Thank you for This One Special Moment

•May 10, 2016 • 6 Comments

This one transient, elusive, special moment filled with;

All the memories and thoughts and joys and sorrow and life experiences that have brought me here to be a part of this one special…

Oops, it’s gone now…

Oh, look! Here’s another one…

Thank you for this one special moment that I may cling to for…

Oops, another one, gone…

Hey! Here’s another!

Thanks for this one special moment that I get to reflect on all the special moments that make up my life.

Note to self:

Moments are brief. Life is short. Be in the moment so you don’t miss it.

Thank you for the Mother of my Invention

•May 8, 2016 • 3 Comments

Over the years, I have observed the relationships between my friends and their mothers (and one very lovely stepmother in the case of Karma, who was fortunate enough to have two good mothers).

I have listened to my friends discuss histories, memories, struggles, lessons, and situations with their mothers that fascinated me, concerned me, and sometimes made me glad I was born to mine.

At other times, I wished I could experience the kind of bond they had, which I can only view from the outside of those relationships.

Watching these women and their mothers has taught me a lot about the nature of Woman.

We start out as little girls with so many needs, and evolve into nurturers from nurturers.

In time, we seem to inevitably become the mother to our mothers.

My own limited experience in the traditional mother/child relationship affords me the opportunity to romanticize, conjecture, and watch with curiosity and amazement, the unfolding mystery of my women friends as they have grown into themselves and became mother to their own mothers.

My mother, through no fault of her own, inspired me to learn this lesson of the “mother role switch” early in life and has gifted me with the life that makes me who I am.

I am thankful for the mother of my invention and the mother in all of us.

Mother Goddess with Child, Uttar Pradesh, Gupta period, 575-625

Thank You for Isolation

•May 3, 2016 • 2 Comments

Painting of Lea Kelley by Jack

Watercolor: Lea Kelley by Jack L.

I’m wondering about our general view of the word Isolation.

Maybe because isolation is associated with loneliness, or quarantines, or separation from the familiar, we are averse to going there.

Maybe isolation looks like tuberculosis or severe depression or seniors who don’t have a car.

When I think of isolation, I see a shiny silver object standing out from a multitude of brass objects.

The word isolation sounds like silence on the prairie, a frozen glass house in a pristine field touched by one ray of sunlight.

Isolation looks like a row boat in the center of a calm lake.

But on the banks of that calm lake is a strong force that keeps pulling the row boat back to shore.

Though I love a solo boat ride on a lake under a full moon, I also like coming back to tell someone how beautiful it was.

We are not meant to be alone for too long, I think.

“Social isolation in both animals and humans can be responsible for a range of psychological effects, including anxiety, aggression and memory impairment,” said Dr. Erminio Costa, director of the UIC Psychiatric Institute.

Extreme isolation or forced isolation can hurt us by making us forget who we are.

But sometimes, if we get the opportunity, we can experience the kind of isolation that heals the overtaxed human and helps us remember who we are.

Everyone knows you have to isolate a problem to fix it.

Isolationism in world affairs means refusing to participate in someone else’s war.

Now, if everyone refused at the same time, that might be good, making war an isolated incident.


The advice of Switzerland’s popular saint, Nicholas of Flüe (1417-87), “Don’t get involved in other people’s affairs” has been the hallmark of Swiss policy for nearly 500 years. The country has in effect been neutral since 1515, a status formally recognised and guaranteed by the great powers of Europe after the Napoleonic Wars in 1815.

So isolationism must not be so bad, eh?

Thank You For Breakfast for Dinner

•May 2, 2016 • 3 Comments

My favorite dinner is breakfast food so I eat breakfast on Australia time.

Who decided what time is a good time to eat a specific food?

I don’t understand the rules about time sensitive food consumption and food combination taboos.

Why are we not allowed to eat meatball sandwiches at 8 am?

Why is it that no one else thinks salad goes well with pancakes?

Why do we refrain from putting fresh peas on top of our ice cream?

Who said cheese and apples with wheat crackers is not a meal?

Why must we adhere to rigid food rules and who made them?

Okay, yeah, the USDA and the American Medical Association spent a lot of time and money to get us away from eating bison for three months of the year or living on nuts and berries in the fall, but I think that whole “Balanced Meal” thing has gone too far.

Dairy corporations, the US Beef and Cattle Industry, and the National Corn Growers association like to keep balanced marketing practices and they got friends in high places who define a balanced meal.

I bet when they all get together for dinner, they just have martinis and olives— or maybe they have vegetarian and vegan food with tofuti for dessert. I can’t know.

I do know there are some things we should not combine for gastrointestinal reasons and some things we should not eat often for obesity avoidance reasons and some things we should not eat at all for fear of death but hey, other than that,  I think it’s okay to eat dessert first.

I also think it would be a whole different culture if the fifties television shows depicted Ward Cleaver’s wife scrambling eggs when he got home from work.

Thank You for the Language of Alone and the Meaningful Crowd

•May 2, 2016 • 4 Comments

There are very few people, no matter how much they love you, who are going to crawl into your coffin with you when you die.

And, unless you are a twin, nobody helped you find your way through the birth canal either.
There are just some things we’ve got to do alone.

There are also some things we can only discover alone.

I exchanged e-mails with a new pal recently in which he stated;
“The universe has emphatically insisted that I learn to enjoy life and find peace, meaning, and happiness, alone, as I am.”

This pal is having difficulty adjusting to aloneness after being in a twenty year relationship into which he naturally wove his sense of identity and meaning.

The transition through lonely, to lonesome, into alone is a very arduous journey for one’s psyche.

It is a path of revelation and discovery that can barely be put into words—it’s emotional and irrational and has a language of it’s own.

Anyone who has spent a lot of time alone, whether by a self induced circumstance, or merely by factors beyond their control, has whispered or screamed in this language of aloneness to themselves.

We discover most things about ourselves in the reflection of other human beings.

From birth through childhood, into adult relationships, we form much of our sense of belonging and meaning in the world through those in our environment.

We modify our behavior, adjust our perspectives, and grow into self awareness from the responses by those around us.
That is how we learn to walk, talk, and grow emotionally.

Through all of this we are alone.
Not isolated, but alone.

Some of us never experience our aloneness.
Some of us fear it.
Some of us are lost without being directed by the external road map of others’ response to our being.

While we are an interactive species with needs like touch, communication, and a sense of community, we don’t live in puppy piles.
And even puppies wander away from the pack at a certain point.
When they do return to the pack, they have better hunting skills to contribute to that collective.

The romanticism of “togetherness” that is instigated by survival needs, and promulgated into unrealistic ideals by poetry and cultural influences can contribute to our feeling abandoned or isolated when we are only alone.

We are still a part of the meaningful crowd even if we recognize our aloneness within it.

But there are so many factors involved in the language of aloneness.
This is the part where I post a link to a previous blog: