To Bee There

Wow! How lessons are given to me never ceases to amaze me! I have an office outside in my backyard. It is my little retreat that in order to get to, I must pass under an arbor crowned with morning glories. In the past several weeks another tenant has taken up residence along that route. From the arbor down to the fence that surrounds the patio outside my office is now a beautifully spun web and a nice big “Charlotte” who hides during the day beneath the rungs of the arbor. So I have got into the habit of whenever I leave my office, or go out to it from my house, I stop to see what’s going on with Charlotte or at the very least glance over to look.

One day a couple of weeks ago as I was coming out from my office and stepping through the arbor, I glanced back over my shoulder to check on Charlotte and there in the middle of the web was a bee. Trapped and still. Charlotte was not in the web. She was up in her little resting place under the arbor, I suppose napping before dinner. As I looked at that poor little caught bee, I noticed a second bee hovering over the web. I kind of made a little sad face, turned around and walked into the house. But I couldn’t get it out of my head. That second bee. So I went back out and stood in front of the web and watched him. He would hover over his friend, who was caught irrevocably, and then buzz over to a morning glory or two and then back to being near the web.

Now, ok, I know bees don’t have feelings, but I kept thinking how sad and frustrated he must be to see his friend in distress. Yet he also knew he had his own job to do and continued doing it, while “standing vigil” for his buddy.

And I thought how it is with we ourselves. When we have loved ones caught in what seems to be irrevocable circumstances, whether it be self-inflicted through an addiction, a physical injury or a terminal illness, how can we help them when what we usually want to do is fix it? Some things are not within our power to fix. How heartbreaking it can be to stand by and watch a life disintegrating before our eyes! How devastatingly helpless we feel!

So what do we do? Bee there. Be near enough to help if we can. Yet not so close that, especially in the case of a dear one caught in addiction, we get caught in the web ourselves. Let them see that we are there to support with words of encouragement, love, and kindness. For those who are injured or facing debilitating illness, we can give the same as well as bringing laughter and lightness to their own trapped feelings as much as possible.

And yet it is also important to remember that the bee continued to do his assignment. He was visiting the flowers, doing his job, yet coming by every once in awhile to check on his friend. That keeps us sane, does it not? To continue the jobs we have in this world whether it be as a parent, a husband, wife, or just a plain old human being in general. Because there are plenty of things we can do nothing about and doing something about the things we can raises our level of appreciation. How so? Because who knows when we too will be caught. So while we can, let us fly and do and love and bee.

Peace by Piece

I’ve always loved jigsaw puzzles. It was a way Mom and I could sit around a table and spend time together just the two of us. And when I have broken out the puzzles in my own home, it has served to draw my own children to me in a fun way. It’s so exciting to see the colors emerge as parts of a meadow, a billowing sky or the side of a thoughtful face. Sometimes, though, you get a piece that doesn’t seem to look like anything at all, a rather ugly color that unless you had the top of the box with the picture on it, you might not ever figure out where it might fit.

In working on the puzzle that is my life, I don’t have the luxury of a picture. And making up a picture in my head as to what it is supposed to look like tends to throw me in the wrong direction. Yet when I do spend time focusing on one area, noticing which pieces work best together and which don’t fit, amazing things start to reveal themselves.

So many different aspects of my life have been processed in this manner and yet one has constantly eluded me. This is the aspect of my weight, which is more than I want it to be and more than is healthy for me. In this one corner of my life, none of the pieces fit right. As hard as I work on it, the frustration builds and I just can’t seem to figure out what goes there. The edges seem to be of a color that is rather disgusting and so I almost don’t want to know what this color will turn into. Yet I want my puzzle to be completed. I want to see the big picture.

One of the things Mom and I would do when we would work on puzzles for hours is to switch places. Move one chair over. It always amazed me how that one change in my perspective could open up a scene in a way I would never have otherwise seen. So perhaps a new vantage point would help me see more clearly this maverick corner of mine.

It was recommended to me to go back to when I first started to gain the weight. Yes, I can see it. And examining that time period, I see that perhaps I just totally gave up on myself. What’s the point? I don’t matter. So my body doesn’t matter. That only makes me feel more ashamed. How could I give up on myself? How could I be so weak? Hmmm, this piece doesn’t seem to be helping me see what’s going on. I add it anyway.

All of the weight loss books and programs say that we must love ourselves first at the weight we are now in order to really have movement forward. That has been my block. How could you love this? It’s gross to me! Again, it represents failure, weakness and shame. I don’t know how this piece can fit and make me see it all better. I add it anyway.

Yet, wait just a minute here! What if….. what if I DIDN’T give up on myself all those years… If emotional eating is a response or reaction to fear, and fear is affirmation of growth because fear ONLY shows up when we are taking risks in our lives…. Hmmm, let me see, were there risks I was taking during that time period of my life? Well, yeah! Lots of them!

So, let me see if I have got this straight… My fat is evidence of my growth? How hysterically ironic is that!!!! So I stand in front of the mirror and look at my body, grab the left side of the spare tire and say “This was making peace with my parents” , and the right side “This was standing up for my kids”, the belly “This was the drive to Seattle by myself in a Volkswagen Bug when I turned 40”, and I start naming off more and more and more risks I have taken and the beauty of this corner, my rascally, elusive corner begins to manifest itself.

What a gift this piece of the puzzle is! I no longer need to be disgusted by this body. I am wearing my victories!. I can and do make better choices now to take care of this body and all of that is made easier because I am letting go of loathing it. You don’t take care of something you loathe or find disgusting. You don’t even want to look at it. Now I look at it and smile. Yes, it is evidence of all of the risks… I did NOT give up on myself. No, but rather I dove headlong into my life like there was no tomorrow. Yes, I did that with one hand in a bag of chips, yet that was all I knew at the time to comfort me. And I have other choices now.

What have I learned? That that ugly color around the edges of my stubborn corner was merely a shadow. A shadow cast by some magnificent wings. I am beginning to see some of the colors forming on those wings… And I can’t wait to see what it turns out to be.

Maybe I will switch chairs again.

The Storyteller

There exists in each of our lives a storyteller. One who weaves yarns so clever that the most brilliant, educated and enlightened mind will not fail to be wooed by it. It was there in grade school when we were chosen last for the team. It was there at the Junior High dance when we were not asked to dance, or we were asked and the next day in the halls were teased unmercifully about our particular “style” of dancing. And it was there the day we stood in our driveway tears rolling down our face as we watched our now former fiancé drive away with all of our dreams.

In each of those scenarios, and a hundred more, the storyteller tells us that, bottom line, we are not good enough. If we had only been this or that, we would have been the chosen one. The defect is our own. That elicits a feeling in us so potent we never want to hear that story again. It is the scariest horror story, beyond anything Stephen King could conjure up. This author….this storyteller’s name is Fear. Plain and simple. Powerful and insidious. And the name of this story is Fear of Rejection.

Yet, every time we turn around, we hear the soundtrack to that story playing in the air… going on a date, returning an item to a store, applying for a loan, and that dreaded sales call. And because we have heard that story before, we avoid these things like the plague or we endure them with trembling hands and knocking knees, trying not to let them see us sweat. Yet we are sure that somehow, some way, they will find out… the real story… that we are not good enough and we will be rejected.

What is the antidote to this storyteller? How can we quiet this voice that has been with us all of our lives? Truth. Plain and simple. Powerful and intuitive. Just as sure as Dorothy discovered that the all-powerful Wizard of Oz was no more than a mere man behind a curtain pulling levers and pushing buttons, we too can discover that this storyteller is nothing more than smoke and mirrors. And truth is what pulls the covers off. How so?

Let’s take the original three scenarios at the beginning of this article. The truth is you weren’t a jock, you were an artist and it stands to reason that it wasn’t a fit. The truth is you were only beginning to come out of your shell and that your rhythm would shine later on in life. The truth is that guy/girl was not a match for you. Kinda scary to look at the truth, right? Why is it easier for us to believe that we are defective than to believe we are just fine and that the situation in front of us is just not a fit?

So the next time the storyteller kicks in, I invite you to ask yourself “What is true here? Is there another way to look at this? Did I do the very best I could? Does getting this sale define the kind of person I am or can I show up and just practice being my magnificent self and if it doesn’t happen, then it just was not the right fit?” Are we willing to tell Fear to shut up and then tell our own True Story?

The Seventh Inning Stretch

So why DO they do that seventh inning stretch at baseball games? Not that I’ve been to very many games myself, but being the daughter of a huge Dodger fan, I know a few things and can fondly remember the voice of Vin Scully on the radio barking out the plays when I was a kid. I just remember there were more commercials during that seventh inning stretch…

As I got older, and I do mean older, (hit the big Hawaii 5-0 a few years back) I can totally understand now why after sitting a good length of time, stretching is very beneficial to these vintage muscles. It wakes them up… it allows blood to flow… it stimulates oxygen to all parts of my body… So, I now stretch at other times other than the seventh inning at a baseball game. I’ve learned a bit of yoga, Pilates, etc., all of which have been instrumental in awakening these stubborn muscles of mine that really need to be more flexible. After all, I have a lot of shopping and running after grandkids left to do! Not to mention dancing!

I’ve also learned that perhaps in this seventh inning of my life, I could do some other stretches. Is my life really where I want it to be? Now that the kids are grown and mostly gone, are my curiosity muscles still as flexible as they used to be? Is a quick glance at the latest Time or People magazine the extent of my continued education these days? How about my personal relationships? Could they use a bit of oxygen to get some more flow of love and affection moving?

With my physical body, when I learn a new stretch… I’m a bit nervous… sometimes even afraid.. that I will do damage or hurt myself in some way. So what I know now is that if I do a stretch slowly and really carefully listen to my body, the next time I do that stretch, it isn’t as difficult, in fact my body allows me to stretch further.

And so is the case with my personal stretching. Maybe I won’t go back to school and take a full load of classes… yet can I sign up for one class? Just to see how it might feel? Hmmm, that feels like a stretch… a bit scary, yet do-able. If I like it, maybe next semester I just might take two… or not… How would connecting with some old friends in a more loving way seem? Am I willing to see them in a different light? That would definitely be a stretch… yet, would that breathe some life into that relationship? OK, so maybe I will start with a nice card… for no particular reason. Baby stretch.

That seventh inning stretch at a baseball game invigorates us. It allows for a renewed enthusiasm for the rest of the game. And who knows how long that rest of the game can go… ties can go into inning after inning… so to have had that stop, that standing, that stretching, that reassessing of your vantage point, makes the rest of the game so much more fun.

How do you want to see the rest of your game?

Sandwich this...

So, as I understand it, we are called "the sandwich generation", we Boomers. That can look so many different ways. It can be a bunch of baloney (technically spelled bologna... then why do we say baloney?) sandwiches or in my case, it can be peanut butter and jelly.

We are busy taking care of, seeing about, fussing over our aging parents (who most of the time are in denial that they are aging or that they need any help) and then we are also looking out for, worrying about and fussing over our children still at home... and even those who aren't anymore (who also believe that they are fine, that we are outdated and certainly don't need any help from us). Thus the sandwich. We ... stuck in the middle with our own needs, wants, dreams, seemingly to be eternally put on hold.

As I said, though, my sandwich is peanut butter and jelly. The peanut butter side is my folks, Dad 78, Mom 73. Dad always said that peanut butter was the staff of life and there is no one on earth who can make a better piece of peanut butter toast than my mom. Seems like a little thing, yet to a little girl sitting in front of the TV watching Captain Kangaroo, it was heaven... creamy luscious heaven. Peanut butter has just the right amount of salt. Hmmm, Dad is an old sailor after all and the two of them have plenty of saltiness, that's for sure. With health issues, hospital scares and times when we thought it was over, they have weathered it all with a dose of wry humor and sassiness that I do believe I have inherited.

And then there is the jelly. That soft sweetness that seems to slip out of the sandwich when you least expect it. My kids. Especially the last one. She is nearly 22, the last of the five and can be every bit as sweet or as tart as a spoonful of raspberry jam. You would think since the rest had left home I'd stop worrying. OK, well I don't worry as much, yet when can you not be concerned? They are my seedlings, yes? And isn't it my job to see to it that they land jelly-side-up? Oh, it isn't? I guess I didn't get that memo yet. Letting go is a process. Fortunately no one has given me a deadline!

Now I make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches a bit differently. Peanut butter side, nice and creamy (or nutty... which definitely applies!), jelly side sweet, tart and slippery... what else does this sandwich need? Me! I'm the one in the middle after all! And what am I if not salty, crunchy, and definitely at times crumbling. So in go the potato chips, right between the peanut butter and jelly. What a satisfying sandwich that is, a little bit of everything. Now, mind you, peanut butter and jelly alone is good... shades of the past when I was little and the jelly melting into the Wonder bread... yet with the potato chips it becomes my own creation, good to the last crunch!

So perhaps the sandwich thing is ok for all of us, as long as we be sure there is a piece of us, our own life, our own dreams, our own FUN, right in the middle of it all flavoring the other two sides in a way that would never have been there had it not been for us!

The Butterfly Grove

And the little girl just wanted a place, a safe place, to rest, to sleep. And so she found the cave with some other little girls and they found warmth there, in the solace of the secrecy of the spot, in the heat from the fire in the center, the Creator’s fire, which melted the salve that they soothed one another’s faces with. She would wrap herself in her blanket with one of the other little girls and stare into the fire… or sleep, safe and sound.

And yet… there were days that the cave was too confining and she ventured out onto the sand of the nearby beach and dancing and jumping up and down in her sunsuit with the criss-cross straps in the back and the ruffles on her bottom, she would flit along the edge of the water, daring it to kiss her feet… screaming with delight when it caught her… and running away, falling down on her blanket and digging her toes in the delicious soft sand…

And yet… her joy still made her all the more curious… when she noticed a forest on the edge of the beach and couldn’t contain her wonder at what it held for her. As she stepped into the darkness of the forest, she was afraid, yet would not turn back, for the Creator’s hand was there for the taking and she knew she would be safe in her journey through the trees… many times, she gave out and He carried her, many times she thought she should just go back to the cave… and He let her just sit and decide and still was there when she resumed her journey.

At last, there it was… she could see the glow from the dark forest… the meadow beyond and she ran to meet it. How beautiful it was! Soft grass with flowers everywhere as she ran through… laughing at the birds that seemed happy to see her… and the butterflies were everywhere visiting their blooms, yet dancing around her head, leading her on… she couldn’t stop until she came to the far side of the meadow… another grove of trees… this one was different though… it was full of light… beaming through the limbs and leaves…. Leaves that as she stood and looked up quivered in the breeze…

The little girl took a deep breath… and felt a peace she had never known… why this felt safer yet than her cave… even if she was alone… how she wanted to tell the other little girls about what she had found. A calm pool lay nearby and she peered in and noticed with shock that it was a woman who stared back at her… how could this be?… when did it happen? She turned as she heard a sound…

Those quivering, shivering leaves began to rain down on her and as she raised her arms to meet them and smiled, she realized that she was not alone… others had come here before her… and like her had gone into the darkness only to come out in beauty, in freedom… the butterflies …. And she knew that the journey had been worth it… all the darkness, the fears, the hiding was necessary. For it brought her here and, like those welcoming her to the grove, now she too is free to fly.