GOOD THINGS MATTER

  

Granddaughter

I'm going to brag about my granddaughter who just made Phi Beta Kappa.  She is a member of the Alpha chapter of the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill, NC where she is a senior completing a dual degree, a BA in Media Journalism and a BS in Psychology.  Conceived in 1776 at the College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, VA under the motto "The love of wisdom is the guide of life," PBK is the nation's oldest and highest academic honor.  My own election was many years ago at the Alpha chapter of the University of Missouri, the first public university west of the Mississippi River. I have always found confidence in achieving recognition so young.  

Why write this other than straight out pride? Because Good Things Matter.  We all know it.  Everyday we read or live the disasters of the current regime--if I name a few they will be surpassed tomorrow.  But we are, thankfully, in the midst of the Midterm elections.  With millions of others, I voted early.  Voting is one of the good things that matter. 

Did you see that the students of A&T, an HBCU (Historically Black College or University), marched for an hour to vote after the Board of Elections removed their campus polling place?  The students who staged the 1960's historic sit-in at the Woolworth lunch counter in Greensboro, NC were from A&T.  The school has a proud history.  My mother got her teaching degree from an HBCU in St. Louis, Missouri:  Harris Teachers College.  

So, yes, I am proud of my granddaughter.  She works hard.  I am proud of the students who voted en masse in Guilford County, NC, the other day, letting the world know that they will be disenfranchised.  I am proud of my mother, all those years ago, a first generation college student, who after her Bachelors from Harris, received her Masters from St. Louis University, and eventually her Ph.D. from there.  A teacher of American History, politically she was an Independent.  

We must take pride in achievements, of strangers and of those we love.  The lows come on their own.  The highs we must savor.  My grandson at University in St. Andrews, Scotland said in a phone call today that he was hopeful.  He reminded us that our country survived the Jim Crow voting degradations.  His generation is full of energy.  For that matter, so are people my age.  We lead the protests, we monitor the polls, we donate to causes. 

So when something good comes along, hold on to it.  I don't want to apologize for being so happy for my granddaughter's academic achievement.  If not me, who?  Being with young people is invigorating.  I remember the band concerts of my children and grandchildren, brown, black, white and Asian kids all bringing their instruments to attention and playing their best for their band director and their families.  Kids who showed promise and, if you followed them, you saw achieve their dreams.  

None of this can be stopped by the Trump regime.  There, I said his name.  The elephant in every room.  The human spirit cannot be destroyed by one deluded man.  Our 250 years of democracy can be attacked but not despoiled by one man and one party.  We survived Bull Conner hosing down black kids in the streets of 

Alabama during the Civil Rights Movement.  Different party, same playbook:  disenfranchise and stay in power.   

Whatever the midterm results, we have Trump for two more years.  In the history of our Republic, that is little.  Tyrants have been defeated worldwide and forever.  Do not minimize or ignore the good things that happen in your household, your community, your church.  Let them fill you with joy and sustain you for the fight against tyranny yet to come.  If your child brings home a drawing, praise it.  Hang it on the refrigerator.  If your child, or niece or nephew wins a swim meet, makes a free-throw, learns to walk or talk no matter how old, REJOICE.   

GOOD THINGS MATTER 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OCTOBER IS A BEAUTIFUL MONTH TO VOTE

 

Lantana in October Bloom  

Fall is beautiful where I live.  It was chilly the other day but today warm enough to swim.  Oh my, how I love that luxury.  Never as a child as I hiked to the neighborhood pool, did I think I would have my own.  The first 15 minutes were getting the leaves out of the pool.  But then, back and forth, back and forth, counting my strokes, counting the laps, feeling free and large. Good for my sub-par back.  The leaves made me think of wild swimming.  It could have been a pond.  The lantana are vibrant this time of year.  Butterflies abound, fluttering this way and that.  Goldenrod line the roadside, enough to pick bouquets, short-lived as they are. 

Goldenrod Gathered by my Mailbox

I know that winter is next, but today it didn't feel like it.  We reached 82 degrees.  The rest of the week will be rain.  

I read about personal blogs, personal essays. People who write without a niche or a monetary goal.  Writers not influencers.  I never recognized that that is what I have been doing since 2017.  No paid subscribers, no "buy me a coffee" (I drink tea).  None is superior, just preferences I suppose, or necessities. 

Some of the posts I most enjoy, here or elsewhere, are by writers whose vlogs/blogs/posts cause them a bit of stress, they say.  Paid subscribers, they feel, are owed so many posts a week or month.  What if there's nothing to say?  Or no time this month?  Or full-time work gets in the way?  Or illness?  Some of the most creative people seem to bite off more than they can chew.  I always respond with something like, "Remember, your readers have lives too.  We don't have time to read constantly.  Don't worry.  We're not waiting for a post.  We're happy when they come."  I mean that.

I hope that everyone who's reading this reaches retirement age.  It's such a blessing.  A blessing to have time to post thoughts and hope that they are helpful in some way.  A blessing to be self-sufficient in late life.  A blessing to have time to do what feels good, valuable.  To swim or pick Goldenrod or grow lantana.  

And most of all, remember that we are close to the midterm elections.  Vote.  Vote for those who care about workers, retirees, moms and dads, the environment, gas prices, grocery prices, good schools for all, civil rights.  Make this month beautiful.  

In peace, Nina Naomi 

 

 

FALL REMEMBRANCE AND BLESSINGS

Whatever the date, this is the first day of Fall at our house.  I'm in a wool sweater tonight, waiting to go to friends' house.  This morning I needed my Shetland blanket from Keswick, UK to snuggle under and drink my tea.  It rained all day . . . all day.  Fall for sure.  Cozy in Fall means a chill in the air, hickory nuts and acorns buried amongst the leaves, perennial shoots of cedar, holly and mahonia at random and mushrooms of all shades and sizes.  There's no ivy, ever, because it nourishes the deer.  Mums are protected by whatever spray I use.  Winter pansies will be set out soon. 

The weather also reminds me of past seasons. A change in the weather has a tendency to do that, doesn't it?  For example, when we lived in a cold parsonage in farmland Illinois, life was gentlest after baths, two babies balanced in my arms in an old platform rocker.  It sounds idyllic; writing can do that.  Pick and choose and make a romantic postcard of what may have been hard at the time--poverty in a windy old farmhouse next to a graveyard, and a stay-at-home mom.  The babies of those babies have called me Grandma for many years now.  And yet it's a time I cherish.

What I'm wondering is what we will cherish from our present moments.  You may be working hard and earning money for your family; or caring for parents who cared for you; loving someone who loves you back; or doing something else fulfilling.  And if we're remembering, by definition that time is over.  My days as new wife and mother are long gone. 

Sometime in the future you, like I, might miss perhaps the status or challenge or income from being employed.  We might miss even a rushed family dinner.  We will certainly miss our parents, and the one who loves us back may have died too.  Miss, cherish, remember, long for, be thankful for, appreciate--these feelings are all on a continuum, not quite synonyms.  So what are we doing now--something perhaps as common as bathing the babies at nightfall--that we could raise to the level of deep appreciation and thankfulness?  That we could see with our future eyes as a valuable, fulfilling or joyful moment to be cherished.   

I think that is worth pondering.  We all know that young parenthood passes quickly.  but so do other equally challenging roles.  Caring for my aging father was difficult and frustrating.  Had I been more patient I might have lessened both.  Working full time was exhausting; but the rewards in helping people with their legal problems were great.  Perhaps I could have better balanced my stress with the relief in closing a case successfully.  Hopefully right now I am loving with all my heart and soul those who love me too; holding nothing back; seeing the gift of love as fireworks in the sky.

Fall is a time to take stock.  Back-to-school, back-to-work, new beginnings.  Or getting ready for winter hibernation, the calm before renewal.  Remembrance and blessings.  Ahhh . . . .  Let's do that.  

 

 

 

WHAT'S IN YOUR MENTAL HEALTH TOOL KIT?

 

A walk by the shore

What's in your mental health/anxiety/stress/trauma/bad day-month-year toolkit? Maybe I shouldn't start with this question.  Why should it be assumed that any of us need such a thing?  My mental health is fine, I might say, or you might.  What kind of an assumption am I making? But then I think twice. 

My tool kit is full. Pen, paper, art journal, prayer journal, this blog, craft table, glue, washi tape; walking shoes, binoculars, swim suit, mesh bags (for seashells), bicycle; good food, a night out, chocolate; Bible verses, friends, spouse, books and more.

What if I/we accepted that there will never be a time when everything is right, finished and everyone is satisfied? Wouldn't that acceptance belong in our tool kit? My father lived to 94 and over the course of our life I did not consider him wise.  But wisdom did come with age, as they say.  My dad's wisdom was, nothing ever ends.  In other words, we die unfinished.  Bills unpaid, home improvements stalled, goals unreached and words left unsaid.  There's no such thing as closure.  Realizing this is a liberating concept.  What if THERE'S NEVER THE PERFECT MOMENT?  What if we just assumed that there is always too much to do, not everyone will like us, and we will always make mistakes? That there's no separate moment when we can finally live a full and meaningful life? What if that? What does that mean?  

Doesn't that mean that we can live a full and meaningful life all along? We can do what matters to us right now without the stumbling block of the right time or perfectionism?  We can sit at the craft table without guilt or second-guessing ourself, tale a walk or read a book the same way.  

The idea of unlimited potential is seductive.  But not true.  I have a son who died of cancer at age 33.  He had "unlimited potential," until he didn't.  Not everyone's limitations are so dire, of course; but many are.  Children, sick parents, job loss, health issues, divorce, financial catastrophes, aging, change our potential from unlimited to limited.  Life itself.  We are both fallible and mortal.  This should almost be in caps:  WE ARE BOTH FALLIBLE AND MORTAL.  

I must face that I cannot hold in my heart the infinite sea of information about the world's suffering.  Ukrainian children were kidnapped and live in the Soviet Union under Putin's control.  Palestinians in Gaza are being eradicated.  What in the world are we doing in Iran, and to non-citizens in the US?  None of us lives forever and age is not even the determining factor.  For myself, I need God in all of this.  Not as a solution, but as a bulwark for my mental and spiritual health.  You may have something else.  I have a friend who speaks of The Universe.   

Spending time outdoors should be part of anyone's resources.  The woods, water, the moon and stars, a walk through the neighborhood, a run or hike, working in the garden, a sunny day . . . all of these are dopamine for our mental health.  If losses are great, prayer:  "Lord, help me to survive this.  Help me to be better at the person I need to be now.  Stay by my side as I learn how to live alone, or with this new limitation." 

And for all things good, don't wait for the perfect moment.  Take the trip now, near or far.  Write the book now.  Text the friend now.  Take the class now.  Start the new venture now.  Make plans.  

There's a Chinese Proverb:

"The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago.  The second best time is now."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

AT HOME IN NORTH CAROLINA THIS SEPTEMBER, I CAN ONLY . . .

 

I can only write what I see.

Today bountiful waking to trees out my windows early daylight,

Husband's arm about my side.

Rise for Kenya tea, strong and black. 

Hallway lined with windows, courtyard telling season's story:

 

Lashings of rain? Late season blooms or yellowing leaves?

Dew on the meadow or warmth on the deck? 

 

 

Every day too much scrolling, 

Too much news; too many ideas not mine, no matter how creative.

So, in early September swimming ends the day. 

 

First sit by the pool . . . 

But oh, the mint needs a drink, oregano too, and basil;

The pot plants, impatiens and begonia, salvia red and white, 

Creeping Jenny thirsty too.  I'm coming, I say.

Spreading rosemary, lavender flowers, fine with the heat; 

The yucca, lantana red and orange all happy.  

Day lilies, ivy happy too.

My garden is wild, not tended but intended (as nature said one day). 

 

My life has been long, why is that on my mind? 

Because, I see fullness, bounty, beauty.

Mint in my lemonade, oregano in my pasta, 

Rosemary on my potatoes, basil in my greens. 

Root the begonia, gather wood for Fall.

Savor, always savor as only age can do.

If you have age you know that too.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WHEN DO YOU FEEL LIKE YOUR FAVORITE SELF?

I made it to the beach this afternoon and it's lovely.  When is it not?  If not in harm's way, even wild and thrashing is lovely.  But today at 5 o'clock the sea oats sway softly as far up and down the shore as I can see.  A yellow flag and families dotted about the sand, waves overlapping the shoreline.  A calm day.  I can swim in this, I'm thinking.  Horizon bright and sharp, a deep blue ocean against a Carolina blue sky, few clouds.  We have two more hours of daylight but already the sun is at my back.

Our shoreline runs east to west and faces south.  When rockets launch at Cape Canaveral (three with September target dates) we see them overhead.  Our sand is soft and oatmeal, not rocky, just shells and sand.  You can burrow your feet.  Children lie down and pour buckets over one another until only their heads and feet show.  Then they hop out, sand flying.  

The nights are cooler now but still in the 70s. No more stinging bare feet as we trudge between the dunes toward home.  The coast is rich and wide, full of life, no re-nourishment needed.  I am so happy to be here after months away.  No threat of a hurricane yet this season, although those will come.  

I know some folk aren't attracted to the sea.  They prefer mountains or desert, lakes or deep woods, cities and nightlife, small towns and farmland, or at least like them best.  Wonderful places for sure. There's probably nothing I can't enjoy on the right day and in the right mood; nothing at all.  

I encountered the question, "When do you feel like your favorite self?" somewhere and the answer came so quickly I knew it was AT THE BEACH.  Not where I live full-time.  Not central North Carolina Piedmont, halfway between the Atlantic and the Blue Ridge Mountains. But where I ride my bike, gaze at the ocean, look from the kitchen while making supper and watch the waves, hear them even with the windows closed, look at a dark sky rich with stars, find the moon over the top floor deck every night, watch the sun rise and set, eat scallops and clams, sit overlooking the sea and read . . . .

 Maybe you feel like your favorite self at home.  How good is that?  In your own small or large space.  Curtains and do-dads, history, cozy bed and comfy couch, dog and children and books and life.  Maybe that's where you are all the things you want to be.  Perhaps I used to feel like that too, earlier in life and not having this place at the beach.  I think in my 20s my favorite self was sitting in the rocker with both babies on my lap after their baths, their bodies smelling sweetly and wrapped in towels.  I remember that clearly, the fragrance and softness.  I was my favorite self then.  In contrast to harried mornings, finding a sitter, rushing to class.  Yes, my peaceful loving and blessed favorite self.  I have more recent thoughts of watching all three grandchildren play in our small pool, hooting and toppling each other and me feeling very blessed indeed.  When working full time my favorite self was at the end of a long case when my client's problem was made better.  But overall, nine out of ten times these days, my favorite self lives here, at the beach with my husband. A lucky woman long-married. 

After all, favorite self is a feeling, isn't it?  Athletes might find their favorite selves somewhere in the endeavor.  On a mountain top, at the end of a game, during a run or handling Class 3 rapids.  Dunking the ball, making a goal or thwarting one.  Where skill shines and endorphins soar.  That's why bike riding is part of my favorite self; it can feel like racing, with the wind in your face, peddling hard and watching the neighborhood go by.  Same with riding the waves, which my back won't let me do anymore.    

When I write about being at the beach I feel like it is a humble brag.  Maybe because I am a native mid-westerner and as a child beach meant travel and money. Not so for North Carolinians. There's camping and vacation rentals. . . . and no plane necessary.  Many people all over the world live near water.  But to me, having a beach house is a luxury, even a house that is a cottage and not a starter-castle-cum-rental house.  One where I climb the stairs three flights to the upside-down living/kitchen area.  Where the decking could use repair and new windows (and maybe even an elevator) would be an improvement.  But one that everyone in the family seems to enjoy.  The shed is filled with sand toys and boogie boards that we didn't buy.  When we come down, some nephew or son-in-law has installed a new smoke detector or water filter, replaced the rafts or left a new blender.  The towels are folded and my husband's elaborate "exit procedure" has been followed.  I hope that some of the family sometime find their favorite self here. 

When we read something, even a great novel, I think that what we want is to move from the specific to the universal.  How does this personal story of someone else fit me?  So this simple question is now for you.  When/where do you feel like your favorite self?  The answering I guarantee will bring back your  memories, your thoughts about where you are and what you are doing when you like yourself best.  I know that I picked somewhat common things.  I did not say my favorite self is when making the world a better place, an ambition I'm not sure I can handle.  But our times of life are different.  Where are you now in your life?  It's a good question.  And when do you feel like your favorite self?  

Sending you the best, Nina Naomi 

 

 

 

 

 

OUT MY WINDOW

Old World Swallowtail 

There's a butterfly on my lantana, yellow and black

On tiptoe angling this way and that

 A little pollen brushing her hair-thin legs.

Proboscis probing for sweet nectar

Drinking through her own straw, savoring her liquid diet.

A quick flutter to another bloom, another landing pad

Of lantana clusters, so brightly attractive. 

On her hind wings blue spots barely there.

Twisting and turning

 Gathering every drop of the divine drink of the Gods.

Lonely my geraniums sit, velvet red but nectar-poor, ornamental only.

But lantana, it has work to do feeding the lovely lepidoptera

Out my window where I write. 

  

Black Swallowtail