We Can All Be Heroes Today

When senseless tragedy hits I have to find a way to cope. My own experience with this can be calculated by the before & after 9/11 timeline.

Before 9/11, I would cry, devour the news, curse the terrorists, curse God, cry some more and then, eventually, slowly, move forward.

After 9/11, I cry, scan the news, pity the terrorists, cry a little more and then relish in all of the Good Samaritan stories that begin to trickle through.

After reading a handful or more of these stories, I can move forward with gusto.

In my lifetime, I’ve noticed that with every tragedy caused by a handful of idiots, hundreds upon thousands of good, kind, compassionate, caring, amazing heroes emerge. It is a wonderful, beautiful, mathematical probability that can only be explained by love.

Man is inherently good. Evil, while it tends to grab the spotlight with a better stronghold, is rare. When faced with adversity, we DO rise to the occasion. We help. We care. We reach out.

And the amazing and far more beautiful part of the equation? Even if we are not directly hit by the tragedy, even if we live thousands of miles away and have no direct ties to the event, we empathize. We put ourselves in another’s shoes and we say to ourselves, what can I do to help? How can I make this better?

If it’s sending blankets or food. Or going to the blood bank. Or pulling out our checkbook. Or holding our children a little tighter. Or saying, “I love you” to those we care about a little more often. It all makes a difference. It all makes our world a better place.

1 idiot: thousands of Good Samaritans.

I’ll take those odds any day of the week.

Thank you, all you heroes out there. Those who were on the scene. Those arriving to the scene. And those of us, miles away, who are living today more mindfully, kindly and lovingly.

We can all be heroes today. Every day.

O Come All Ye Old Fashioned. And Joy To The Handwritten Word.

The older I get, the more like my grandmother I’m beginning to feel.

She resisted change. She denied it’s existence. She’d pine for the way things were.

I have always thought of myself as someone who can roll with the changes. I may not have the latest iphone but I’m familiar enough with technology to create and maintain a blog. Okay. That may not be saying much but I still know people who use their computers for email and online shopping and that’s about it. At least I’ve taken it a step further.

I’m frustrated that a 4 year old computer is past its prime. I still have an old Blackberry and my daughter is dragging me, kicking and screaming, to update my phone. I say, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Sure I’m overdue for a new phone by about 2 years. But it’s working just fine and I’m cheap. (I blame my Scottish great-grandparents for that trait.)

My friend just came back from a conference about her daughter’s progress. She, like me, is frustrated with the lack of emphasis on penmanship and math facts. They gave her some hooey about critical thinking skills being the focus. That calculators and computers are where it’s at. That someday, even typing skills will be obsolete. We’ll soon be talking into handheld devices that will type for us.

And here it is, December 6th and I’ve yet to receive a Christmas card. Oh, sure. There’s still time but I remember years when receiving a card after Thanksgiving got my butt into high gear, pushing me to finish our stack. Currently, our cards are gathering dust in the corner. I’m apathetic about sending them out. I guess I need the motivation. I need to know that others enjoy the holiday card tradition, too. C’mon, people! Send me a card so it’ll guilt me into getting with the program. Someone has to keep the US Postal Service in business. Let it begin with you. And me.

I have a feeling, within a week or so, I’ll start receiving holiday ecards.  Silly elves with your faces plastered on them, dancing a merry tune. A happy holiday catch phrase. And then your e-signature. Or maybe you’ll send a shout out on Facebook or Twitter.

Today, I sit here pining for the old days. The days of multiplication facts dancing in my head. Crystal clear penmanship, in silver script, on a good old fashioned Christmas card.

Call me an old fuddy-duddy. It’s okay. I can take it.

For as connected as we think we are with all of this new technology, I can’t help but feel we are missing something. True connections to the people we love. Fine motor skills. Exercising our brains with good old fashioned memorization. Do you rely on your address book in your phone as much as I do? Heaven forbid if my phone should die. Without caller ID or the numbers in my phone, I’d be lost.

And then there’s the care and time it takes to sit down and hand write a holiday card. The delicious thrill of seeing personal mail addressed to you among the bills and junk mailers. Instead we have fallen prey to mass-emailings and status updates.

O come, all ye old-fashioned. Pick up your pens. Write a card by hand. Stamp it and mail it.

Joy to the handwritten word!

There’s Been A Divorce. Who Gets The Friends?

“That, whereas, the parties hereto will divide the once mutual friendships as follows…”

How much easier and comforting it would be if we knew who got the friends in a divorce. No hassles. A little haggling. But you’d know who you could count on and who you no longer couldn’t.

But that isn’t how it happens. There isn’t a judge or written agreement that chooses who will maintain a friendship with one and not the other. It happens more organically. The choosing of sides.

And sometimes, neither side is chosen. As lives shift and shuffle, friendships simply disappear in a divorce.

In my many years on this planet, I’ve realized a few things:

1. Friendships are essential.
2. Most friendships are fleeting.
3. The friendships that have staying power are rare.

When I divorced, oh so many years ago, I was stunned with who stuck around and who disappeared. The ones I expected to be with me through thick and thin began to drift away. It wasn’t sudden. I didn’t feel like a leper. But one day, I realized we hadn’t spoken in a while, conversations were slightly uncomfortable, they weren’t the first person I’d reach out to for a giggle or a cry. And then? Nothing. No contact for years.

No longer friends.

And while I’m okay with losing a few of those people, there’s one friend in particular that I miss. Terribly. I feel a little hole where her friendship used to be.

But then, there is a dear friend, who rose to the occasion, has put in more than I deserved at times, to stay friends. A rare diamond of a friendship that I treasure.

It’s made me wonder. What kind of a friend will I be?

If 50% of all marriages end in divorce, and most of my friends are still married, odds are I’ll have to chose sides someday. (If you are one of my friends reading this right now, don’t worry. You are in one of the marriages that is going to make it. I’m talking about the other 50% of my friendships.) 

We’ll probably stay friends with the husband in at least one couples friendship. The wives in the other few. A morbid line of thought, but reality all the same. It won’t be easy. It won’t be pleasant. It’s just the inevitable.

I wish there was a fair, equitable and comfortable way to divvy up the friendships after a divorce. A method where everyone agrees and everyone is happy. Something finite. Something you can count on.

But there isn’t.

When there is a divorce, the friendships are casualties in a uncomfortable war. Sometimes you know immediately who will stick with whom. Sometimes there are surprises.

But it is rarely clean and clear cut.

It’s often messy.

And always sad.

Kind of like the divorce that got us there in the first place.

 

 

Just Some Good Advice

Competitive Yoga? It’s Official. Now, I’ve Seen Everything.

There’s a reason I don’t share everything about my life with some people.

Competition.

My husband calls me a competitive person. And he may be right. Maybe. I like to think of myself as driven. I’m a bit of a perfectionist. I enjoy success. But I don’t think of myself as competitive.

There is a certain frequent house guest of mine, to whom I may or may not be related, who is very competitive with me. While we were growing up we’d compare music collections, swim times, who had the “fattest” thighs. (She won.) 

Even now, as adults, I feel her critical eye whenever she visits. Who has the better relationship with her kids? Who has the nicer things? Who has the fatter thighs? (I win.)

I encouraged her to try yoga. And now when she visits, she wants to practice together. And check out who is more flexible? Who can hold a pose the longest? Who has the fatter thighs? (I still win.)

This past trip, I think I hurt her feelings when I said, “It’s really the only time I schedule just for me. And since I always end my practice with lots of meditation, I’d prefer to do it by myself.”

I feel bad that I hurt her feelings. But I’m glad I stuck to my Zen guns.

“Did my first handstand in yoga today!” – was her latest Facebook status.

(Cue subtle eye-roll.)

Her status got me thinking if other people were annoyed with competitive yoga-mates.

I had barely Googled “Competitive y…..” when the auto-suggest popped up “Competitive Yoga.” And not just 6 0r 8 hits. We’re talking 12,000,000+. A competitive yoga slide show, with an article in the New York Times, and another article about an Asana competition, topped off with a Youtube video entitled “Inside The Vicious World of Competitive Yoga.”

Vicious and yoga in the same sentence? Seriously?

It’s official. Now, I’ve seen everything.

And I had to giggle when 2011 Yoga Asana Champion Kelsea Bangora said, “I don’t want to show off. I mean, my own students don’t even know I’m a champion.”

Hmmm. Don’t want to show off?

Maybe you shouldn’t enter competitions?

Just a thought.

Said No One Ever

Those ecards are a hoot! And I enjoy the “said no one ever” cards that have been popping up so much lately.

I have a few catch phrases of my own to add to the mix.

• Reading blogs that swear and complain and shock me with their kitchy, inappropriate comments make me feel all warm and fuzzy and energized to meet the day, said no one ever.
• I can’t believe the Kardashians are in the news again, said no one ever.
• Summer vacation is a great time to organize the photo drawer and clean closets, said no one ever.
• Those uber-moms who volunteer for every school event, plan perfect parties, create amazing, educational activities for their kids during summer vacation and always have a smile plastered on their faces are such an inspiration, said no one ever.
• Your hourly Facebook updates are so entertaining, said no one ever.
• I watch The Real Housewives of (fill in the blank) because I can relate, said no one ever.
• Raw fruits and veggies are such a satisfying snack, said no one ever.
• Those little kids are going to thank their parents someday for posting humiliating videos of them on Youtube, said no one ever.
• Angelina Jolie truly is a saint, said no one ever.
• I can’t wait until menopause, said no (woman) ever.
• There just aren’t enough diet books out there, said no one ever.
• I’m getting way too much sleep, said no (mom) ever.
• The number of comments or hits on my blog mean absolutely nothing to me, said no one ever.
• Beauty  magazines make me feel gorgeous, said no one ever.
• Oh, goody! It’s another political phone call with the recording slamming Obama/Romney. I’m so glad I made it to the phone on time, said no one ever.
• Life IS fair, said no one ever.

(Do you have one you’d like to share?)

 

She’s Moved On And So Should You

Her crossed arms answered her question before she spoke.

She didn’t have to speak. The look on her face. The trademark crossed arms. Her favored one hip stance. All did the speaking for her.

Disappointment.

“It’s just been such a long week. And I really want to get to the airport,” I tried to explain. Twisting in my chair.

“But what about dinner? You have to eat, ” my grandmother said.

Leaning forward, I tried to justify my actions. “But Anna is so exhausted. I am, too. I’m so sorry. I know we promised but I want to avoid the traffic. We’ll pick up something quick on the way.”

Silence.

“Do you think you’ll be back for Thanksgiving?” she asked, eyebrows raised. Hopeful.

“I’m not sure,” I said, letting my voice trail off. I knew I wouldn’t. Maybe Christmas. Maybe next spring. But I was tired of the 1200 mile journeys. I wanted a break.

“It’s OK,” my sister chimed in, “I’ll bring the kids by next week and we can have lunch.” Trying to come to my rescue. It’s little consolation. I’m the one who lives so far away.

Then we said our goodbyes. And watched her on the driveway with her arms crossed. Not smiling, yet trying not to look disappointed.

Twelve years later the image haunts me.

“You have to stop beating yourself up over this,” my sister says to me over the phone.

I shift uncomfortably. I close my eyes. “I know. But I can’t.”

“There was no way you could know she was going to die. No one knew. She was always so vibrant. Even the doctor didn’t see it coming.”

“But I should have at least had dinner with her like we promised,” my eyes watering remembering my last broken promise to her. “I never even called her. That was the last time we spoke.”

“She’s moved on and so should you.” My sister is tired of this conversation. So am I. But that image of her still haunts me. That last image.

“Do you really think she’s forgiven me?” I ask, standing up now, watching a cardinal on our birdfeeder.

“Yes. She forgave you moments after you left,” my sister sighs into the phone.

“Ok. Thanks.” Not convinced, I hang up the receiver. And walk to the window to watch the birds flit back and forth. Leaning on one hip. Brow furrowed.

And arms crossed.

(This post was inspired by KitchWitch’s post which was inspired by the writing prompt at Write On Edge. Please visit Write on Edge   for more inspired writing!)

An Almost Wordless Wednesday. But Worth Reading, Nonetheless.

Is God On Tebow’s Side? And The Other Team. Do They Just Not P(r)ay Hard Enough?

More than 40% of Americans think that divine intervention can be attributed to Tebow’s success.

Listen, I’m glad the man has faith. Wearing it on your sleeve, or your face as the case may be? More than I do, but everyone has a right to shout out what they believe.

But seriously people?

Don’t you think God has more important things to do than help a man and his team win a football game?

(As Yogi Berra said, “Why don’t you just let God watch the game?”)

Words To Live By