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

IMPERFECT YEAR, IMPERFECT PHOTOS

Do you love snapping photos?  These are from the past ten months or so--imperfect photos snapped by their imperfect photographer.  Imperfection is part of our precious, challenging, heartfelt lives (see Post, January 14, 2024), isn't it?   

 

The first picture is of a mild dusting in January with deer just waking on the slope behind our patio, heads turned toward me, instantly alert.  The bit of sky above is sunless.  More snow came later.  Oh what a better photographer (with a better camera) would have done with this scene!

 

This has been a year when we look to our own lives, our own homes, travels, friends and family for respite.  A year when we fight harder for our democracy. Luckily, for many of us, the pleasures of home are abundant.  

 

This photo is of an approaching spring storm at the North Carolina shore.  I was walking on the sand at the time and turned back toward the path I would have to navigate to safety.  I can't remember if I made it home without getting soaked.  These fearsome clouds come often at the beach and catch us unawares.  A tumbling darkness. Better to watch from indoors. What if lightening flashes?

Earlier, just before the January snowfall, we hosted a holiday supper and I got out my Spode Christmas china which you see below.  I come from a family of women who love ceramics.  I have inherited my grandmother's 7-piece place setting for twelve of formal china. Casseroles with lids, sugar and creamer, large and small platters, gravy boat, fruit and soup bowls, butter and desert plates, cups and saucers . . . .  More than I have ever needed, but love having nevertheless. 

Someday it will end up at a consignment shop, I am sure.  Probably no grandchild or niece will want it.  What do we do with all these wonderful old things that we have inherited?  Not worth much, actually, these days, but family memories, heirlooms.  I may be their last custodian.  Is that true for you of anything? Do you have a quilt, men's pocket watch, or old work bench or desk?  Something your grandfather used every day? 

I also have china from the St. Louis 1904 World's Fair which my Grandmother visited as a small child, Bavarian vases and tchotchkes.  Maybe cost her mother pennies, but precious to me. But the Spode Christmas pattern you see below, I collected myself.  Replacements Ltd is just down the road here in North Carolina.  My husband gave me a whole Christmas tea set one year and that began my collection.  So here it is, set out for a party. There's some of my great-grandmother's cut glass in there too.  Some I've already passed on to my daughter.

From the bare trees in the next photo you can tell that the shot below is of a winter sunset from our meadow looking back to the woods.  A February evening. The colors kept spilling, red to blue to purple to pink. Shouldn't we seek out the daily sunsets more often? Or sunrises? Everyday the sky is a gift, right out our window and door.  Free to all.  I can get lost scrolling sunset pictures; or zinnias; or hummingbirds.  Instead, I need to promise myself to go out every night to see the sun fall and the moon rise. When Mr. Wiggles was alive, this was so much easier as he needed his last walk before bed.  (Another reason to have a dog!)  It takes but a minute to salute the end of the day with a bow to the moon or stars.  

Another December photo below is from the past year.  We often attend Duke University Chapel for services.  It is a Gothic masterpiece, with a majestic Flenthrop organ and a magnificent choir.  Visit if you can.  On this day the poinsettias were arrayed for the season.  On Christmas eve when the students are gone, a community choir leads the congregation in Nine Lessons and Carols.  One year my father and I joined the singers, when he still had his high tenor voice and I my first soprano.   

This too, below, is a favorite photo: a soft Alpaca blanket my sister-in-law and brother gave me for Christmas.  The pillow cover we picked up in Santa Fe, New Mexico. No souvenir travels better.  So I made a cozy spot.  How many such do you have in your home?  We don't have a rocking chair, but that would be comfy too.  

You can tell that with the heat of August, somehow I am thinking about winter! And storms.  Probably because we hit over 90F again today.  My plants needed water, in ground and in pots and I gave all a thorough soaking.  I hope the heat will bring rain tonight.  In a month or two I can get out my blankets, light a fire indoors or out, and rely on the crock pot for supper.  

But until then, thank you for looking at these photos and thinking with me about your year too.  

With gratitude, Nina Naomi 

 

MIDSUMMER BLESSINGS

 

Midsummer On the Patio

Again, Family this weekend.  What a blessing.  nephew and wife and three nieces, granddaughter and us.  Also daughter-in-law.  A full house.  Tomorrow a grandson arrives, probably just for the day.  And today is my free day, also welcome. I didn't have to make the drive down I-95 or I-40 to see any of these loved ones. Just plan some meals and go with the flow. How did I get so lucky? 

I think it is because we live in an old mid-century house large enough to host; that's surely part of it.  Also North Carolina Beaches have their attraction for New Jerseyans.  I got to do crafts with almost-nine-year-old Lily all day yesterday.  We used shoe boxes and made bedrooms.  

One of our New Jersey nephews whom we seldom get to see, has Tourette's Syndrome, like our son Adam, who died from cancer at age 33 many years ago. This boy spent Saturday with his grandma Mimi and Grandpa Da cooking peach specialties and hitting golf balls.  Just what a boy with Tourette's needs--one-on-one time with a grandma and Grandpa who are unfazed by his tics.  Adam spent many a day with my husband's mother when he didn't want to go to school.  Tics are exhausting and controlling them even more so.  I used to walk with my arm tucked around Adam's neck to support his head, which was painfully jerking, a hard memory . . . . I wish we got to see this boy more. 

Was your midsummer weekend OK, or good, or difficult? Classes start for our college kids this Monday.  In North Carolina college students have to take a sport.  Our niece took walking last year! Our granddaughter is taking racket sports, starts tomorrow.  Our son, all those years ago, at 6'4" took gymnastics! Our church sponsors a ministry of listening presence.  Last week my care-receiver said that she likes her life just the way it is.  Since she is mostly bed-ridden in a nursing home, her comment might have surprised me. But she is a person cradled in the peace of God that passes all understanding.  Maybe I am too.  Maybe there is no way else to account for so many good days for a mother who lost a son to cancer.  Maybe our nephew will be such a person, cradled in the peace of God, growing up with his tics in a way that gives him empathy for others and compassion for himself.  

Spending time with family who all love each other despite setbacks, some almost unimaginable, does this--makes one thoughtful and grateful.  And a grandson tomorrow, who will soon return to St. Andrews, Scotland for his last year at University.  These are my midsummer blessings.  I hope with all my heart that you have yours.    In peace, Nina Naomi  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ARE YOU OLDER LIKE ME?

 

Collaging

Collaging

I retired in 2014.  From a 30+ year litigation practice that involved depositions, motions, hearings, trials and travel.  My concentration was plaintiff's medical malpractice:  representing people injured through no fault of their own by the medical care they trusted to help them.  I won my cases;  or more accurately, my clients won their cases and I helped them.  Each patient was catastrophically injured by a hospital or doctor that failed to follow acceptable standards of care.  Most of my clients were children.  I worried endlessly that I might not win for them; l might lose their only chance of recovering enough money to care for them for life.  Thank you Lord that did not happen.  It might sound strange to thank the Lord, but I did pray about every case.  I would sit on my office floor with exhibits spread about and pray.  I didn't want to go to court alone.  

Somehow most of the cases settled before a jury verdict.  The insurance company defending indefensible care decided that their risk was high enough to offer us the money we needed to structure a settlement that provided lifetime care.  I never had a dissatisfied client.  (I do know that that sounds like a humble brag.) We always remembered that this was a child's money we were risking, not our own.  It was a heavy burden for any parent.  

So when the time came, I retired.  Every case took at least three years, and I simply stopped taking cases.  When the last one ended, I was through.  

We have a relative whose brother-in-law died of a massive coronary on the day his retirement party was scheduled.  He wanted a healthy retirement but did not get it.  He was younger than I was when I retired.  Younger than my husband when he retired.  My husband is an academic and keeps writing.  He has stopped anything public.  I do nothing law related.  How about you, if you are retired? Are you doing the things you didn't have time for when working full-time?  I am.  

I began this blog in 2017, 3 years after retirement.  I began a prayer journal the same year after a traumatic event.  I just noticed that I began my collage journalling in 2019 and now have 6 huge notebooks filled with my collages.  They are journals in that they track my life; like diaries, they mean the most to me and no one else.  But they bring me great pleasure; a flow state, if you will. My craft table is filled with material for the journals. What else?  Now I have time to swim every day; our pool is heated, although right now in North Carolina the temperatures are in the 90s and no heating is needed.  We can go to the beach when we want.  We can have family visit, here and at the beach.  A ton are coming in just a few hours for the weekend.  We could travel, but it seems we want to do that less than we expected.  

The first benefit of not working is emotional freedom, as other retirees know.  We still have family-related stresses, and personal health concerns.  All those over 60 do, it seems.  A close friend fell recently.  Some other close friends have died, almost always from cancer. We are less needed than before; irrelevance is something to face.  But there are upsides.  I can focus on God more.  Spiritual concerns become more front and center. When I was working full time I could never have joined a book club or knitting group. Or taken a pottery class, or yoga on Wednesdays. One couple and we have our own supper club; we eat out together.  We have three or four couples we see regularly.  A friend and I have found a vegan restaurant called Pure Soul for lunches. I have time to write devotions for our church, which started during the pandemic (Somehow I want to capitalize that:  Pandemic.).

So many people are doing more than I am.  In fact, before I began this post I was thinking about whether all this introspection was worthwhile at all.  Whether I should be helping refugees or providing free legal services, and so on. But then I look up at a pottery hanging I did:  "NOTHING IS MISSING.  YOU ARE ALREADY WHOLE." 

Thank you.  I like this.  I think I will believe it.  You too.  Time to believe this.  Whether retired, employed or unemployed (hard), go ahead and believe this. 

In peace from Nina Naomi.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I WAS A STRANGER, AND YOU DEPORTED ME"

CHARLES BRIDGE, PRAGUE       On Sunday in our Intercessory Prayers we bowed our heads and remembered the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki; we asked the Lord to "keep us mindful of the horrors of war." We did not ask without reason.  While in our pews we may have recalled parents or grandparents who fought in WWII, more probably we were thinking of current horrors: the US war in Iran, the Israeli war in Gaza, and Putin's war in Ukraine.  Or maybe not; the nightly news has stopped showing us "horrors."  Instead, rising gas prices are featured. How many killed in Tehran or Kyiv or Gaza are not lead stories.       Before the Intercessory Prayers, we read from Psalm 145, "You watch over all those who love you, but all the wicked you shall destroy."  It is hard to come to church, read the Psalms or Gospel, sing the hymns or take communion without contemplating the situation in our beloved country.  It is simply not possible for a practicing Christian to "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil," hands over eyes, ears, and mouth.  Nor do we think that our God wants our heads in the sand.  That would not be the way to follow Christ.  We can state this, I hope, from a position of humility.         Then on Sunday afternoon I read a post (in Substack) by Rev. Benjamin Cremer called Opposing Performative Christianity.  It seemed of a piece with our monthly Sunday School class where we have been discussing Christian Nationalism, among other topics. Historically, the idea may have originated in the theory of the Divine Right of Kings; if a King ruled by God's will, then resisting the monarch could be portrayed as resisting God. In Matthew 15:8-9 Jesus says, "These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.  They worship me in vain; their teachings are merely human rules."  Since Christ's church carries centuries of moral authority, who, seeking power, would not want to align with it?  Even if only performatively, i.e. the easy way, without sacrifice for and obedience to the Word?       Rev. Cremer ends his post with, "May it begin with us."  This reminded me of Rev. Wendy Waugh's endings to her devotions, "Let us be as good as God to others."  In a recent devotion she asked, what is Good News to the poor? It may be a grocery opening in a food desert, she said, or getting a job or finding affordable housing.   Rev. Cremer preached it this way: "I was hungry" and you cut SNAP. "I was thirsty" and you cut funding to ensure clean water. "I was sick" and you cut Medicaid. "I was a stranger" and you deported me. And then the clincher:  "Whatever you do unto the least of these, you do unto me."           Finally, let me cite a few lines written by Wendall Berry (b.1934) in 2004: You mustn't wish for another life.  You mustn't want to be somebody else.  What you must do is this:  "Rejoice evermore.  Pray without ceasing.  In everything, give thanks."  I am not all the way capable of so much, but those are the right instructions Yes, those are the right instructions.  We know the right instructions.  We know the horrors of war cannot be ignored or minimized and that "wars of choice"-- well, yes--such wars may be chosen by those whose "hearts are far from" the Lord.  We know what we must do unto the least of these and that all religions must promote national policies that are moral.  And while we are doing what we must, we rejoice that we are able, we pray for guidance and we in everything give thanks.         We are not all the way capable of so much, but we are capable.  So, every week, let it begin with us.  AMEN   ​​

      

      

 

"AND I WILL RAISE YOU UP. . ."

 

OXFORD, ENGLAND

 I wonder what it's like to be a spirit,

To lift my arms and be a sprite,  floating without visibility.

To be incorporeal.

What it is like to move from mortal life to life immortal.

Do we do this in darkness or in light?

I picture it in light, in a brightness 

Where my intangible self moves in tandem with all of creation, 

Where I do not sit, or lie down, but float, maybe curl and uncurl, waft--

All without pain or feeling anything but weightlessness.  

A sweet remembrance of unearthliness where the world began.

I think my body will be transparent.  

It will be beyond imagining.  

It will not be earthbound.  

It will be lighter than air.  

I don't picture water in this new incorporation.  

Nothing heavy.  No clay or sand or boulders.  

Just hawk-like freedom, hawk-like soaring.  

God holding me up:

"And I will raise you up on eagles' wings,  

Bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun.  

And hold you in the palm of my hand."

This is a promise, isn't it?  

This is a hope and a promise.  

This is a dream and a hope and a promise.  

This is otherworldly by definition.  

We learn its form only from the clouds, only from the breeze, 

Only from the whistle made by the wings of doves as they leave their perch.  

We do not learn it in our minds, but in our hearts,  

In the spirit that has been there since birth.

This is a promise there for everyone, not just me.

For the miner, the teacher, the doctor, the stay-at-home, 

The patient on oxygen, 

The patient whose heart is slowing with little, less,  no time left.

The person whose soul flies from their body to safety,

On an exhale with no intake to follow the out-breath, chest settles, 

Released to the firmament.

No one can give this gift but the Lord.  

But everyone can receive it.  

Christian, Muslim, Jew, atheist, 

Infant, the comatose, the aged, the cancer-riddled,

The baptized, the unbaptized, the unGodforsaken. 

Our spirits will mingle, will rest on one another like dolphins carry their calves, living or not,

With tenderness we will carry one another.

I can breathe this, I can now when I have in-breath and exhale, breathe this in.

I can love this, picture this, believe this, live this, accept this, 

Write it faster than my mind can think.  

This promise, this gift, this spiritual acceptance of God's love, 

This oneness with creation, this blessing, this life as my breath reaches deep within me. 

This ending.

This beginning. 

 

 

 

 

 

WELCOME, AUGUST!

 

A Summer Place

 I'm starting this post waiting for family to arrive for supper.  While working on the weekend's food all day, I've had time to think.  Cooking and thinking go well together, don't you agree?  Just a small group, grandson and partner, brother and sister-in-law and us.  It's a two day drive for my brother from Florida, 2 hours for my grandson from Boone NC.  I feel lucky this hot summer weekend to have family willing take the time for a visit.  Another grandson and his father arrive tomorrow on their way to the beach.  I feel confident about the weekend's plans.  Maybe you're the planner in your family too.

Has August taken you by surprise?  I feel like that often.  How can it be Friday?  Or Monday?  Or June, or July?  One summer we had nothing but sorrow atop sorrow followed by new life; I've written about it before, the summer of 2005 ("January 28 Forever," posted Jan 31, 2026; "The Sundial," posted July 23, 2019).  I hope your summer has been without personal tragedy; but it mayn't have been.  One summer I made discoveries that startled me and landed the ball in my court.  Any day it's your turn or mine, or so it seems. 

Still, midsummer is always welcome.  Recent rainy nights have given this part of North Carolina a lush, tropical feel.  Trees bend over the roadways; purple wisteria and magenta crepe myrtle along with orange trumpet vines leave blossom litter everywhere.  The humidity keeps our skins soft and moist.   For me, it's a languorous time.  Weekend naps, an early evening swim, easier schedules all around.  I know I sound privileged and I am--I'm not working even one job and my neighbor brings us veggies from their garden.  We have enough to eat and gratefully receive our Social Security each month (for which we thank President Franklin Roosevelt who signed it into law in 1935 during what history calls the Great Depression).  

The worry about our democracy is always somewhere on my mind, though.  I begin the day catching the news in the New York Times and The Guardian online.  It's usually not good.  I find positive news too, however, reported in The Dworkin Report, The Contrarians, Heather Delaney Reese, Joyce Vance, and others on Substack.  There I learn about small and large resistance victories.  They are mounting up as we approach the midterms in just 3 months.  So you and I must not lose hope.  Martin Luther King Jr wrote, "We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope."  

There's a good bit of summer left.  Even after the kids return to school, the weather will be summery.  Pools will remain open and parks welcome visitors.  In Durham, Duke Gardens is beautiful year-round.  Seasonal produce in our local Farmer's Market remains abundant, plus honey and soaps and bouquets of zinnias and food trucks.  It's not to be missed.  I bet you have one too.  Are you a vendor?   

I'm ending this post with the weekend over and family on their way.  But summer hasn't left.  It's everywhere.  My pot plants are blooming.  There's enough grass in the woods and meadows that the deer have left us alone.  Enough berries for the birds and squirrels.  Enough grubs for the birds.  Enough pollen for the butterflies.  Enough insects for the frogs and the cicadas are deafening (not exaggerating) every evening.  What a wonderful time.  

I hope you're feeling it too.    In peace, Nina Naomi