Ten Things . . . Part 2

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From post I wrote a couple of weeks ago. Time to fulfill the promise made in the last line.

Dear Reader, if you are so moved, pull out your journal or your legal pad. Don your thinking cap and begin writing the list of what you, unique human being that you are, know the most about. It’ll be fun. You have the time.

List of ten done? Good work. Now write a list of ten things you want to know more about.

Compare the lists. Do you have overlaps? I certainly did.

Do you see anything you would like to pursue in these strange at-home times?

Share your list if you want to. I’ll post mine in a couple of days.

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What I Know the Most About (I KNOW that I feel self-conscious admitting any specific areas of knowledge!)

In no particular order:

  1. Religion/Spirituality (they are different)
  2. Writing, especially for public speaking
  3. English words and etymology of same
  4. Cooking vegetarian food
  5. Baking
  6. Stain removal
  7. Trees, shrubs, and plants native to Minnesota
  8. Connecting with strangers
  9. Helping people through difficult times
  10. Spiritual healing

What I want to know more about:

All of the above.

That should keep me out of mischief :).

Sending you a warm virtual hug.

Robin’s Good Deed: A True and Happy Story for Today

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This morning I went shopping at the Richfield Target, arriving early, imagining it wouldn’t be busy yet. Wrong. My primary mission was dog food, but the list expanded to include a bag of whole wheat flour. The flour section of the baking aisle contained a few bags of white flour. Period. An employee finished confirming with a customer that no yeast was available. I asked him about whole wheat flour. The response was a negative shake of his head. The poor man had to be weary from answering the same questions over and over while trying to keep the shelves stocked.

A woman and her adult daughter shared the aisle. In their cart lay two bags of white flour.

The woman spoke. “Excuse me. I know this’ll sound strange, but we just bought a bag of whole wheat flour at Cub because that’s all they had. It’s out in the car and you’re welcome to it.”

Those who know me will be surprised, but I found myself momentarily speechless.

Finally I said, “No, that’s okay, really, you’re so sweet.”

“Well, it’s up to you.”

Then I began to appreciate the kindness of the offer and the importance of accepting.

“Where are you parked?” I asked.

“We’re in the handicapped area. A black KIA SUV. We can watch for each other at the check out.”

I agreed.

After going through the self-check, I looked around for the woman and her daughter. Maybe they already left, I thought, and headed out of the store, but parked in a handicapped spot was the black SUV. After putting my groceries in the car, I circled around and parked nearby. In the meantime, I prepared something for the duo.

Five minutes later, the mother and daughter approached their vehicle and I jumped out of my car and gave them a friendly wave.

“Hi, I saw your vehicle and waited a bit,” I said,┬ápulling a card from my pocket.

The woman thought I was offering money, “No need to pay,” she said.

“Actually, I’m a writer and want to share the story of your kindness. This card has the web address of my blog. Check it out later today.”

As the daughter rummaged through the back of the SUV looking for the flour, the woman accepted the card. She reached her mittened hand toward my gloved hand and we shook.

“My name is Robin,” she said.

The daughter handed me a 5-pound bag of whole wheat flour and we parted ways.

Ten Things . . .

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At least for those whose lives are kid-free, these days of greater quietude give one time to ponder. Long walks on quiet streets, no-rush mornings, cooking at home rather than eating out, no worries about “what should we (I) do this weekend?”.

In all times, writers are advised to “write what you know” Familiar places, experiences, people (just change the names to protect the guilty, right?). This morning an obvious question occurred to me: What do I know the most about?

Later in the day I wrote a list of ten areas in which I might be considered knowledgable, not that I am an expert in ANYTHING. Spending eight years getting an undergrad degree at the U of MN, because I was interested in pretty much EVERYTHING, turned me into a wide-ranging dabbler.

Contemplating what I, personally,  know the most about, led to another question. What would I like to know more about?

Dear Reader, if you are so moved, pull out your journal or your legal pad. Don your thinking cap and begin writing the list of what you, unique human being that you are, know the most about. It’ll be fun. You have the time.

List of ten done? Good work. Now write a list of ten things you want to know more about.

Compare the lists. Do you have overlaps? I certainly did.

Do you see anything you would like to pursue in these strange at-home times?

Share your list if you want to. I’ll post mine in a couple of days.

Sending you a virus-free virtual hug!

Really, How Are You Doing?

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Fine.

Actually, not fine.* I write this on the second day of non-stop rain (flash flood warning!). Morning headlines informed us that the administration will finalize the rollback of clean water protections. Gun violence continues, including a murder-suicide a block from my home. Having chosen to leave my professional career to pursue a dream of actually completing a novel, I stand one disaster away from taking a deep dive into my modest retirement savings.  My ankle still hurts eleven weeks after a ligament-tearing incident. My normally dependable ability to sleep soundly has devolved into lying awake at 3 in the morning.

So how are you doing today? Are the problems in our society getting to you? How’s your personal life? How’s your health? Your work? You’re finances? Your mental  health?

During the long course of yet another sleepless night, this phrase came into my mind: To triumph over darkness, give light. Not get light. Give light.

After choosing an early retirement to pursue writing, I took a part-time job at my local Target in women’s apparel. It gets me out amongst people, provides a little extra cash, and ticks about 5 miles on the FitBit each time I work. Yesterday an older woman, let’s call her Bernice, came in shopping for some new clothes. She and a helper from her nursing home were trying to find a suitable pair of black pants.

“I haven’t been shopping for a year!” Bernice said. Her manner was anxious but open, her conversation a little confused but enthusiastic.

After helping her to explore various options in black pants, we found a pair that suited her needs–black, with stretchy fabric, durable, washable, and classy looking.

She pointed to my required-by-Target red shirt. “I sure would like to get a new red top. It’s my favorite color.”

The attendant looked worried. “Remember, Bernice, you have only $40.00 to spend. And you also want to get those cough drops.”

Earlier in the day a red top on the clearance rack caught my eye. “If you can wait a moment, I have an idea. No promises, but we might have just the thing.”

There it was. In her size. A loose-fitting red top with lace trim on the sleeves.

“What do you think of this?”

“It’s so beautiful!”

The attendant pulled out her calculator.  The pants, top, and cough drops came to just over $39.00.

Bernice looked up and held out her arms to me. I leaned down for a hug.

“I love you,” she said.

As of that moment, I was doing fine. Thanks, Bernice.

FYI, I am not depressed or despairing. Just speaking truth about life.

 

 

 

 

WARNING: TRUTH WILL BE TOLD

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If I were to draw a picture of my childhood home, it would show a single-family house, clean to the point of pain, silent in what is left unsaid, false in what is shown to those who dwell beyond the four walls, rising in the midst of a fastidious yard, on a quiet street in a small town dominated by self-contained Scandinavians.

My brother Rick died recently. Properly my half-brother, he was a little guy when his birth dad died in a car accident. Ten years older than me, he left home for college when I was only seven. My dad, his step-dad, adopted him and our older sister Sylvia after he married our mom. Dad could be sarcastic to my brother, and Rick felt that I was the favored child. Which, in some ways, I was. I wish it could have been easier for him growing up. And then he served two tours in Viet Nam. But with humor, a loving wife, great sons, and many friends, he appeared to do very well in his life.

Yet we never fully know the secret complexities of another’s life. Upon others, we may pronounce judgment and dismiss them. We also judge ourselves, as we do our best to cope. And that coping may lead us into the darkness of disfunction and shame until we stop accepting responsibility for circumstances over which we had no control.

As I only learned many years later, our high school counselor, Mr. Woods, suggested to my parents that I see a psychologist, so apparent was my emotional disarray. They declined without telling me. In those days, I carried a well of sorrow that flooded into tears at the slightest provocation. My anxiety was constant. At age 13, I began stealing liquor from my parents in an attempt to ease my distress. After high school, I floated in and out of college and relationships, in and out of jobs and apartments. Then in my mid-twenties, I changed my college major to forest management. The study of solid subjects like calculus and botany and meteorology and surveying began to balance and rectify my soul.

And I wrote.

Now I am older, calmer, kinder to myself, immersed in the beauty of life, family, friends, nature, and my own true beloved. We are composite creatures. Bodies which function autonomically, souls which guide us if we listen. We are the result of myriad generations of successful reproduction and survival. We are born and we will die. What comes after is a supposition.

Today, we are.

Beyond the basics of survival, which none of us should ever take for granted, does it matter how much stuff we have? Are we concerned about the judgment of others, when all anyone else can know is the teeniest corner of someone else’s life? Do we dwell in regret and shame about a past that has brought to where we are today?

No. No more. And the relief is beyond words to express. My story is my own and I turn it into healing words.

Peace be with you. May we each find our way.