Solitaire

When my mom used to visit us after our respective divorces, I could not help but notice how much time she spent playing solitaire. 

 I did not understand it then. 

I did know that when my dad divorced her (to marry his secretary) after 36 years of marriage, Mom almost committed suicide and almost certainly, lost her raison d’être. Or most of it. 

Although she could be funny and charming and graced my life and the lives of my kids with laughter, there was a bone-deep sadness about her that was almost palpable. 

She’s been dead more than 20 years. So why do I think about her – and her games of solitaire now? 

Because I’ve hit my own low ebb recently – saddened and hurt (and angry) about a recent personal experience. 

 And I have become keenly aware of how much computer solitaire I have been playing. 

It used to be a ‘break’ – a quick distraction from whatever I was working on. Then it got to be a bad habit – almost an obsession. Then when I hit an emotional bottom, it almost took over my life. 

At least I was aware enough to stop long enough to try to figure out what was going on. 

 I play four simple games and my computer tells me how many games I have played. Suspecting the worst, I added up the totals. And the total was more than 7,000. That’s over an extended period of time – certainly well over a year, maybe two. But still. 

If an average game takes about five minutes, then I have wasted the equivalent of 24 days of my life. And I don’t have that many days to waste. Indeed, who does? 

Have I become my mother, drifting in a morass of self-pity and loneliness? I don’t think so. Having become aware of what I was doing, I can stop. I will stop. And I will pull myself out of this particular hole. I’ve been in holes before. I know how to do this. 

And I will.

Cat Sandwich

I awoke this morning, aware that a cat was snuggled along my right side, curved up under my arm. I suspected, correctly, that it was Herbie (the world’s cuddliest cat). 

On a prayerful hunch, I moved my left arm out. Sure enough, there was Guinness (not the world’s cuddliest cat) curled up against my side, toward my lower back. 

I was a cat sandwich. 

I spent about the next 15 minutes alternatively caressing my guys, generating sleepy purrs. 

What a lovely, gentle miracle. 

Especially since only 24 hours earlier I had awakened with sickening dread and sorrow believing that the vet would have to put Guinness to sleep because of an incurable, inoperable ailment. 

But when we got to the vet, he said Guinness was getting better, that he’d get a shot that day, then another in two days and be checked again on four days. 

So. I don’t know how much more time we have. Who does? 

But I do know that all lovely, gentle miracles should be acknowledged with gratitude. 

So thanks.

February gifts

The signs are everywhere now. Buds on trees. Tulips spearing through the rumpled earth. Green tints on lawns. Doves in trees. 

Two weekends ago, none of this was true … or at least it was not as noticeable. The only thing that I saw was snow rot (also called snow mold) on my lawn. I spent a good part of a Saturday raking the discolored areas, breaking up what is a fungus so the nascent grass could survive. It was not a thrilling activity. 

The next day, after church, I parked my car in front of my house. Walking up to the front door, I spotted them, across from the ravaged lawn — two lovely white flowers resting low to the ground on large shiny leaves. 

I don’t know what they are. I don’t know if I planted them or if the wind or birds or angels placed them my yard just to cheer me up. 

They’re still there. They have a little competition now but the first will always hold a special place in your heart. Thank you.

Winter's Punctuation

Today will probably be the last for my home's exterior accessories but, lest we forget their beauty, I here commemorate them.

First, from my study window earlier this month.

Then today at the back of my house.

and from my back window.

I welcome the warmth and treasure the memories.

Literary Advantages

Everyone know that books, in whatever form, are among the greatest things there are -- magic carpets to other worlds, other ideas, fascinating people and great beauty.

They are also therapeutic.

If you are sick and have been ordered to rest -- even if you are not so sick that you really want to rest but you know you'd better rest or you will never get over whatever it is you have -- books are essential.

Books can distract you from self-pity -- keep you from straying from the couch or bed and generally keep your brain engaged when you have begun to fear that it will never be engaged again. 

In that regard, among many others, books are infinitely more valuable than television or DVDs -- plus they are easy to 'pause' if you have urgent needs or fall asleep.

So the next time your metabolism goes askew and you are overcome by waves of whatever, go ahead and fluff up your pillows and take whatever pills your healthcare professional prescribes -- as long as you also have a brilliant tome (or two) at hand.

I here testify that the sure cure is the following combination: bed, antibiotics, and books.

It's not over

I have friends who recall their efforts, their marches, their boycotts, their sit-ins and petitions and protests on behalf of civil rights.

They look at me, puzzled. Why are we still talking about this? We did this. It’s over.

But of course it is not over. African Americans are still being shot and/or jailed in disproportionate numbers.

Immigrants are still being expelled – their families torn apart.

Still others are reviled (or worse) because of their particular religion … or because of their sexual orientation. Or gender. Or transgender.

It will probably never be over. So whatever we do to encourage all people to treat all people with respect and compassion is stuff that has to be done.

Perhaps it will always have to be done. So, even if you are tired/exhausted/discouraged … do what you can.

If you happen to live in or near Loveland, Colorado consider coming to the Museum/Gallery at 5:30 p.m. this Thursday, Jan. 21. You will be inspired by Dr. George Sevens’ tribute to Dr. King. It may even encourage you to keep on keeping on.

Celebrating Connections

Discussing Christmas cards, a friend noted that they are beautiful but asked 'what do you do with them?"

I think the answer is that they are like fine dinners. You savor them.

Shortly before Christmas I confessed that I wanted to somehow connect with my entire circle of special acquaintances... whether by snail mail or email or telephone or hugs.

I did pretty well. I didn't reach everyone but most. And I was rewarded with personal and paper and electronic greetings that brightened my days. I propped the tangible ones in a rather haphazard display on a living room shelf.

They made me smile.

Then I almost recycled them.  All except those with family pictures or handmade creations or other qualities that made them keepsakes.

So much for savoring.

Remembering my vow, I rescued some of them from their ecological destination and took a couple pictures.

Okay. So I recycled most of them and these are essentially two photos of the same batch. Still they comprise an almost permanent record of one holiday commitment and a bounty of blessings--
a celebration of connections.

Hallelujah!