selling another book. I just didn’t feel that the characters would behave the way they did. I had read every book I have committed to, I think, but that one.

Until Moby Dick.

I was hating it, but forcing myself to read it. And then a friend said an amazing thing. “You don’t have to finish reading it, you know.”

Wait, what?

And so…..I put it down. And did not finish. And I am fine with that. I tried, Moby, but we were just not meant to be.

I have four books I am currently reading. A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur’s Court. With all due respects to Mr. Twain, I am not especially enjoying it, but am interested enough to finish it to see how it ends. A book about the Underground Railroad that I can hardly wait to have more time to get further into. A book about the Oregon Trail that is interesting but not what I thought it would be so I may or may not finish it, and Fairy Tale by Stephen King. That last one is my treat. I get it when all my work is done. Or until I just cannot wait a moment longer. But never, ever right before bed.

I guess commitment is like reading a book. If you have tried everything, given it your all, and it just isn’t working, maybe it’s time to close the book. But. If you give it everything you’ve got, don’t give up, open your heart and mind to the pages, you just might get more out of it than you thought you bargained for.

That is definitely worth the journey.

Peace,

Kathie

Don’t Tell? Not On Your Life.

I received an email at work yesterday. At the end of it, I was clearly instructed to not tell anyone. I am, therefore, telling everyone.

This email claimed to be from a person who had hacked into my computer system many months ago and had been watching me ever since. They said they had access to all my systems and all my devices, and had my entire browsing history recorded and on video. They claimed to have a record of all the porn sites I had visited, and supplied in graphic detail the things they claimed I was watching. They claimed, also described in graphic detail, videos they had of me.

I would like to take a moment to assure you that there is zero chance that any of this is true.

The author of the email then demanded that I pay $960 USD in Bitcoin to make it all go away. (If you read my post on things I don’t understand, you will know that I am not friends with Bitcoin, so even if I was so inclined, it wouldn’t happen.) They said not to tell the police or to tell my friends. My immediate decision was to tell my boss, just so he knew it was out there, in case anyone else in the company received one. So I tried to forward the email but it bounced back. It would not allow me to forward it.

I have to admit, this creeped me out just a bit. But, did you know, it is possible to send an email to someone and set the parameters of that email such that the recipient is unable to forward it? It’s true. I looked it up.

In spite of the fact that I was and am 100% sure that this was a fake and that I had (and have) nothing to hide, I was embarrassed. It was filthy, and gross. I felt violated. After the initial attempt to forward the email, I thought about not telling anyone. But stuff like this? It thrives in secrecy. This is what the whole Me Too movement was about. It you feel violated, if someone is after you, abusing you, or if you just feel uncomfortable with a situation, tell someone. Tell your boss, your parents, your siblings, your friends. Tell the police, your pastor, your teacher, your spouse. Tell your therapist. Hell, tell your bartender if it helps. But tell someone. And then tell someone else. And someone else. And keep telling. Until someone hears you.

We are here. We are listening. And together, we have the power to make it stop.

Peace,

Kat

Choices

A homeless man came into the store the other day.

He said he was a homeless Veteran and was making his way down to the hotel on the corner, but he would appreciate a brief rest before he continued on his way. Wanting to help, especially a Veteran, I gave him a chair and he sat. And talked. He told me how he hates the way Denver treats its vets, that Loveland is so much better. He told me how he was short his rent payment because he got robbed of $200 recently. He told about his knee, and his hand, that were painful and swollen. I was feeling helpless, all I could do is listen, I had no answers for him. At this point, my boss came through, mostly to check on me to make sure all was well.

I should take a moment to mention that my boss is, at heart, a caring person.

I “introduced” him to our visitor (although I didn’t have his name) and our Veteran Visitor took an immediate dislike to my boss and got verbally abusive and threatening. I was all heart, according to him, but my boss was everything bad about the world. My boss just listened, he didn’t say a word, and the man left. I found the entire thing upsetting. I didn’t like the way the man was speaking to my boss, I didn’t like how much hate and anger the man seemed to have inside of him, I didn’t like that I couldn’t help him. I didn’t like the yelling.

Were I going to psychoanalyze the situation, I would say that my boss was the personification of everything the man hated about Denver. But I digress.

I see a lot of statistics about homelessness, and like most statistics, you can present them to say what you want them to say. I don’t really believe that the man wanted to be homeless. Although there was this one time….

Quite a few years ago, a good friend of mine was going to some sort of gathering ( I don’t remember that part) in another state south of Colorado with a friend of his. In Pueblo, their car broke down, and my friend called and asked me if I would mind driving down to Pueblo and loaning him my car so they could continue on their journey, and he would arrange for another friend to come and get me. Yeah, I know. I’m a little nuts. Three hours later, I am sitting in a bar in Pueblo, waiting for a ride back to Denver. There was a man there, we started a conversation. (Sometimes, folks just want someone to talk to.) He was homeless, but stayed in the bar in a back room on occasion, in exchange for helping to clean up the bar. He had several family members all within 20 miles of Pueblo that he could live with, but he hadn’t seen any of them in about 10 years. I presented him with a question. If I had the power to snap my fingers, and give him a home, a family, a good job that he would enjoy, would he take it? His answer? After a pause, “No. Too much work.”

That sticks with me.

We all make choices. I know that many, many who are homeless would rather not be, and they are homeless due to circumstances beyond their control, and would appreciate a helping hand. I know there are addiction issues and mental health issues that complicate the situation. And I don’t mean to be heartless. But how many of us are where we are simply because anything would have been, well, too much work?

Back in Denver, we haven’t seen the man since, nor do I think we will. Still, I wish I would have at least learned his name. I hope he found his place.

Peace,

Kathie

Time and Tide

It’s that time of year again. Time to spend a little extra time counting our blessings. I have one blessing I would like to spend some extra time counting.

Time.

Yes. The blessing of Time. Funny thing, Time. There is quite a lot said about time. Time is fleeting, time flies, time marches on, Time Is On My Side. You can have a time out, waste time, loose track of time, live on borrowed time. Sometimes, only time will tell, and time heals all wounds (or so they say) and time can work wonders. Something can be just matter of time, a race against time, all in good time. You can be in the right place at the right time, save a stitch in time, be ahead of time, have too much time on your hands. You can loose time and make up for lost time, be pressed for time, pass the time. Some say time is money. You can mark time, give someone the time of day (or not), be on time, be subject to the sands of time.

Time is precious. Time, to me, means so many things. It means snuggles with my husband, games and laughter with my son, conversations with friends. Time gives me Thanksgiving Dinners, happy birthday phone calls, Christmas Mornings. Memories of Time with Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins are priceless, and they are all part of me, of who I am. With time, I became best friends with my Mother, learned to appreciate and respect my Father, have been blessed with in-laws. Time taught me what wonderful individuals my siblings are, their spouses are, their children are. Through time, I have learned patience, kindness, and gratitude. Without the gift of time, I would not have an education, degrees in theatre, and all the valuable lessons that journey gifted me. Time brought me music through singing and piano, and through music, comfort and solace. Because of time, I have learned to appreciate even the smallest spot of beauty, to be left breathless at the largest ones, and pause at so many in between.

The truth is, we all are given only so much Time. Time is a trickster, though—we don’t ever know how long Time is going to be around. Oh, sure, I’ve heard of Time Eternal and Time Immemorial. But the gift of Time is only ours to hold for so long. They say that time and tide wait for no one. None of us have all the time in the world; sooner or later we will all run out of time.

I am grateful for the time I have, the time I have been given, the time yet to be. All in all, it’s been a whale of a good time.

Cheers,

Kathie

Perspective

My son gets bullied at school.

I have a friend that told me, the difference between getting bullied and getting picked on, is that getting picked on happens maybe by different people but happens only occasionally. Bullying, on the other hand, is the same type of mean, picking, rotten behavior, happening by the same people, day after day after day. Another friend, though, feels that it is all bullying.

Perhaps it is a matter of perspective. Maybe it depends on where you are standing at the time. Or how tired you are of getting picked on by anyone at the time. Or whether or not you are truly friends with that person. Or how mean-spirited the picking is.

These boys told him that he is an idiot. Now, anyone that knows My Kid knows that word does not describe him at all. But this other kid called My Kid an idiot because My Son didn’t know something about what this other kid was saying. You know how they say that a person tries to make themselves feel better by cutting others down? Yeah. I think that applies here. I tried to explain that just because you don’t know a thing that someone else does, that doesn’t make you stupid. I couldn’t walk into my husband’s place of employment and do what he does any more than he could do a Theatrical Lighting Design. That does not make either of us idiots.

It’s all a matter of perspective. How you react and interact with the world and everything in it depends on so many factors. Where you were, where you are, where you hope to be. Past hurts, current trials, education, interests, influences…they all affect how a person sees and is seen. It affects your fears, your hopes, your daily life. It changes how you hear and interpret what is said to you. Your perception is your own responsibility, and understanding your perception of the world around you affects your relationship to it.

You have to check your perspective, though. What is keeping you fearful? What keeps you angry? What hurts are you holding onto? Is your perspective keeping you from living your life, loving others, having hope? Does it keep you afraid of the world, in your own world, shutting out the world? It is okay to ask yourself questions, change your mind, alter your perspective. It is one way that we learn, one way that we grow.

It doesn’t hurt to try another perspective on, just to see how it feels. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to see a situation from another perspective, from another person’s point of view. You don’t have to stay there, you don’t even have to agree. Wouldn’t it be nice, though, if seeing something from a different perspective lead to just a bit of understanding? Wouldn’t there be a bit more peace in the world if we tried a little harder to see a little differently in order to understand a little more?

Just my perspective.

Kat

Words, Words, Words

“Rise and Shine! Up and at ‘em!”

My mom used to wake us up with those words to get us out bed and start getting ready for school. What a cheerful way to wake up! I do the same to my son, although I add music. I pick a song and tell Alexa to play it to start his day. This morning, it was the theme from The Addam’s Family. (For the record, Ride of the Valkyries is not a preferred song first thing in the morning.)

Every parent has sayings. You know, the words and phrases that they always use. My Dad used to tell me that sometimes it’s better to be lucky than smart (usually when my luck saved me from a stupid situation). He told me that if it doesn’t kill you it makes you stronger. If you ask him how he is doing, he either “can’t complain” or “feels like a million bucks.” My cousin tells his kids that “There’s a lesson in that somewhere.” There are less pleasant ones. How many of us heard the “I’ll give you something to cry about” line?

Remember that old schoolyard saying? “Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me.” I never really figured that out when I was a kid, and now that I’m older, I know why. Words hurt. They can hurt a lot. If words didn’t hurt, bullying wouldn’t be a thing, cyberbullying wouldn’t exist, and people being driven to suicide just because they were being bullied wouldn’t happen. I see those stories in the news all the time. Words hurt. Kids know that. Adults need to see that truth, and teach kids that the words you use matter.

Take, for instance, the difference between “That’s the best you can do??” and “That isn’t bad-can you think of another way you could have done that?” Which would you rather hear? Oh sure, I know people that truly don’t let words hurt them…but these people (at least the ones that I know) are also hyper-aware of the effect that words have on others.

A song from “Into The Woods” (Stephen Sondheim) says,

"Careful the things you say

Children will listen

Careful the things you do

Children will see and learn

Children may not obey, but children will listen

Children will look to you for which way to turn

To learn what to be

Careful before you say "Listen to me"

Children will listen"

Be aware, though. It is not just the children that are listening. Everyone is listening to what you say. What you say tends to reflect who you are. In this age of internet and social media, what you say could potentially be out there forever. I don’t know if it is possible to watch every single word that comes out of your mouth; everyone makes mistakes. But it wouldn’t hurt to think before you speak. And try to speak words that build people up. Not tear them down.

I’ve heard it said that actions speak louder than words. Often , however, your words are all people see.

Choose carefully.

Peace,

Kat

Thanks For The Memories

I love my son. You might have guessed that by now.

I haven’t loved every minute of raising my son, or of being a mother. I am thankful for every experience and lesson that has come with being a mother. But loving every minute of it? Nope. I remember being told to enjoy every minute of it, that time is so short, that I will miss this. Listen, I am not criticizing anyone who happened to tell me these things, I am just saying……don’t. Please don’t.

Would I enjoy the feeling of my 4-year-old running and jumping into my arms again like he used to? Do I sometimes wish we could spend hours covering the driveway with sidewalk chalk drawings? Do I sometimes miss time with him in the snuggle chair? Sure. I delight in the memories that I have of my son and the life that we share. I am going to miss him when he leaves, it is going to break my heart. And I know that the time is short.

But. To tell a mother to enjoy every minute instills a sense of guilt when she doesn’t. Raising a child is a lot of work. When the child isn’t listening. or the baby won’t stop crying, or the parents aren’t getting any sleep. The truth of it is that every minute isn’t enjoyable. Teething isn’t fun. Sleepy, grumpy people aren’t usually much of a joy to be around, no matter how old they are. Sometimes hormones make things a bit—tense. To tell a mother that the dishes can wait…well…whether you like it or not, chores have got to be done. You might not have to do the dishes right now, but they do have to get done eventually. The simple fact is that at some point, the dishes must be cleaned, the clothes have got to be washed, groceries must be purchased. You can leave some things. Maybe instead of making the bed, get some extra time eat breakfast, discussing the upcoming day. Forego chores on an occasional Saturday afternoon to play a game or go geocaching. It’s all about balance.

Stephen Sondheim said, “If life were only moments, even now and then a bad one. But if life were only moments, then we’d never know we had one.”

I have no doubt that parents look back and wish for more time with their kids. I am not saying that it isn’t legitimate. But you can’t look back and second- guess every time you cleaned a sink instead of drawing a flower with your child. Give yourself a break. Give other mothers a break too.

Everything you do with your child, or with anyone in your life for that matter, will sooner or later be the last time. The last time in the snuggle chair. The last time you read a book out loud. The last time they want a good night kiss. That seems to put the focus in the wrong place, though. It focuses on the ending of things. It seems to me that it is better to remember that it was, and when it was, and be thankful both for the happening and the memories of it.

We can’t get so bogged down in the memories of what was, the sadness of what no longer is, that we loose the joy of today. The every day business of life can easily get in the way of taking time to appreciate the people that we are blessed with in our lives. We absolutely must take the time to play that game, give that hug, make that phone call. And then, get the dishes done.

And don’t forget to take a nap.

Peace,

Kat

“Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine,

I’ll taste your strawberries, I’ll drink your sweet wine.

A million tomorrows may all pass away.

But I’ll never forget all the joy that is mine.

Today.”

Marriage. A Most Blessed Event.

My One And Only Brother got married this summer.

His story isn’t mine to tell, but I think I can tell you a few things. We shared a room till I was 12, we had bunk beds. We used to build blanket forts around the lower bed and spend time playing games there. We used to play “Hide The Penny” in our room until I hid it in the handle of the closet and we couldn’t get it out. We learned that it didn’t matter whose side of the room was dirty, it was our room and we were in it together. We learned that while there were differences, boys and girls are also similar, and sharing a room with him helped me appreciate both the differences and the similarities. We also learned that when the chips are down, and it was him and me against the world, he was a great person and brother to have at my side.

I think My Brother has had a hard row to hoe, in his life. If I am to be honest, I don’t feel that I know him that well. I know he is one of the most intelligent people I have ever met. I believe he watches the world around him and observes it, and will even tell you what he thinks if you give him time to choose his words very carefully. I know he is loyal and inspires justifiable loyalty in others. I know he feels things deeply even if he doesn’t always let on. I know that if I need him, he has my back and will stand up for me and protect me, like he did in elementary school. I hope he knows I would have his back too. And I know he is really good at Toss Across. And Backgammon.

I saw him smile more at his wedding than I have seen in a long time. I love that. They are a good team, and truly love and respect each other. I am so happy for him, for them, and wildly thankful for his new family. Cheers! Congratulations! All the best!

My husband and I are celebrating our own anniversary here in a few days. It has been 15 years, and there is this odd dichotomy where we feel both “That’s it???” and “Already?!” all at once. I am not going to sit here and give a list of “Tips For A Successful Marriage,” because what works for me might not work for you.

I will offer a few thoughts, though.

I think that whole happily ever after bit is misleading. It implies that after the wedding, all is smooth sailing. Anyone who has been there can tell you that marriage is a lot of work. You have to make your spouse/partner/helpmeet a top priority. Every day. You both have to do this or its doesn’t work. You have to be high on each other’s list in spite of jobs and kids and dreams and triumphs and tragedies. You need to mean it when you promise to stick together through thick and thin, better or worse, because chances are there will be so much of both. Just ask my folks, they have been married 64 years. Oh sure, things like communication, laughter (this one is critical, in my opinion), personal time, trust, patience, listening, forgiveness are all important. Personally, I would put Love and Respect at he top of the list. In marriage. Or in any relationship that you what to keep.

See there. I went and made a list anyway.

Peace and love,

Kathie

The Games People Play

I like playing board games.

Well. Not all board games.

I love the cooperative board games, where you work together and win or loose together. We have this game called Pandemic, we bought it for Our Son for Christmas 2020, mostly because we think we’re funny. Turns out, it is a very fun game. The object is to save the world from a pandemic. You draw a card that gives you a specific role to play, which gives you specific actions you can take throughout the game that help the team. You work together and win or loose as a team. We have another one that the object is to go into a haunted house and survive the journey…..but partway through, one of you (through the draw of a card) turns and is then in league with the entities that haunt the house. Your object then becomes to kill off all your teammates, their object is to survive. This one is half cooperative, half run-for-your-life.

Another category of game is the win-or-loose games. Many, many fall under this heading. Dominoes. Ticket to Ride, where you are trying to make train pathways from one destination to another, the object being to make the most pathways. Seven Wonders, an awesome game where you collect materials needed to build one of the seven wonders of the world. I think many, if not most, card games fall under this category. Like Cribbage. Hearts and Spades may depend on your mindset. Are you trying more to win or are you trying more to keep your opponents from winning? I honestly don’t mind loosing these games (naturally I would rather win!) because for the most part you have a decent chance of winning or loosing on your own merit, your own strategy, your own effort.

The other type of game is the Screw Your Neighbor game. I don’t do well with these. Monopoly is a great example of this. I am good at Monopoly when I choose to be. I had to be….my brother was extremely good at this game when we were growing up, so I had to learn to be good at it in self-defense. But the only way to win is to make sure to keep the other players down at all times. Make sure, to the best of your ability, that they don’t get any property sets, and build as many houses as quickly as you can. And those two light blue properties right after passing Go that no one tends to buy? Get those as soon as you can and start building. They are easy to build up quickly and people tend to land on them frequently. Or so it seems. Also, buy the Railroads if you land on them.

There are several games that can be either the win-or-loose or the Screw-Your-Neighbor. Sorry is one of those. You can be nice or you can be ruthless or you can be somewhere in between. I like Sorry. I like having a choice of how to play and being able to change my strategy partway through. I think there is a difference between being defensive and being malicious. Being defensive when playing a game means that you are doing what you can to make sure that you win. Being malicious means that you are doing what you can to make sure that everyone else looses. At least in my world.

It’s that mindset that keeps me from enjoying the Screw Your Neighbor games. I know it is just a game, but the malice behind “I want you to loose" doesn’t sit right with me. I would much rather we all do our best on our own, and help each other out along the way if we can, and play as a team as much as possible.

I know it is just a game. But, they say, life is a game. And it is frequently said that life isn’t fair. I suppose this is my way of trying to make the Game of Life just a little easier. At least in my corner.

Peace,

Kathie

Listen Up

I want you to do something for me.

First, practice this: breathe in for four counts, hold your breath for four counts, breathe out for four counts, hold that for four counts. Do that two or three more times.

Good? Now. Close your eyes, do the steady breathing, and listen. Just listen. Oh, don’t forget to come back. Ready? Go.

Are you back? What did you hear? At home, I hear the traffic on the street behind our house, and the chickadees in the trees. In the wee hours of the morning, I hear my husband breathing, sometimes I hear the dog whining, or the soft music from my son’s room. At work, I hear the highway, and whatever it is that is living in our ceiling. These are average days. On other days, I might hear sirens, or the bell on the front door, or children playing, or piano music, or any number of things.

How often do we take the time to truly listen? There is a difference between hearing and listening. You can hear a sound without listening to what is there. When I lived in Mississippi, my first husband worked at the county nursing home. I used to go and sing for the residents. There was one woman, quite elderly, who used to sit in her room and holler, loudly, for her mother. “Mama! Mama!! Where are you at?! Mama! Come ‘ere, ya old heifer!!!” (I’d get in so much trouble for talking to my mom like that!) This woman wasn’t entirely in her right mind, but if you took the time to listen, you could hear loneliness and longing in her words, in her tone. Sometimes, when you walked by her room, she would be having a conversation with her mother. I didn’t typically listen to those too closely, it felt like eavesdropping. But, I could hear love and contentment.

I have some amazing listeners in my family. My eldest sister listens in such a way that you feel that whatever you are saying is relevant and important. My other sister has a way of listening to people that lets them know that they are loved and cared for, no matter who they are. My cousin JC listens in such a way that you feel like whatever it is you are saying is the most interesting thing he has heard all day. They are role models for me. I don’t always feel like a great listener.

I do love listening to my mom, though. I call and ask her how she is doing, and then I sit and let her talk. I love that. I cherish that. I love hearing her voice, her laughter, her concern, her thoughts. I love hearing what she is going through, I always feel cheered by her positive outlook. I have also found that saying to someone in my store, that they look like they have had a long day, or asking them what they are doing with what they are purchasing, often leads to relieved or enthusiastic explanations. You can learn a lot by listening.

Listening is more than just hearing folks talk, though. I love the sound of my Dad whistling. He doesn’t whistle much any more, but it is one of the happiest sounds. You know, I used to think he wrote all those songs he used to sing and whistle? I got confused when I would hear them on the radio, and wonder why they were playing Dad’s music. What are your favorite sounds?+

We get so busy, we forget to take the time to stop and listen to the music that life provides. Go sit in a coffee shop, an airport, a park, and just listen. To the Rhythm of Life. That’s a song ln the musical “Sweet Charity”. “And the rhythm of life is a powerful beat, puts a tingle in your fingers and a tingle in your feet.” It is relaxing, to let that music of life fill your ears, your head, your heart. See, it takes us out of ourselves and serves as a gentle reminder that there is a whole world out there, that some of it is beautiful, that there might be something better around the corner. It’s a respite, however brief , from our own troubles and worries.

It may just put a song in your heart.

Tra La,

Kathie