TOO MANY THINGS TO DO

 

I've got too many things to do

On my list, in my head.

Real things, imagined things.

So I've run away to the beach, to the woods, under the covers,

To clear my head of silly lists and chores,

Of memories, disappointments, hauntings. 

That circling spy me out, in a dream.

Wheel upon wheel of interpretations and reinterpretations.

Endless quests to understand 

What Happened and Why.  

Does it matter, still?

Someday. 

Out here beyond the shore, the trees, the bottom of my bed

Is only love.

All within my body, so soft, so forgiving.

Nothing to do but breathe.  

Hydrangeas and White Sky

 

HOUSE IN A WOODS, JULY 2021

 

I live in a house in a woods

With a dog and a spouse.

I wake when I want and sleep when I want,

A gift still new, a surprise each day.

I have deer and woodchucks and hawks, sometimes foxes and bones. 

Birds of a feather come each day.  Squirrels, of course a bane.

Frogs that cling and sing till late, 

At times that narrow fellow in the grass.  

More blessings than I ever dreamed. 

I hope I stay here a long, long time.

I am content.

                                 Nina Naomi

   

JULY CAN BE COZY TOO

 

From bellaGrace, 2020

No thesaurus defines cozy as secure, but that's how I think of it. Because then it can be an all-year feeling.  Then cozy can be a childhood memory, a slow dance in the kitchen, or a space filled with pillows, photos and plants.  It  can be a booth in a place where you're a regular, or even your car tooling along a familiar road to a familiar place.  Security, comfort and contentment are not bound by the seasons; they are feelings we seek and create year-round.  

I began blogging in 2017 when we lived for a semester in an old 3-story brick building in Princeton, NJ.  It was winter and our apartment was on the ground-floor right on the sidewalk.  My husband could walk across the street to teach his classes. Mostly we were snowed-in.  Three small rooms and raging central heat.  Definitely cozy.  It was an un-busy, un-hectic time; no wanting more or feeling dissatisfied.  A perfect time to realize what I wanted to share. 

We can settle into the things we enjoy any time.  Now, in July, it's cool sheets, denim shorts and breezy tops, sometimes a sweatshirt or cotton sweater. Where we live the vines and bushes have exploded and are growing so close to the house that they almost press against the windows, like being snowed-in but by green tendrils.  If you're OK with wading through North Carolina lushness, it's cozy indeed.  

I read something by Teagan Olivia Sturmer, a writer who says, "I find myself drawn to the cozy and simple when things go bad.  And sometimes things can go very bad." (bellagracemagazine.com, 2020) I can identify with that.  Why else would hot tea be my go-to drink?  She also writes that choosing to feel hope is not always easy, but it is always brave.  I can identify with that too.  Giving up is easy; hoping is not. When I've had the choice to bail or do something brave, the bravery has sprung from hope.  

So where are you finding coziness this summer month? Where's your security, comfort and contentment? Is there a place or activity where time stops and you enjoy the ritual of just being you?  Do you paint, write, knit, daydream, run?  Blog?  Is there a time where you can be your own best friend and breathe?  When you are warmed through with contentment? (Can I confess that a nap is cozy?)  How do you capture cozy?               Nina Naomi

  Starra Neely Blade, b. 2003, BellaGrace, 2020

 

 

 

SUMMER STILLNESS

Summer Blooming Local Crepe Myrtle

If there's any time of year that we might leave our worries and our schedules behind, it would be now--summer.  We rent a cabin, set up a tent, open the summer home or hang out in the back yard, sprinkler spinning.  Whatever our summer traditions are, whether from childhood when grandparents and cousins joined in, or newly born, this is when a memory or a yearning kicks in.  

When I was a child, as a school teacher my mother had the summers off.  She stayed outdoors, laundry drying on the line, reading and studying.  She packed me off to summer school classes for enrichment or to the local pool.  I went to Y camps, Vacation Bible Schools of all denominations, and to my grandparents'.  I read books lying on my bed.  We slept al fresco on our upstairs screened porch.  My brother and I rode our bikes everywhere, though not together, he with his friends, I with mine.  It may not sound like stillness, but in a way it was.  Worry-free is its own stillness. I know that now.  

When my children were toddlers we lived in a country parsonage in Illinois.  We had a backyard wading pool and swing set.  I put a hose at the top of the slide to cool the aluminum and the children slid or tummied-first into the pool where the dog waited for them.  Only the cat stood aloof.  I made Kool-Aid popsicles and we dribbled watermelon down our chins.  If you ran through the sprinkler right before bed you could skip your bath.

When my law practice was full-time summer meant swimming after work or over lunch, fewer meetings, an abbreviated court schedule and judges, lawyers and staff on vacation.  Law is a profession that measures workdays in tenths of an hour. It can be a job, like many, where time is brutal. But not in July and August. For eight weeks no one hurries. The  summer pace of law is a respite for everyone, including the clients. 

Now we spend time with grandchildren.  Today returning to her house with my granddaughter, we saw young parents hanging out across the street.  In-arms or belly-wiggling, a gaggle of babies squirmed and reached, blankets and all kinds of toys spread on the grass, moms and dads chatting but at the ready.  Hard work, I know, but what great neighborhood camaraderie!

If you haven't had the chance to take advantage of summer, there's still time. Slow down.  Leave the clutter, make no-cook meals with all those fresh veggies at the market or in your garden, grill some fish, kick off your shoes as soon as you get home.  Put no demands on anyone, especially yourself.  You know what works best.  

I almost feel nostalgia for last summer when we had so many friends for patio visits, separate chip-and-dip bowls and long conversations, albeit six feet apart. With everything outdoors we could let the inside go. To combat the stress, we were easy on ourselves.

I want to carry over some of that summer stillness to now.  To listen to it--the cicadas at night, the Cardinals at daybreak, your favorite warm-weather music. The sounds of children, of water splashing, of bare feet running in the house . . . .  To feel it--the heat and humidity, yes, but also the fresh breezes and cool rain.  Dewy mornings, sunny afternoons, shaded eyes, air-conditioned cars . . . . To touch it--dragonflies gently perched on your hand, combing wet hair.  What says summer to you?  Maybe the stillness is not so much external, but is in our hearts as we pause and appreciate the season. As my yoga teacher says while we settle, waiting her guidance, "Take a breath . . . ."                           

                                                       Nina Naomi

 

 

 

JOURNEY OF SELF-PERCEPTION

I used to think the journey of self-perception was only for the young.  When our son was around college age, his future and how it might unfold was of constant interest to him.  I loved that he saw himself as God's creation and wonder, the essence of hope and possibility.  We had conversations that felt like stargazing.  

When he and his sister were small, gazing at my own stars seemed remote.  It took awhile to discover that this is a journey open to all ages. Our whole life can be an exploration.  As long as we live, we're never out of chances to change our lives. 

My father changed his life when he (and I) began college.  He took Freshman English and five years later had his degree.  He changed his life again when he moved to the coast, and again when my mother died; after a lifetime of shyness he embraced communal living.  My brother became a second-career award-winning artist of abstract expressionism. My mother earned her Ph.D. at age 49. She loved that her high school history students called her "Doc." My own law practice didn't begin until I was 39, with children aged 12 and 13.  All this change entailed sacrifice; but somehow my parents figured out (and passed it on) that

if you don't sacrifice for what you want, 

what you want becomes the sacrifice.  

Kind of an intuitive idea that should be part of all of our journeys of self-perception, don't you agree?  Belongs in bold. 

We know that it's harder to change when we focus on what we have to give up rather than what we have to gain. I've run across that as a mantra in the work of Annie Grace, a leader in helping people who wish to examine their relationship with alcohol.  But the idea is everywhere.  We've also heard the saying by Norman Vincent Peale (1898-1993), minister and guru of positive thinking,

Change your thoughts and you change your world.

Interesting how something so simplistic (though not easy) can be true. We know how dependent happiness is upon our mental state.  If we can lessen ruminations on the past and cravings for the future, we leave room for present satisfactions to soar.  

I've written about reframing in Healthy Attitudes, Part XVI, June 25, 2021.  The death of my child can take all meaning from my life or I can live in a way to honor that child.  "May his memory be a blessing." We have the power to take the worst experience imaginable and find the grace to thrive.  This too is not easy and for me takes God's help, daily. Stars shine only in the darkness. 

Let us continue our journey.  

In peace, Nina Naomi

 

 

HEALTHY ATTITUDES ( "HELP, I'M OFF-KILTER")

 

A serious topic:  Do you ever wake with existential dread?  Existential dread may be too strong a phrase.  But depression, anxiety, regret, lack of motivation . . . each can be a sign of existential dread.  We may question things we have been doing in a rote way. We may question purpose and meaning.  Or we may simply feel anxious, off-kilter, needing to get up! and start our day.  Losses, age, health concerns, death, almost any important life change can be a trigger. This seems to be a part of life. 

For me, sometimes after a lovely day or night a painful thought will re-emerge, triggered I suppose by the knowledge that security and happiness are not givens. They can, and have, been attacked in unexpected ways. My father always said that the things that set you back are never what you were worried about.  That's pretty much true for me.

What can we do about this? Losses, age, health concerns and death aren't about to reverse.  Only our attitudes, our feelings are open to change.  Example:  We are getting older each year.  Can we feel good about that?  Amazingly, most days I can. I love the knowledge that age brings. I've experienced growth after trauma.  I love my life.  

We watched the Academy Award winning movie "The Father" last night with Anthony Hopkins playing the role of a brutally deteriorating Alzheimer's patient. This is not in my family history.  At 82 my mother made thoughtful end-of-life decisions.  My father lived without cognitive deficits until he died at age 94.  But we have a dear friend who is at the beginning of this decline; and an in-law's father has "good" days when he remembers which of his children is visiting. So this is not merely academic, for any of us. There's a new drug for Alzheimer's, but no one can actually say that it's promising. 

Plainly, any of us can veer into negative thinking.  After all, we're still in a pandemic. Plus, research shows that we overlearn from negative experiences but underlearn from positive ones. (Well, that's unfair!)  And that women are more likely to ruminate than men. (Maybe because women are victims of more traumatic experiences and fears than men? I don't see this considered.)  

So when I come across what we might call positive-thoughts-about-negative-things, I'm intrigued.  More than that:  I pounce on them. Anecdotes, medical articles, clinical studies, Bible passages, self-help classes . . . .  Surely that's one reason I get Mindful.org in my inbox each day, along with Greater Good Science Center (greater@berkeley.edu) and the Smiling Mind Meditation App.  It's why I took part in an expressive writing clinical trial for crisis management. And keep a Prayer Journal.

Experts agree that happiness often comes from within.  And that there are ways to encourage it. One is knowing that when someone does something bad to you, it's not about who you are, but who they are.  If you're bullied, or belittled, or assaulted, it's because of who the bully is, or the criminal, not you.  If the experience is closer to home and you're betrayed or humiliated by someone you know, it's about their need or weakness, not about you. 

Another way is to let negative thoughts run their course.  Like all thoughts, they come and go.  Acknowledging our pain is not an indulgence.  It's a stepping back so that the pain is not our whole self.  Thankfully, this helps even when the loss is what we call unbearable.  We find that we have borne it. As I'm believing that a hurt is too heavy, I become used to the weight. 

A third way to encourage happiness, or at least relief, is to reframe our stories. If I have to act to correct a situation that should not have happened, I can concentrate on my bravery in so doing. That's why we talk about survivors of sexual assault rather than victims. If we think we won't recover from a loss--of a person, a marriage, trust, self-esteem--we can reframe with something more accurate:  this is going to be very, very difficult.  It may take some time.  I may need help.

This is a big topic.  But I find just thinking about this challenging and interesting.  And writing about it, like expressive writing is said to do, improves my attitude.  I hope reading does the same for you, provokes thoughts about your life, how you want to cope, where you've been and how far you've come.  Introspection can be part of loving ourselves which helps us love others.  I almost feel like this is a sort of prayer.  Or at least thoughts guided by an unspoken prayer.  So I'll say it:  Amen 

  

 

 

  

SUMMER SOLSTICE → LOVING IT ALL!

June 21, 2016, 11:41 PM, Crowden Park, Fairbanks, Alaska

The longest day is tomorrow.  Five years ago to the day we were in Fairbanks, Alaska for the longest day.  Our most memorable summer solstice ever. Well, to be honest, many years the day passes without our notice.  I wish now that when we lived in England we had paid more attention; the summer evenings are so leisurely that far north. You can enjoy the theatre and if you live in central London, walk home in daylight.  One year we were in Norway, days even longer, taking pictures on a midnight hike of sheep grazing, then falling into a brief sleep as day turned to dusk then to day again.  No night at all.

In Fairbanks we went to the traditional minor league baseball game that begins at 10 pm, no lights needed.  When it ended we realized we had no way back to our cabin; the shuttle stops on its own schedule. Two women offered us a ride in their hatchback; grateful, we accepted.  One problem: we had to ride in the dog kennel, which took up the only available space.  Bent over we crawled in and smelled like dog by the end of the ride. Somehow this is a wonderful memory.

Atlantic Beach, North Carolina

This year we are at the beach doing pretty much nothing.  Not enough to create a lasting memory but nowhere else I'd rather be.  Biking, blogging, shelling, collage-making, cooking, walking Mr. Wiggles . . . all with a view. It's a vacation. 

I've also been thinking about ways to enjoy the rest of the summer, when the heat gets over-whelming, as it does in North Carolina: sand hot enough to blister, asphalt on fire, humidity soaking even the flimsiest tops, instant melt.  A sort of Heat Hacks of the day list, more tried-and-true than new: 

Come in from the heat; enjoy the air-conditioning.  Or if you've been avoiding all fresh air, do something outside and then come in and enjoy the air-conditioning.  The contrast feels great.

Sit, lie, twirl under a fan; children love fans.  Did you ever sit in front of a fan as a kid?  I did.  With my body itching from poison ivy, my mother would douse me in Calamine and plop me just inches from our floor fan.

If you can, watch a movie only you want to see.  On a weekend this is luxurious; on a weekday pure decadence.

Play a board game, or cards, with the children.  The only exertion is laughter.

Spread lotion on your parched skin; do the same for a child.

Pour something alcohol-free over ice, add lemon, and drink it down; make a glass for someone else.

Pile your hair up.

Keep your shoes off, wear a cami and something loose, anything .

Put out some nectar. Admire a hummingbird.  Be glad we don't have to move that fast.

Give the plants a drink.  If you're watering outdoors, soak your feet too.  Or legs, or whole self. 

Stretch every which way, high, to the right, to the left, arms, neck, torso, hamstrings . . . .

Cool off the dog with a nice bath, even if he's not in the mood.  Talk to him lovingly.  These aren't called dog days for nothing. 

Read, of course read, and write.

And the most obvious: wild swim, pool swim, hose-down, any wet choice at all.  And if skinny-dipping is an option . . . well there you go.

On the longest day, especially if you too have some time off, who knows how many or few ways you might decide to spend your daylight.