This is an oldie, but goodie. I could watch it a thousand times….
As Linus would say, this is what Christmas is all about. I hope you all have a merry Christmas.
Category Archives: Whimsies
Joseph’s Wonderful Life Redux
This was originally posted last year around this time. I think it bears repeating during the holiday season. It has been slightly modified from the original post.
This is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about: His mother Mary was pledged to be married to Joseph, but before they came together, she was found to be with child through the Holy Spirit. Because Joseph her husband was a righteous man and did not want to expose her to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly.
But after he had considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.’
All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: ‘The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and they will call him Emmanuel’ – which means, ‘God with us.’
When Joseph woke up, he did what the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took Mary home as his wife. But he had no union with her until she gave birth to a son. And he gave him the name Jesus. – Matthew 1:18-25
Every year, the readings for the fourth Sunday of Advent remind us of the good news that the Jewish people had/have long known because it was foretold by the Hebrew prophet Isaiah – a savior was going to be born of a virgin, and he would be king of all.
And each year when I hear these readings, I immediately think about Mary, and her surprise visit from the Angel Gabriel telling her the shocking news that she was going to be the mother of this Emmanuel. Because I have a granddaughter who is 14-1/2, I can easily picture the look on Mary’s face because I can picture the look on Addie’s face. And I always remind myself that rather than saying, “Let me think about it,” or “Let me look at my calendar and see what I have going for the next nine months,” Mary just said, “Yes.” Oh, she expressed an appropriate amount of confusion about the fact that she was going to bear a child even though she was a virgin, but after getting angel-based clarification, she said, “Yes, I will take on this responsibility.”
But while I use Mary as my model for how to turn my life over to God, I rarely think about Joseph, and his role in this marvelous story of grace.
I mentioned in a post that I watched the movie It’s a Wonderful Life for the first time ever. In the movie, George Bailey – played marvelously by Jimmy Stewart – had his life planned out. He was going to travel. He was going to make lots of money. He was going to leave his crappy little town and live a rich and elegant life with his wonderful wife someplace new and exciting. But, things just kept creeping up that prevented his imagined life to happen in the way he had planned. And finally, just as he had given up hope, he learned the valuable lesson about what is important in life.
We often forget that Joseph, too, had quite a rude awakening when he learned that his bride-to-be Mary was pregnant, and he knew HE wasn’t the father. But rather than publicly humiliating her, he quietly set out to end the relationship in a way that would be less embarrassing to her and her family. And then, the Angel Gabriel (who seemingly had quite a busy few days) told Joseph in a dream to not freak out because she is with child via the Holy Spirit, and in fact, she is going to give birth to the Son of God and the savior of all.
Like George Bailey, I would imagine that Joseph had his life planned out as well. He and his young bride would marry, kids would soon come along – maybe some sons who could learn the carpentry business and help him, and a daughter or two who would help his wife with her hard work – and they would live a quiet and joyful life in their community of Nazareth. Maybe he would run for mayor. Eventually their children would marry and have kids, and he and Mary would be grandparents, at which time they could feed their grandkids all of the sugary figs they wanted and send them home on a sugar high, like all good grandparents do.
But just as soon as he had that dream, Joseph knew his life wasn’t going to go the way he wanted it to go. God had other plans for he and Mary. And, like Mary, he didn’t Google flights out of Jerusalem, but instead, said, “Whatever you say, God.”
According to St. Matthew, Emmanuel means God is with us. And so the very name of Jesus means that he is with us always, even when it seems he couldn’t possibly be further away. He is within us. We just need to get out of his way and let him lead us.
Pay it Forward
Every year around this time, you start hearing the stories about people going through the Starbucks drive-thru only to learn that the person in the car ahead of them paid for their coffee drink. Or there are the stories of the Santas ringing the bell at your friendly neighborhood grocery store in Podunk, North Dakota, who discover at the end of the day that some anonymous person put a five hundred dollar bill in their red kettle. The former has never happened to me (at least in part because I rarely go to Starbucks, inside or out), and I’ve never done the latter because I’ve never even seen a five hundred dollar bill. Do they make them? Lord knows the bank teller whom I encountered Monday (you know, the one who wanted me to pay $500 for five $50 bills) wouldn’t know the answer to that question.
I love stories of nice things that strangers do for one another, especially this time of year, and especially since we all seem so angry with one another these days if we are to believe social media.
Night before last, I did have the opportunity to be a Good Samaritan. Bill and I ate dinner at our favorite neighborhood pizza place. At the end of our meal, the server brought over our bill. I was getting ready to place my credit card on the tray and a man who had been sitting on the other side of the restaurant (I had noticed him simply because at one point he had his head rested on the table and appeared to be sleeping) walked over to our table. Would you be willing to pay for my dinner, he asked me. I glanced down at his bill, which was a measly $3.75 for a slice of pepperoni pizza. That would be a BIG FAT YES, no questions asked. He thanked us graciously and left. When the server came to pick up my credit card, I told her I was paying another man’s bill as well. I finally got a chance to be a blessing to someone.
This time of year makes me especially sad for people without shelter or friends/family. The weather has been nice, but Thursday it’s supposed to drop into highs in the low ‘teens. I hope he’s safe. Our neighborhood seems far away from homeless shelters.
Yesterday afternoon Bill and I went to Costco. As we were driving home, we stopped at a red light. Suddenly we noticed that a man in the car next to us was madly waving his hands at us. Bill rolled down his window. The man told us that one of the brake lights on my car was out. I don’t want you to get a ticket, he told us. Wasn’t that nice? All the rest of the way home, I worried that a police officer was going to pull me over to tell me my brake light was out, and then, having seen too many episodes of COPS (Bad boys bad boys, watcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?) I was sure I would end up with my hands against the car as Bill took off running with a police officer and his German shepherd chasing him. The reality is that brake light has probably been out for two weeks.
A couple of weeks ago, I was at a grocery store – not my usual store. As I got out of the car, I noticed three or four gift cards on the ground, still on their cardboard holders. I didn’t know the story of the cards, of course, but it seemed a logical possibility that someone had bought a number of cards to give as Christmas gifts, and accidentally dropped them as they were getting into the car. So I picked them up and took them into the store with me. I stood in line for customer service. When it was my turn, I gave the cashier the cards and told him I had found them in the parking lot. The cashier looked at me so blankly I thought perhaps English wasn’t his first language. I explained that perhaps someone had dropped the cards and would return to the store to see if they had been turned in. Well, okay, he said to me somewhat reluctantly. I don’t know what happened to the cards, but the story I’m creating in my own mind is that an elderly woman who had purchased gift cards for her grandkids came back to the store, assuming the worse, only to find that thanks to some human kindness, there they were! Hey, it’s possible.
Without a doubt, the nicest thing I did yesterday was make Bill his favorite fried chicken for dinner…..
It all comes down to those words that Tim McGraw sings to us…
Hold the door say please say thank you
Don’t steal, don’t cheat, and don’t lie
I know you got mountains to climb but
Always stay humble and kind.
…..and the instruction that Jesus gave us…
Love your neighbor as yourself. Matthew 12:39
That Time I Was Dumber Than a Turkey
In the way that these things happen, I came across an interesting fact. Apparently, domesticated turkeys are considered by many in the know to be the dumbest animals in the world. An example of their stupidity is that turkeys will apparently often stare at the sky for as long as a minute, even if it’s raining. I’m not making that up. That is a factoid from the Discovery Channel. I wonder if someone from the Discovery Channel actually timed a rafter of turkeys staring at the sky. Maybe they sent the office errand boy or girl. Chet, when you’re finished making the coffee and cutting the donuts in half, would you take this stop watch and time those turkeys outside on the lawn to see how long they stare at the sky? Yes, I know it’s raining. Wear a rain cap. C’mon. Chop chop. Oh, maybe I shouldn’t say chop chop when I’m talking about turkeys.
Yesterday I had more sympathy for those turkeys than I normally would possess. I spent the day doing some last-minute Christmas errands. Buying gift cards. Digging through wrapping paper at Target, disappointed that the only thing left features Spongebob Squarepants in a Santa hat. And I did it with as much energy and intelligence as those turkeys. I seriously felt like I was jogging in mud for much of the day.
The reason is that Bill had to take me to the Emergency Room Sunday night. That’s the bad news. The good news is that there was no bowel obstruction. In fact, they could find nothing at all to cause my stomach cramping. The rather sheepish PA with whom I dealt admitted that despite the fact that we can put a man on the moon, we apparently often cannot find out why abdomens hurt. “We can usuaully figure out what it isn’t, but we have more trouble figuring out what it is,” he told me. Luckily, they were able to rule out All Things Bad and sent me home with something to help with stomach cramping.
But we didn’t get home until after midnight, and my body clock woke me up at 5:15, as usual. So I was plain tired. Hence, the domestic turkey imitation.
I found myself doing many of the things that most annoy me when others do it. Like walking into the grocery store and coming to a dead stop as I tried to remember why I was there, causing a chain reaction of people running into one another. Or walking down the aisle like a zombie and actually walking right into someone. And waiting a beat too long to remember to apologize. And worst of all, stopping at a stoplight and not noticing when the light turned green. I got a not-so-friendly honk from the car behind me, and I didn’t blame him a bit.
One of my stops was at my bank where I asked for five fifty-dollar-bills. “That will be $500,” the bank teller told me. Again, it took me several beats too long to tell him, “No sir, I don’t think that’s correct.” Perhaps he needs a new line of work.
I took a break from my zombie business to have pho at my favorite Vietnamese restaurant. They know me so well that they no longer bring me a menu. They just bring me my small P-5 and a glass of water. Except there was a new waiter, and when he came over to greet me, he smelled so strongly of marijuana that I was quite taken aback. Perhaps that’s why he never brought my bill. Later in the day, I stopped at another restaurant to purchase gift cards. As I waited, a group of 20- or 30-somethingers walked in, and once again I was bombarded with the smell of pot. Welcome to Colorado, I thought. I didn’t really mind, however, because they probably didn’t notice the vaguely blank look on my face that matched theirs.
By the way, my mother – who grew up on a farm – would take exception to the idea of turkeys being the dumbest animals. She would say – insist, in fact – that the dumbest animals are chickens. She had many pet peeves about chickens, but not the least was her accusation that chickens wouldn’t come in from the rain. Apparently that is also true of their cousin the turkey.
It might also be true of the bank teller, the restaurant patrons, and my waiter.
Christmas Whimsy
Despite my very best intentions, I have gotten caught up in the hurry, flurry, and scurry of the Christmas season. In fact, just yesterday I realized that I was one present short for two of my grandkids. That wouldn’t really matter except that kids count. Not count as in “matter” though they do, indeed, matter. Count as in “one-two-three-four.” Oh yes, they full-out know if one of their siblings gets one more present than they themselves bagged. It doesn’t make any difference if you actually spent more money on the child who got four presents instead of five. Nope. What matters is that there is the same number of presents sitting in front of each of the children after Whoever-Plays-Santa hands out the gifts.
No harm, no foul, because I quickly sat down and ordered presents from Amazon and they will be on my doorstep by December 19, guaranteed. Whatever did we do before Amazon? If they end up owning the world, I’m not sure that would be such a bad thing.
I spent the afternoon wrapping gifts and then sorting them by family. That was how I realized I was one gift short for two kids. And then I put back on the church-going clothes that I had discarded when we got home from Mass so that I was decently attired for Handel’s Messiah, the concert I was attending all by myself.
I was feeling a bit sad that I was going alone, despite the fact that I reminded myself (and really meant it) that I would rather go by myself than drag Bill who would fall asleep about 10 minutes into the performance. One should listen to the Messiah with someone else who loves it too. And as it turned out, I was perfectly fine. I find I’m great company! Besides, I started crying during the Hallelujah Chorus and I would have been embarrassed had someone been with me.
The week of Christmas is always a very busy time for me. I know, I know – it’s a very busy time for everyone. And I don’t even have a job that requires me to do all my Christmas things after 5 o’clock. But our Christmas celebrations are spread out which makes things a bit more difficult. We have our first celebration with Court and his family on December 23, as they always have family plans on Christmas Eve. Thus, Christmas Eve is devoted to the David McLain family (and the Heather-and-Lauren McLain family every other year, but sadly, not this year as they were here for Thanksgiving and so will be with the OTHER family for Christmas. It’s fair play).
I have mentioned before that Bill and I spend Christmas Eve Day being the Grinch. Since we leave on Christmas Day, we take down all of our Christmas decorations that we so joyfully put up the weekend following Thanksgiving so that we don’t come back from AZ in May and face a sad-looking Christmas tree. I wish I had a big closet into which I could simply roll my still-decorated Christmas tree where it would sit for 12 months until next Christmas. That would be a benefit (and perhaps the only benefit) to living in a mansion. But the truth is that in May, when we return, there are tulips in our backyard and peonies ready to bloom. Much as I love Christmas decorations, I don’t want to face them when I’m ready to start gardening.
I want to conclude this rambling blog post about nothing by telling you a story. A week or so ago I wrote about the notion of living in the moment – mindfulness is what the article I was quoting called it. The article suggested that as a step in the right direction, you should begin to notice things you never realized about your spouse. I commented that I didn’t think there was a single thing I didn’t know about Bill after 25 years of marriage.
The other day we were having breakfast at a Mexican restaurant. Christmas music was playing in the background. The Christmas song All I Want for Christmas is You began playing. As Bill munched his huevos rancheros, he asked, “Isn’t this the Christmas song from Love, Actually?”…..
It was; in fact, it was from the soundtrack. He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “I think this is my favorite Christmas song.”
Now, that was out of the blue. While there is absolutely nothing wrong with that song – in fact, I like it as well – in a million years, with my feet held to the fire, I would not have guessed that to be Bill’s favorite Christmas song. In fact, I would have sworn that he didn’t even have a favorite Christmas song since he really doesn’t appear to pay attention to any holiday music.
So, I’m mindful that I have a very interesting husband – more interesting, in fact, than I give him credit for.
I’d better sit on the front steps and await my Amazon deliveries.
Saturday Smile: They Say It’s Your Birthday
When you’re turning 4, birthdays are so much fun. When you’re turning Sixty-Four, a birthday can kind of be just another day.
Except my family kept that from happening. Early morning birthday greetings from Court and my brother Dave. A crack-of-dawn Face Time call from our Vermont family. (When you can start out your birthday with a Happy Birdle Dirdle Toodle Yoodle Doodle sung by two grandkids, you know it’s going to be a great day.)
Bill bought me the L.L. Bean slippers I wanted and took me to lunch. Bec sent me a beautiful bouquet of flowers…..
Jll brought Addie, Alastair, Dagny, and Maggie Faith over to have before-dinner birthday cake (hey, it was my birthday!)…..
Jen came for the celebration and made me a delicious dinner of short ribs, macaroni and Swiss cheese, salad, and cupcakes for dessert. What’s more, we drank the “signature cocktail” we didn’t try the night before…..
Jen and I took a break at half-time of the Broncos game (which the good guys won in my honor) to look at some of the Christmas lights in our ‘hood…..
All this, and Facebook greetings from family and friends, made me smile this week.
Have a great weekend.
Thursday Thoughts
Bottoms Up
For me, a large portion of my enjoyment from food and drink is derived from how it looks. Drinking a martini out of a plastic cup simply wouldn’t do it for me. Since embarking on my whiskey drinking adventure, I have been dissatisfied with the glass in which I pour the drink. I want them to look like Frank Reagan on Blue Bloods. After all, it is because of him that I undertook this challenge. So I googled cut-glass rocks glasses. Much to my surprise and delight, what came up was an advertisement from Macy’s for Waterford Marquis rocks glasses that were on sale. It happened to be during Macy’s Friend and Family sale during which many items – including these glasses — were an additional 30 percent off. So I quickly ordered them and the grand total was $27 and some cents for four, plus shipping. They arrived yesterday, and my experience is now complete…..
Whatevah, They All Fly Around in the Air
Court showed me a photo of Cole wearing an astronaut’s costume that they own for some reason or another. Court suggested I ask Cole what he’s dressed as in the photo. I did so. Star Wars, he replied, referring to the Stormtroopers who worked for the Empire. I think he might have something there…..
When I’m 64 is Today
I was 14 years old when this tune was released on the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album in 1967. So I have been waiting 50 years for this song to really mean something to me…..
When I get older losing my hair
Many years from now
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings, bottle of wine?
If I’d been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four?
I could be handy, mending a fuse
When your lights have gone
You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings go for a ride.
Doing the garden, digging the weekds
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four?
Send me a postcard, drop me a line
Stating point of view
Indicate precisely what you mean to say
Yours sincerely, wasting away
Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine forever more
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four?
Today is my birthday, and I’m 64!
Ciao.
Friends: Meet our Remodel
There are, of course, lots of good things about entertaining. There’s the ensuing laughter that comes with being with friends and family. The food is generally good and often are things that you only eat when you entertain or are entertained. Like Pigs in a Blanket. Can you imagine how odd it would be if Bill asked me what we were having for dinner and I told him little smoky links wrapped in crescent roll dough? But they are yummy, and often make an appearance at a cocktail party unless the Barefoot Contessa is hosting. In that case, you eat Tartare de Filet de Boueuf or Pissaladieres. Not a single little sausage in Ina Garten’s refrigerator. Poor Jeffrey. I wonder if sometimes he wishes he could just eat meatloaf with ketchup.
But at least for me, one of the good things about entertaining is that it requires me to clean the house. I’m not ashamed to admit I take a bit of prodding when it comes to homemaking — unless it’s cooking. My specialty? You guessed it. Pigs in a Blanket. I make them fancy by sprinkling on poppy seeds. I’m pretty sure then people think the party was catered…..
Bill and I invited our neighbors in last night to see the house remodel that he worked on all summer long and into the fall. Like me, they also listened to months of grinding and hammering and cutting because he had his work station set up on our front porch. We resembled the Beverly Hillbillies, and owed our neighbors some wine and Pigs in a Blanket.
By the way, I’m being a bit hard on myself. I also served Brie en Croute (which I can spell but can’t pronounce), hummus, and deviled eggs. That fancy thing that I can’t pronounce is actually just brie that is smeared with raspberry jam, covered in pecans, wrapped in store-bought puff pastry, and baked. Ina Garten doesn’t even make her own puff pastry.
My signature cocktail (having a signature drink is something I learned from my sister Jen who believes you can’t have a party without a signature drink) was prosecco with a splash of cranberry juice, garnished with a real cranberry. I spent the evening in silent prayer that no one would swallow the cranberry and require the Heimlich. My prayers were answered. But only because, contrary to Jen’s firm belief in a signature cocktail, my guests all drank wine.
But back to our remodeled house. Though we still have some things to do in the house – primarily painting and carpeting the bedrooms, which will happen next spring – we couldn’t be more pleased with the results. All of the pounding from May through October was worth it. I don’t have any BEFORE shots, but suffice it to say that 25 years ago, when I walked into this house, I loved it immediately; however, I told Bill that I wouldn’t be able to live with the carpeting or the paint color. It only took 25 years for the change to finally happen.
But here are some pictures of the final (ish) result…..
Prior to our remodel, the brick on the fireplace of our family room was a yellowish color and the carpet was an off-white that I hated about 15 minutes after it was installed. The rug was a gift from Bill’s brother Bruce.
The living room floor was covered in the carpeting that I said I would replace immediately. Finally, 25 years later. The sofa, chairs, and coffee table belonged to Bill’s mom, Wilma.
Bill installed wood floors in his office several years back, but they were a very light color. The floor was sanded and restained to match the other rooms.
The floors in the formal dining room were previously also hardwood of the same light color as Bill’s office and the kitchen.
The kitchen was the room about which I was most worried, having grown used to the light colored floors. I was delighted with how they turned out.
The stairway is perhaps my favorite area. Previously, they were carpeted in that same carmel-colored carpeting and the spindles were wooden. I love the fresh look of the metal spindles and the dark wood.
Bill did an immense amount of work, and it’s as good a job as any craftsman would have done. The job required removing the carpeting, removing the pressboard that lay underneath, installing plywood before finally nailing in the hardwood. He did that in two big rooms, the staircase, and the upstairs hallway. In addition, he removed circa 1970 wall paneling and put up drywall on one wall, and remove wallpaper from another wall. He painted our fireplace, installed canned lights in the family room, and redid the mantle.
And he has Parkinson’s disease. Go figure.
By the way, he had his semiannual appointment with his neurologist on Monday, and got another thumb’s up. Thank you God.
Sing Along
One of my earliest church memories is listening to my dad sing in the St. Bonaventure Catholic Church choir. Mom and all of the kids would sit on the gospel side of the church (a habit I maintain to this day). In the early days, the choir was in the back of the church in the choir loft. At some point (likely after Vatican II), the choir was relocated to the front of the church – also on the gospel side – and I could watch him sing. I loved that.
He had a beautiful tenor voice, and though I never asked him the question (kids, ask your parents questions NOW), I suspect he really loved singing choral music. I say this because as I have reported before, in addition to singing in the church choir, he also belonged to a men’s choral group called the Apollo Club.
So, my love for choral music – and for singing choral music – came from my dad. There you go; another thing for which to be grateful to my father.
When my sister Bec was in college at the University of Nebraska, she took Choir as an elective choice, at least for one year, and maybe more. Her choir performed Handel’s Messiah at some point in the year, and I remember attending and being introduced for the very first time to that masterpiece. I decided right then and there that when I went to college, I was going to take Choir and perform Handel’s Messiah. I was in Choir at my high school, but let’s face it. Handel’s Messiah.
So when I did, indeed go to the University of Nebraska, I took Choir as an elective. As soon as I could, I began figuring out how I could be part of the chorale that sang that gorgeous music. I quickly learned that it required a tryout. Gulp.
I do not have a good voice. In the olden days, I could read music (thanks to my five years of piano lessons) and carry a reasonable tune. But I never even tried to fool myself into thinking that I had any singing talent. Nevertheless, I was determined to get on that chorale.
I don’t remember much about that tryout. I assume I must have had to sing something to the choir director, but I don’t remember what I sang. I only remember one thing: He asked me before I tried out what part I sang – soprano or alto. I, of course, had no idea; however, Bec sang alto. If it was what she sang, then I must also sing alto. Right?
So I performed whatever-it-was for him, and much to my surprise, I was accepted to the chorus. As I walked out of the room, he said to my back, “By the way, I don’t really think you sing alto, but we’ll go with that since that’s what you think you sing.”
Like I had any idea….
That semester – that class – was one of the best times of my life. And while the Hallelujah Chorus is magnificent, it’s not my favorite choral piece in the Messiah. That would be Worthy is the Lamb that Was Slain. Those opening notes bring tears to my eyes every single time.
Sunday, Bill and I went to Wellshire Presbyterian Church to worship at a special service that consisted mostly of choral music. Addie, Alastair, Dagny, and Maggie Faith all performed at least one number with one or another choral group. It was a joy to watch them sing.
What was also a joy was listening to the church’s regular choir perform some magnificent music. It’s hard to believe that a church choir could be so talented, but they really sounded beautiful. The church is blessed to have a gorgeous pipe organ with a worthy organist. That, along with the timpani drums and the magnificent voices, brought me chills.
And I went home and bought a ticket for a performance of Handel’s Messiah next Sunday at a nearby church. Yay me.
I’ll Live in the Moment in a Moment
Baby Boomers will likely remember when the Beatles met the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, and subsequently became involved in Transcendental Medication. It was 1967. I was 13, going on 14, and had been one of those kids who watched the Beatles perform on the Ed Sullivan show and my life was never the same. I purchased every one of their albums up to and until Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. The music took a turn that made my 13-year-old self a bit uncomfortable. I listened to more Top 40 songs, like Happy Together by the Turtles and Carrie Anne by the Hollies.
I’m not reluctant to tell you now that in hindsight, a few of the songs on Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band are absolute classics that I really love. Furthermore, I got back on the Beatle bandwagon and purchased (and loved) the White Album in 1968.
But being a straight-laced Catholic schoolgirl, I was wary of the whole Transcendental Meditation thing. I knew people who practiced meditation, and they neither got struck down by God nor embraced by the devil. But I just continued to pray in the more traditional way.
In hindsight, my reluctance was probably at least in part because I couldn’t imagine sitting still and focusing on a single word for 20 minutes twice a day. Yoiks. I hurried through my daily prayers as it was. But I was intrigued nonetheless.
A few years later, the adult Kris learned that the Catholic Church had (and still has) something called centering prayer. Centering prayer is basically meditation in which your focus is a relationship with God. I’m not going to try and explain it, because the truth is, though I took a class and read some books on centering prayer, it never really worked for me. Because see above. I can’t focus on anything for 20 minutes. I tried. I selected my meditation word and tried sitting quietly, focusing on that word, waiting for God to talk to me. I’m sure he tried, but I wasn’t hearing him, because my mind would wander. I would be concentrating on my word, and then a work issue would creep into my thoughts. I would push that thought away and focus once again. Pretty soon, I was planning what to make for dinner. It felt like my efforts were futile.
I mentioned this to a friend of mine who is a devout Catholic and yet seriously into centering prayer. She told me a wandering mind is very common in meditation. When your mind begins to wander, don’t get mad at yourself, she told me; just come back and refocus on your meditation word.
I gave up, and haven’t thought much about meditation since that time. But an online publication I get from my retirement association called The Dime had an article recently on something called Mindfulness. It’s the art of being rooted in the moment. It apparently is modeled after meditation, but just as I was about to delete the article (because meditation and me don’t play well together) I saw that the idea of Mindfulness is more about being in the moment than actual meditation. There is no need to sit in a yoga position and say ommmmm to simply live a moment at a time and notice the things around you.
I have been working on the notion of being in the moment a bit since reading that article, partly because it is consistent with the message of a bible study DVD that I recently watched from one of my favorite bloggers. But it’s hard. It’s really, really hard. I am one of those people who can drive from Point A to Point C and realize suddenly that I missed all of Point B along the way. I think, however, that Christmastime is a good time to really focus on this notion of Mindfulness. It’s way too easy to get caught up in the shopping and the wanting and needing and the desire to make one’s house perfect and ensure that every one of the grandkids is thrilled with their gifts, all the while making Christmas cookies and entertaining the neighbors.
One suggestion was to try to find five new things about your spouse or roommate. I’m working on it, but it’s a real challenge. You learn a lot about your spouse after 25 years of marriage…..
One thing I learned about myself as I wrote this post is that it’s really hard to type meditation instead of medication. Another sign of growing old, perhaps.
This post linked to the GRAND Social
Nana's Whimsies 