A LIFE THAT TAKES ITS TIME, PART II

"Do Your Best to Enjoy Today"

After all why not?  Why would we ever put NO EFFORT into enjoying our day? We owe ourselves that much.  This week a friend made room for four of us on her patio.  With all the time now to tend and putter at home, her garden was perfect.  Shady, weeded, bursting with color (bright blue hydrangeas), with paths, stone borders and a bubbling fountain.
 

Blue Hydrangea

We all got caught up on how we're coping and who we're missing.  A needed break from the news cycle, which is worse than it has been in many of our lifetimes.  (I'm not going to talk about the disconnect between our president congratulating himself while we have the highest death tally in the world . . . Well, OK, but that one sentence is it.) 

Last night other friends with a lovely back garden, au naturel with volunteer seedlings, wild violets and a hodge podge of paving stones, brick and weathered concrete, had us over.  I feel grateful. 

 

Then this afternoon I went back to Irene and Astrid's A Book that Takes its Time ("A Life that Takes its Time," 6/17/20) and came across these lines from a poem by Octavio Paz (1914-1998), winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature 1990:

  "All is visible and all elusive,

 all is near and can't be touched. . . . 

Time throbbing in my temples repeats 

the same unchanging syllable of blood.

. . .                 

Motionless, 

I stay and go:  I am a pause."

               Between Going and Staying

I think this feels like now. I too am a pause some days.  Things can seem near but unreachable.  The poem is bittersweet. 

Then this: 

   Solitude is the profoundest fact of the human condition. Man is the only being who knows he is alone. 

This charming book also has a chapter on why we might want to leave our comfort zones.  The author, journalist Caroline Buijs, writes that everyone needs to go on having new experiences if only because they make our lives seem longer.   I never thought of that as a reason for new experiences. Of course, we've all had to postpone many of our anticipated ventures for this year.  But I think it's true that we have also found ways to expand our worlds and that having time to think is something we can use to our advantage. 

I like some of our new habits: entertaining just a few friends at a time and outdoors; shopping quickly and less often; more time with the person I love. Many of us even like having fewer choices. We're all finding new ways to cope with uncertainty, some quite simple like today:  Saturday afternoon skillet-popped corn and a movie.  I hope you're enjoying your day too. 

Midsummer Geranium

  

   

  

A LIFE THAT TAKES ITS TIME

Somehow we believe  our lives are more worthwhile when we do as much as possible.  There must be research on this.  Our Puritan heritage?  The status of busyness?  For many, most of the day is planned time. True for me for most of my life. 

I was given a lovely present, A Book that Takes its Time by Irene Smit and Astrid Van Der Hulst.  It seems like the perfect present for these days.  In North Carolina coronavirus cases are still rising and my life is the most unhurried it has ever been.  Same with the rest of our family.  On-line summer art classes; working from home; child care; walking the dogs; weighing who we can visit with and where.  The children have been told that Fall semester will be distance learning again.  So although life is crazy there is also more time to breathe.  Right now my husband and I are sheltering at the beach where nothing much needs doing.  I hope your mind has a chance to clear too.  

This book has pull-outs, punch-outs and fill-ins.  Among them are 48 Notecards on which to write a Beautiful Moment.  

I love filling these in.  I went back in time for some moments, ones that are precious.  Like, May 2005:  my son calling to say "No son ever loved a mother more than I love you."  (That may be my lifetime #1.)  Another from May 2005:  when I told my mom, "Mom, we have no issues," and it was true, always true.  

Other simpler recurring Beautiful Moments:  my husband making my morning tea; sunset from our Adirondack chairs;  when I hear the words, "Hi Grandma."   I wrote one today.  "Today I found 20 Augers!"  Those little predatory marine sea snails that leave a spiral shell that resembles a slender screw or an auger.  I like to think it takes a trained eye to spot that many in the piles of broken shells left after the tide recedes. 

Today's Treasures

I have a large decorative bottle full that belonged to my mother.  I imagine her bending and picking up each one, then washing it and dropping it through the narrow mouth into the bottle. 

If you have some time, try remembering your Beautiful Moments.  Where could you keep them?  On craft paper in a tin or jar?  Part of taking care of ourselves.

There's also a chapter in the book by Lissette Thooft (Dutch writer, b. 1953) about another way to live more slowly.  It has to do with waiting for things--sort of like we are now.  Waiting to see friends, waiting to travel, waiting to hug each other when greeting, waiting for a vaccine, for normalcy, in America waiting for the presidential election . . . .   While our waiting now is nothing any of us particularly want, in general, experts say,  anticipation is good for us; anticipation produces dopamine, the chemical that makes us feel good.  Things and experiences gain value when we wait for them.  We've all noticed that haven't we?  What we may have taken for granted 6 months ago we now yearn for. 

The instant gratification we've become accustomed to may be a form of greed.  I know I can get almost angry just watching my computer buffer.  Perhaps patience is a kind of generosity  People who can have whatever they want as soon as they want it may end up feeling empty and disappointed (or in debt). Waiting for something good may bring us greater satisfaction.  The quiet enjoyment of a goal reached.  It may make us realize that life is worth waiting for.  

More on this charming book later.  

 






    



  

  














 

TODAY, A DAY OF NOURISHMENT

Some days I wake up and think no news, just the good stuff.  Admittedly that's easier at the beach.  More good stuff here.  For most of today the sea and sky were the same steely gray.  Nothing wrong with that.  Now it's brighter and there's a horizon in view.  

So what good thing to do on a gray day with an hour or two home alone?  I wrote.  I'm taking part in a clinical study sponsored by Duke Integrative Medicine on the benefits of expressive writing in a time of crisis.   I hadn't before keyed into the idea of expressive writing as writing just for ourselves.  Wide-open, so to speak, about our feelings and emotions rather than factually writing about events, memories, objects or people.  Of course the events, memories, etc. are there, the underpinnings of our feelings.  Our feelings and emotions are about something. 

I didn't write today as part of the study; that writing is only done together, in a weekly 90-minute Zoom session with professionally designed prompts.  But like that writing, this would be read by no one but me. 

One psychologist says that writing can sometimes be better for our mental health than seeing a therapist.  Not sure about that, but I get her point.  It can be hard to be vulnerable and honest with another person, any person. Too many layers, too much background, too expensive, too exposed, possibly hurtful . . . .  But writing what no one else sees can be as honest as our minds are capable of.  A way to process experiences, stressors and thoughts that costs not one penny.  If we're writing about something that bothers us, it's out of our head and on the paper.  I suppose we could even take the paper, fold it up and put it somewhere if we wanted a symbolic action of removal. 

If we're writing our feelings of gratitude, how much more vivid they become when we search and tag our lives for the things that buoy us.  Professionals say that writing improves our immune systems as well as our minds.  I know that I immediately become calmer when I open my Prayer Journal--I remind myself of Pavlov's dogs (or my own):  stimulus/response.  My breathing slows, my body settles in the chair.  Yoga, mindfulness, exercise, prayer, writing, nature, meditation--all benefits to mind, body and spirit.  What else?

So today has been a day of nourishment.  Like the balance I wrote about a couple of days ago ("A Crazy Balanced Life, Even Now," 6/8/20).  The news will be there tomorrow.  For today, writing, a healthy lunch, walking the dog in the rain, publishing this post . . . and it's still early.  I hope all is going well for you too.                          
                                                        Nina Naomi

PS.  "If someone you love, real or imaginary, were feeling just as you are, what encouragement would you give them?"  It's an awesome prompt!  Write for 10 minutes. 

"NO MAN IS AN ISLAND"

It's one of those days again, one of those uniquely American days when a death has been caused by unjustified violence.  ("Another Week of Shootings," 8/4/19)  Just when we were feeling like maybe our emotions could handle the pandemic better than we had hoped.  Just when we had our new routines down and were finding our balance.  

Not a shooter this time, but a police officer pressing his knee into the back of the neck of a man in handcuffs lying face-down on the ground.  Pressing with his full weight while the man pleaded: "Please.  I can't breath." Over and over.  Pressing for at least 5 minutes until there was no pulse.  Then 3 minutes more. Inexplicable. The whole world by now has seen the videos.  The man who was killed was black, the officer white.  This happened on Monday, Memorial Day.

While the rest of us were improvising our holiday, Derek Chauvin had George Floyd pinned to the asphalt, crushed under the weight of this officer who had a history of conduct complaints.  Mr. Floyd was being arrested for suspicion of spending a counterfeit $20 bill at a deli, a misdemeanor.  Minneapolis is angry.  So are other communities.  The Third Precinct where Chauvin worked was burned last night.  Tonight the protestors kneel with hands raised and chant "George Floyd, George Floyd."  But the CNN building in Atlanta is being defaced as I write.  Protest is our right.  Property damage is not.  Everything is complicated.  Nothing is simple. The protestors are all colors but more young than old.  Many wear homemade masks in lieu of social distancing.  More of the strangeness of the times. 

Only a few of us can remember the 5 days of riots in Watts, Los Angeles in 1965; a few more the beating of Rodney King by police in 1992.  Today Chauvin was charged with murder.   

Why talk about this?  Or about the milestone of 100,000 people in the United States dead from the coronavirus? (We reached that grim number yesterday at 3:40 pm with a death in Illinois.)  After all, as long as we don't live in Minneapolis, as long as we aren't sick with the virus, I'm not impacted very much.  My granddaughter's  school team won 1st place in "Battle of the Books" today; I did Zoom Yoga; my husband got some work done.  We carried on. 

Of course we know why.  "No man is an island," as John Donne said way back in 1624. He was right.  We don't want a racial divide.  We don't want police brutality.  We don't want our buildings burning.  We don't want to pass a virus to our neighbors.  We don't want hungry children.  We want safe neighborhoods, full stomachs and good health.  And we want it for all of us.  I remember an old song sung by Helen Reddy,  You and Me Against the World.  But that's not really what our lives are like. Let's look instead at the meditation by John Donne:

"No Man is an Island" 
No man is an island entire of itself; 
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, 
Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,
as well as any manner of thy friends or of thine own were; 
any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
it tolls for thee.   
MEDITATION XVII
John Donne

                                      From Nina Naomi

WHAT CONSOLES US?

2020 "Anything but Ordinary"

I've been tracking the coronavirus in my collage art.  It's a way of coping.  Everyone I hear from seems to share a way of coping or two.  Most include a little binge watching of something.  Baking, which I'm not good at, could win a contest.  My family plans to social distance with two other families, three cars and several canoes today.  But for me, collage art helps me both be creative and mourn.  

We're at such poles, aren't we?  Yesterday in a message thread I responded that the peace we're sharing would be so lovely if it weren't for the threat of a deadly virus.  We're, most of us, working hard at our resilience.  Maybe, like I wrote in "Life at a Deeper Level," 11/22/19, rather than return to where we were, post-traumatic growth will take hold.  Do you see some of that?  Changed priorities, a greater sense of personal strength, spiritual growth.

"Still Home but OK"

Most days I feel like this:  Still home but OK.  But sometimes I wonder why we have no national mourning.  Finally the New York Times, as we approach a death-toll of 100,000 in the US, listed their names.  Finally--but only because it's Memorial Day weekend--the flags are at half-staff.  As we cheer the hospital workers, I wish we would also collectively honor the dead.   

On those days when maybe we don't feel so much like we're OK, it may be because we identify with those who have lost someone. It isn't you; it isn't me; but it is someone.  Someone who couldn't take one more breath. That makes us the lucky ones.  I do feel that every day I'm not sick, don't you?  Lucky.

May 1 "Mapping Your World" 63,535 confirmed dead

In May I started to incorporate the number who have died in the US into my collage art.  Sort of to allow pause to pay my respects.  
 

May 14 "Light the Candles" 86,599 confirmed dead

May 23  98,182 confirmed dead

We go on.  I'm (thankfully) not in charge of anything. My neighbor is an internationally known leader in vaccine development.  God bless his team.  Other people are planning for safe schooling in the fall.  Many are trying to make ends meet at half-capacity . . . .  The people I know aren't the ones mingling in crowded pools with no thought for tomorrow. 

My job is among the easiest.  Stay home or wear a mask when out, safe-distance, wash my hands and take every precaution I can not to catch or spread this disease.  Be kind and show love at every opportunity. In that way can I respect and honor the dead and the living.  This consoles me.  I hope your role consoles you too.  Peace, Nina Naomi

THREE PRAYERS FOR THE PANDEMIC

Abbey of Gethsemani, Trappist, KY

This gate to a private part of the Abbey where Trappist Monk Thomas Merton (1915-1968) lived reminds us to rely upon God alone.  To God alone be the Glory.  But what it makes me think of is that God may be alone, but we are not.  You may have seen these prayers, but like many good things, they bear repeating.  The first one was chosen by a member of my church for the daily parishioner devotions that we began when gathering became unsafe.  See if these don't resonate with you.

May we who are merely inconvenienced
Remember those whose lives are at stake.

May we who have no risk factors
Remember those most vulnerable.

May we who have the luxury of working from home
Remember those who must choose between preserving their health or making their rent. 

May we who have the flexibility to care for our children when their schools close
Remember those who have no options.

May we who have to cancel our trips
Remember those who have no safe place to go.

May we who are losing our margin money in the tumult of the economic market
Remember those who have no margin at all.

May we who settle in for a quarantine at home
Remember those who have no home.

As fear grips our country, let us choose love.

During this time when we cannot physically wrap our arms around each other,
Let us yet find ways to be the loving embrace of God to our neighbors.

AMEN

This prayer is by Cameron Bellm, a Seattle mother of two and a member of her local Catholic parish.  The next one is more traditional and is from the Anglican New Zealand Prayer Book (1988).


For People Facing Great Uncertainty
God of the present moment,
God who in Jesus stills the storm and soothes the frantic heart;
bring hope and courage to your people as we wait in uncertainty.
Bring hope that you will make us the equal of whatever lies ahead.
Bring us courage to endure what cannot be avoided,
for your will is health and wholeness;
you are God, and we need you.

AMEN

I love the direct address to God as "God of the present moment."  That is where I want God to be.  The prayer is a pastoral liturgy to be prayed in crisis situations.  Another, for people watching at a death, begins "God of the Dark Night . . . ."  

One more prayer [with some editing], by the Right Rev. Richard Bott, Moderator (most senior elected official) of the United Church of Canada.  

A Prayer during times of COVID-19
In this time of COVID-19 we pray:
When we aren't sure God, help us be calm;
when information comes from all sides, correct and not, help us discern;
when fear makes it hard to breathe and anxiety seems to be the order of the day God, slow us down;
help us reach out with our hearts when we can't touch with our hands; 
help us be socially connected when we have to be socially distant;
help us love as perfectly as we can, knowing that "perfect love casts out all fear."

For the doctors we pray.
For the nurses we pray.
For the technicians and the janitors and the aides and the caregivers, we pray.
For the researchers and theorists, the epidemiologists and investigators,
for those who are sick and those who are grieving we pray.
For all who are affected all around the world . . .
we pray for safety, for health, for wholeness.

May we feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty,
clothe the naked and house those without homes;
may we walk with those who feel they are alone,
and may we do all we can to heal the sick--
in spite of the epidemic, in spite of the fear.

Help us O God that we might help each other.
In the love of the Creator, in the name of the Healer,
in the life of the Holy Spirit that is in all and with all, we pray.
May it be so.
AMEN

Yes, may it be so.  With care for us all, Nina Naomi

Andrea Del Sarto, Madonna and Child with St. John the Baptist, 1512

 









 

REVERSE BUCKET LIST

Photo by Pia Tryde

I've mentioned that I don't like the term "Bucket List" ("About Awe," 10/18/19), because it refers to "when I kick the bucket," i.e. when I drop dead.  There are some things I'd love to do in the future, wonderful things--trips to take, virtues to acquire, goals to reach, mementos to leave--but every time I make progress toward one of these I don't want to be thinking about the brevity of life.  Ugh!   

Some people, however, make a Reverse Bucket List and that's an idea I like.  A kind of way to gain perspective.  When we're feeling like we're not where we want to be, or haven't achieved enough; when our "bucket list" is becoming intense and making us feel overwhelmed (make partner in my firm; safari in Zambia; write a best-seller; have an HGTV kitchen. . .) the reverse bucket list might be just the thing.  It's an encouragement.  It reminds us what we have accomplished, what we're proud of.  It's a  kind of grateful recounting of what we're thankful for. Obviously a very positive thing to do.  

My first few entries have to do with education.  I'm a bit over-educated (BA, MA, PhD, JD)  My mother was a teacher and that's what she wanted for her children.  My father didn't start college until I did, but he had the same respect for learning.  He became a librarian.  So I have a "Hey-that-course-sounds-great" gene.  As an inheritance goes I can't complain. I made partner in my law firm.  No complaints there either. My other entries have to do with travel.  We did do the safari.  We've started visiting our National Parks (and plan to continue when it's safe). Then there are the more important entries. Raising two children, grandparenting, preserving a loving marriage, being a good daughter. .  . .  Then the psychological entries:  surviving traumas, serious ones; being brave when I needed to be; recognizing wrongs.  

I've sort of listed big things here, at least big to me.  But how we rank things differs by person.  I also love that I began this blog over 3 years ago, do collage art and practice meditation.  Isn't this nicer than feeling bad because I probably (definitely) will never see the Pyramids or Machu Picchu?  Or feeling bad for some other unmet goal?  Zero books published.  Zero any number of things.  Especially these days, who needs feeling bad?  

So I'm recommending the Reverse Bucket List.  Give it any name you want. 
What I've accomplished so far. . .
Things I'm proud of. . .
What I like best about my life. . .
Little things I've done. . .
or just Reverse Bucket List. . .


Little things, big things, any amount of detail or specificity.  Hey, I even feel good for giving myself a haircut and a mani-pedi.  Especially the haircut.  

I haven't been bored during this pandemic and I haven't been lonely.  But I've certainly been anxious.  Are all the people I love protecting themselves?  Some people seem meaner rather than kinder; what can we do about that?  Why aren't we remembering the dead with national days of prayer and mourning?  Shouldn't we scroll their names like we did after 9/11? 

Psychologists say that revisiting positive memories and experiences is good for us.  We become more generous when we're satisfied with our own lives.  We can see the progress we've made.  Our greatest hits, so to speak.  Ten, fifty, any number.  If my mom were alive I'd ask her.  "Mom what do you think are some things I've accomplished?"  She was the best for boosting confidence. 

So take a few minutes to travel down your lane of good memories and see what you encounter.  Whether big milestones or meaningful moments, I bet something good.                       
                                          Nina Naomi

A Good Memory:  Arches National Park, Utah (10/19)