Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm getting my hair cut this morning.  The stylist is about the age of my older daughter, and I've been seeing her for years.  She is getting her degree in engineering, and only works Sundays.  Over the years we've talked politics, personal and everything in between.  I toyed with the idea of introducing her to my younger son, but wisely resisted.  Now he's with his perfect mate.  But I care about this young woman, and I actually think she's an artist.  She arranged my younger daughter's hair for her recent wedding.  It looked beautiful.

Etiquette for these situations is touchy.  But we're comfortable now.  Sometimes we are quiet, and other days we chat away.  She often gives me advice about nutrition because her sister is a nutritionist.  I've watched her suffer with a flaky boyfriend, have trouble selling a house, and finally resolve to put herself through a new degree so she can have a stable, secure profession.  I don't think she's had any help along the way.  I've witnessed her growing up and becoming assertive about her own needs.  I don't say that in any superior way.  I also have done some late growing up and have more to do even at my advanced age.

This is friendly speech, but without any strings at all.  We enjoy seeing each other then forget about each other in between.  But we're on each other's radar, and that's a nice feeling.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I had an almost panic attack at Trader Joe's yesterday afternoon.  I thought something was off about my eye I just had the injection in, and I had to force myself to calm down and get through the shopping.  The threat of losing one's sight is pretty terrifying.  I seldom face it head on, but the exam, then the discovery of the bleed and then the injection have got my vision front and center.  "Don't know" is a good mantra to have in my situation, well, in anyone's situation.  I know I can worry my head off about one thing and another takes me by surprise.  I know I'm lucky my good eye is still holding.  I know I can fly and take the two trips I've been looking forward to.  But at the store, the last few days just hit me, and last night I hardly slept.

I'm honest about myself.  Fear is my unwitting buddy.  Loss of vision for a writer and lover of art is scary, but the worst is probably not recognizing faces.  All I have to do is close my good eye to see my future.  My friend has already had both eyes fail.  She's brave and funny, but it's so hard.  But there are worse battles than eyesight.  Loss is around the corner at my age, and never far from my mind.  "Don't know" is actually comforting.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Sometimes right speech is having someone speak for you.  Yesterday our younger son went to an auction house with my brother's stuff and had it appraised and found out how it would work if they took it to sell.  At first I was going to go, but then I thought, no, he's super competent, and I'm emotionally disturbed whenever I deal with my brother's things.  So he went, came back several hours later, and made it so easy for me.  I will be able to let him handle most of it, and it is such a relief to me to let go of the responsibility and give it over to a more impartial person.  Much of what I've had to do legally has required my voice and body.  I'm the sole trustee and the inheritor of his estate.  They want to speak to me.  But when they don't, I see that as an opportunity to protect myself from stress, and I'm choosing to step back.

My son is the right person because he's confident and enjoys negotiations.  I also do, but not with this.  After many months just speaking about my brother can bring tears to my eyes and voice.  I'm grieving. 

This is about not having to be in control all the time and trusting.  I've had many lessons about both of these issues and will no doubt experience many more.  So, anyway, I have a spokesperson.  It feels great.

Wandering Along the Path; Right Speech

All seemed to go well with my eye injection.  I had a lot of sitting to do between eye drops to numb the eye and waiting for photos to be taken of the eye.  So I was sitting in a row of patients and the guy next to me had his daughter, probably around 12 read to him from  People magazine about Whitney Houston's daughter, who overdosed.  This was not pleasant information, especially for a kid, but she read the whole article aloud, loudly, struggling with some words, and I cringed at the manipulative sentimentality of the prose and the fact that a kid was reading it.  Then it dawned on me that she was not the best of readers and maybe daddy was trying to encourage her to read anything for practice.  He may also have seen it as an object lesson:  don't do drugs.  The whole row of us was kept informed of the latest gossip.  The absurdity ended up amusing me.  I was literally a captive audience. 

You never know what you're going to learn out there in the world.  If I hadn't been captive, I would have probably left in a huff and not thought beyond the inappropriateness of the article for a child.  But gradually I realized their banter was tender and he was good with her.  And maybe he felt she already had heard about all this scandal and he wanted to take away the terror of it.  Who knows?  But they were affectionate and even when he told her she was too loud, he said nothing negative about her and did not label her.  It was a strange way to get father-daughter time, but there she was, in the middle of us old folks, being a kid and none of us discouraged it.  Pretty sweet.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I attended my granddaughter's choir concert and she had a solo at the beginning of one of the songs.  Before that song, she wiggled on stage, rubbed her left eye repeatedly, and looked about as nervous as it gets.  Then she performed the song perfectly.  It's fascinating how stage fright seems wedded to performance, and I've heard many people say when they don't have the anxiety beforehand, they blow it.  Nothing is pure and simple about us.  We make everything complicated, with conflicting emotions, thoughts and behavior.  The relief on her face after her solo was done was funny, because the torture was over and also she knew she'd done well.  We want to voice out, to perform, to draw attention to ourselves, yet we are miserable at the same time.

The choir director is amazing in her selection of songs.  She makes certain the words are appropriate, uplifting and beautiful.  So even though my granddaughter pronounces her "mean", she is intuitively drawn to the great melodies and lyrics.  One of the songs this time was John Lennon's "Blackbird".  It was haunting.  Several of the songs brought tears to my eyes.  The director is introducing beauty into the kids' lives, and harmonies.  Singing in harmony is a lesson from the angels.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I had to do some careful speech this morning talking to the realtor who is handling my brother's house.  I wanted to drop the price, but also get a sense of what she thought was the problem.  I suggested several possibilities, and she admitted the fact of my brother's suicide in the house is known by everyone in such a small town.  We also discussed the layout, and why it wouldn't be financially feasible to stage it.  And she was honest, once I said it, about the narrow hallways and layout being a problem.  The two guest bedrooms and bath lead to a dead end in that hall.  The other leads to the kitchen, living room and rest of the house.  There is something slightly claustrophobic about the one hallway.  So she was honest, when I brought it up, and we agreed on a lower price, and I admitted I now wanted the house to be done with before I have to renew the insurance in July, plus my worry about the house being unoccupied for so long.

I felt I handled the discussion skillfully and respectfully.  I understand I have a rather strange house with the stigma attached.  It's a problem that cannot be overcome.  I'll have to have some luck to sell it at a reasonable price.  It's not going to sell for what it is technically worth, because of its history. I'm feeling that it has been empty long enough, and needs a new beginning.  I hope someone takes a chance on the property.  I will do what I can, but am not in control.  And underneath, there is this sense of being pushed into dealing with this against my will.  I have some resentment, and though it's illogical, since my brother was obviously in no state of mind to consider what his death would mean to me, the resentment arises nevertheless.  Such is my state of mind at this moment.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I've been thinking again of one of my favorite expressions to tell myself.  It's from the Brad Pitt zombie movie "World War Z" when the tiny Israeli soldier is bitten and Pitt hacks off her wrist to save her, then has to clean the wound while they are escaping on the airplane.  He tells her to "Gut up".  Succinct, but the message is received.  It makes me smile when I think of the scene.  I have that in my mind to help me know I can get through a shot in the eye Wednesday.  In fact, it reminds me many people have and are going to undergo worse procedures, and whatever is on your plate, don't turn away, but face it.  Pain is a part of life.  My daughter had so much worse pain being treated for breast cancer, and so did my friends when they underwent treatment.  I'm a wimp by comparison. 

Last night we watched "The Day the Earth Stood Still" with Michael Rennie and Patricia Neal.  I told my husband afterward I knew Neal had had a dramatic life but couldn't remember details.  He looked it up online and gee, she had unbelievable challenges.  She was in love with Gary Cooper but he became jealous of Kirk Douglas and hit her though she was innocent, so she left him.  She was married to Roald Dahl and one of their children died of measles, and the same year their son was hit by a car and suffered brain damage.  Later she had 3 aneurysms, and was in a coma for weeks.  She slowly recovered with Dahl by her side.  Then he found a younger woman after 30 years of marriage and they divorced.   She won an Oscar for "Hud".  I hadn't known that.  She spent the last two decades of her life raising money for treatment centers for rehabilitation  and died at 84.  Amazing life, and she said she owed it all to being stubborn.  I would say she took the idea of "gut up" to heart.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My friend and I saw a teen type movie yesterday, with a lot of silliness and some crude jokes.  It was a double-edged sword, because it made fun of women, fat women, and minorites, but included them all as the good girls.  I'm not sure what a teen would come out thinking.  There were two commentators that were played by Fred Willard and Elizabeth Banks and they played stupid and in his case unbearably sexist and in hers cruel and vicious.  It wasn't funny to us, but this film, "Pitch Perfect II" will probably do well.  The singing is terrific, exuberant and fun.  But the messages are troubling.  And since when is saying the v word any more hilarious than the p word?

I'm not saying as teens we saw anything better.  "Tammy and the Bachelor" and Annette Funicello and Sandra Dee were not exactly role models.  Elvis Presley movies were ridiculous and we adored him.  I suppose we all survive such onslaughts without too much damage.  Movies are still pushing the Cinderella model and romance.  The kick butt girls of "Hunger Games" and "Divergent" aren't particularly admirable either.  That's why a teen film like "The Perks of a Wallflower" is so rare and honest. 

Oh, well, nothing really changes except the language gets coarser and is permeated with sexual reference.  You have to hope parents are discussing the messages and countering them for their kids.  And be grateful you're not a teen or the parent of a teen.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Does it matter about thank you notes any more?  My generation is still pretty rigorous about writing an acknowledgement, and we were raised to do so.  But nowadays, one is fortunate to receive an email.  I'm okay with that.  A text with a photo is even better.  I like the cards from the grandchildren, because I love their writing and spelling.  I'm only annoyed when I send something and no one ever tells me if it arrived.  Often, to find out if the gift got there, I have to email the person myself.  All of this is trivial in the larger scheme of things except for the fact that the less time one allows for thoughts of gratitude, the less gratitude is flowing through the heart.  So I like the notes for generously expanding gratitude thoughts, a healthy state of mind.  If we don't take any time out for such thoughts, we lose the connection with pleasure and cause.  We forget the other person in the joy of receiving.  A human interaction becomes a pleasure arousal about things.  Things magically appear, and the effort invisible. 

We've all seen kids at birthday parties tearing open the gifts, not listening to the parents telling them who gave them, having no eye contact or conscious acknowledgement of the giver.  At the end of the day the new toys are thrown into the pick up bin and shoved in an overcrowded child's room to be played with or not.  This is no Toy Story.  Even in that movie, it's the toys the child becomes attached to, not the giver.  A boy and his toys - ahhhhh.

Yes, the message is subtle, but that is exactly why I'm grateful my daughter encourages the grandchildren to see and feel that these gifts are from someone human, someone with feelings, someone who thought and planned and considered what her grandchildren might truly enjoy.  They may complain, but I consider it mind training.  I'm grateful.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We went to a play last night that was full of slapstick humor and pratfalls.  I laughed a lot and with vigor.  There was nothing really to think about, but the physical comedy was delightful.  The play, "One Man, Two Govn'ors" should have been cut by a third, because if you really have nothing to say, 2 1/2 hours is too long.  It could have been a silent presentation and I would have laughed as much.  The production also had a lot of live music, but the lyrics were forgettable, and the music energetic but uninteresting.  I often wonder, when I see a play or movie, why someone with authority didn't edit it down to manageable length.  Come to think of it, I also feel that way about some books, like "The Goldfinch".   Why didn't anyone stand up to the writer and say, "This would be so much better if it were shortened or condensed"? 

Is more better?  Often more gives me a generous amount of time to be hyper critical, because if it's going to be an endurance test, then I'm going to be asking what is the big deal?  If I'm totally satisfied at intermission, and have to come back for another hour, something really amazing had better be happening, because I need my sleep.  I got to bed at midnight last night, and now I'm tired and critical.  Oh, dear. 

There used at least to be book editors who shaped up unwieldy manuscripts, but now, the writers who make money seem to be curried to without any honest feedback.  The editor is the smoother over, not the collaborator on a project, and it shows.  It must be terrible to pander to talent without any mutual respect.  Truth telling doesn't appear to be an option these days.

I may email the theater group and voice my concern, which I believe would be right speech, even if it falls on deaf ears.  More is not necessarily more.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My eye check up discovered a new bleed in my bad eye.  I have macular degeneration, so it's disappointing, but not a shock.  I have to have treatment to stop the bleed next week.  There is some risk, but it's worth it to halt the loss of vision.  What I noticed in the office is how tense I was waiting for the doctor and then overhearing other patients talking and laughing with technicians distracted me, and a sense of not being alone comforted me.  I thought:  millions of people are in doctors offices right now are feeling nervous and afraid of the worst.  This is a part of being a human being, if you're lucky enough to be able to go to a doctor.  And I love my eye doctor.  He's my favorite doctor I see.  He was empathetic and genuinely dismayed that the lazer scan showed the fluid.  I'm not alone in this struggle, and these stresses are a part of life when you are getting older.  The alternative, as they say, is worse.

So eavesdropping comforted me.  I highly recommend it.  Yes, I'm facing this alone in one way, but I have supportive family, friends and doctors, and I feel blessed.  Even though my eyes are still dialated, I'm appreciating my sight and my good eye, and will do what it takes to save as much of my vision as I can.  So a shot in the eye is not the worst thing.  The worst would be if there was no treatment to try.  I'm grateful.  Bless those cheerful patients joking and teasing and facing their challenges.  I'll follow their example.

Wandering Along the Path; Right Speech

I just finished a novel by a writer I've followed for a few decades, Rafael Yglesias.  I'm a great fan of his book and screenplay, "Fearless".  This new book is "The Wisdom of Perversity" and it is a powerful evocation of three people who were molested by a pedophile as children, and many decades later reunite to expose him.  It's a disturbing book, but not at all voyeristic.  The graphic scenes are nightmarish and horrifying.  Evidently, Yglesias experienced a molestation himself as a child, and there is no flinching from the consequences.  This is a brave book, and he has kept careful control of his subject, so that there is no pleasure to be gained by reading it, only increased empathy for children put through such life altering experiences.  Would I recommend this book?  Not for the pleasure of reading, but for the novel's ability to show a world where powerful adults alter forever the lives of their victims.  I feel I now better understand what such acts do to the child, and the shame and secrecy that that child carries on his back forever. 

Wandering Along the Path; Right Speech

I'm feeling discombobulated this morning.  I went with my husband to the lab to get blood tests before we have our yearly checkup next week, and couldn't pee.  This never happens; trust me.  I joked around with the lab person and she was funny and supportive.  She let me take the sample jar home and I ate breakfast then took it back to her.  Her kindness made me feel okay about wasting my time and hers.  I like seeing her and we did a bit of dog talking.  She has an albino boxer and I, of course, have my two aged labs.  She described her dog with her grandbaby, and it was so sweet it cheered me right up.  So her right speech was a pick-me-up.

I think I'm getting my granddaughter's cold from last week, so I'm going to have to cancel with her tomorrow.  I'll use my right speech so as to not blame her mother, but really, it would have been better if she'd kept her at home.  She gave me no warning about the cough, which was relentless.  The poor girl coughed once a minute at least, through cough drops and card games.  Nothing helped.  She'd been awake an hour and a half the night before, so it didn't just come on at school.  Oh, well, touchy subject but necessary.  Life is full of these tiny right speech opportunites!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I wonder about my language sometimes with my husband.  He is very defensive at times, and I respond by telling him to cut the crap.  It does not sound very nice, but then he stops, gathers himself and admits he's attempting to throw up smokescreens to obscure his guilt about not having tackled something we agreed upon.  What's the good of having been married over forty years if you cannot stop the record without listening to a tune you've heard so very often?  He knows he's doing it, but hasn't the will to stop himself.  I feel I have the right to say I don't want to listen to his self-defense, because I'm not the enemy.  I don't label him or analyze him, but I'm not going to willingly be part of an age old pattern.

When I opt out, I don't get angry at him.  I've decided the marriage contract did not include game playing, and I can choose to give myself a time out from listening.  He sometimes gives himself a time out before he begins his list of complaints.  That's best.  But when he goes on automatic, I halt the process, because it will net us nothing but grief.  In a weird way, I feel I'm being kind to both of us.  I jump out of the rut, and then he does as well.

Wandering Along the Path; Right Speech

Yesterday was another day infused with the joy of fabrics.  My younger son's signifigant other and I shopped for fabrics so she could make a baby blanket for her brother and his wife, who are expecting.  She quickly developed strong opinions about various materials and I could practically see the ideas forming in her mind.  She had clearly thought about it before, so she knew she wanted supersoft flannel and she wanted a furry material for the stuffed dog she was also making.  The fabrics she chose were wonderful, and we came back and set to work cutting and sewing.  You could see her falling in love with the fun of creating something.  In 3 1/2 hours, we went to two fabric stores, she bought material for two blankets and a stuffed dog, and she had completed the blanket/comforter, taking home the material and pattern to cut out the dog.  The blanket is gorgeous.  The print side is little elephants with mustard colored ears and a gray background.  She found just the mustard color to match for the back, then came up with the idea herself for a strip of the print fabric on the back, in the lower third of that side.  It is brilliant, and the whole thing looks fresh and modern and so soft.  The other material she picked is a soft aqua with bits of gold.  It's unusual, and will make a lovely blanket.

My language job was to explain clearly and succinctly and be encouraging.  I'm far from a perfectionist, so that helps.  It was so pleasant to watch her solve problems, develop strong opinions about what she wanted, but scale back when I said something might be too involved or complicated for a first blanket.  We talked about nothing personal the whole time, but I got a better sense of who she is being a witness to her decision making and creative imagination.  I feel closer to her, and connected in a way I hadn't before.  Before I was happy she was making my son so happy, now I can see why.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

One of my favorite kinds of speech is enthusiastic speech, where two of us, at least, are sharing our admiration of something.  Often it happens in an art museum or after a movie, but yesterday my friend and I were fabric shopping and we oooed and awed over various materials.  We both have a grandchild due the same month, and were on the lookout for baby quilt fabric and various themes our children would appreciate to have in their baby's room.  It was such a feast for the eyes, and at the second shop we both took the plunge and bought fabric for a baby quilt, and I additionally got material for a dress for my seven year old granddaughter.  We checked our selections with each other, and received support for our choices.  Since this project takes a lot of time, and we are going to be staring at the quilt again and again when the baby is born, we wanted to get it right, to FEEL that the quilt would be pleasurable for the parents, baby and us.

Simple joy is what I experienced yesterday.  I came back home smiling, and later looked at my choices again and smiled.  These quilts will be made with love.

Wandering Along the Path; Right Speech

Language is strange.  The difference between "a fool's errand" and a "wild goose chase" is the word "fool".  I'm being labeled in the first phrase and in the second, it's merely that the search will be like "finding a needle in a haystack".  The first is derrogative and the second merely descriptive.  Need we sift through our metaphors for hidden labeling?  Well, if I have time on my hands it certainly doesn't hurt to examine what I'm saying.  Attention to language is awareness.  It sorts out unintentional harming.  It's good practice for the mind.  How to I test if the phrase has hidden harm?  How I feel when I hear it, really hear it, is a good sieve.  So, if I use my father's phrase "whatever floats your boat" without his sarcastic tone, it's neutral.  It expresses tolerance for others.  My mother often said "to each his own", and that is exactly what my father's phrase should mean.  Perhaps she was sarcastic on occasion as well, but I do think she was generally less judgmental than my father. 

I need to therefore see if the phrase is neutral, then carefully listen for my tone.  Any phrase, including "great" can be nasty with the right tone and body language.  Why bother with the phrases?  Because the delight and richness of language is meant to be used.  If we just stick to the facts our language becomes dull.  So we must give ourselves permission to be exuberant, but not mindlessly so, rather mindfully so.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

You know when someone asks you do you like her?  My impulse is to answer I like some things about her and not others.  But, instead, I usually I say yes.  Why?  Because I don't want to get into listing character traits of the third party not present, and the set up is dualistic:  either I do or I don't.  When the reality is I feel kindly disposed at one moment and irritated the next.  It's complex.  But do I want to be that specific about another person without her present?  No.  And I don't want to be analyzing her either.  It's not my job to make assessments. I'm not hiring her for a job.   I don't need to sum up.  And I would really, really be upset if someone did that to me.

We don't even love all the behavior of our spouses or kids.  We often don't like our own behavior.  It's a rocky roller coaster ride, being a human being.  And we have varying levels of attachment to others.  Some friends are for seeing once a year.  Some for going to movies or an art museum.  A few are for deep revelations and constant contact.  And even with those few, we take a break  or feel estranged at times.  Might as well ask if I like myself.  Not this week.  This week I'm doing a lot of praying and examining my behavior.  Next week, I could be proud as punch over a wise decision or a loving interaction with another.  There is no dualism.  It's a flow, high and low, jumbled up and crystal clear, depending on the moment.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Should I say "bad dog" when my dog does something she's not supposed to?  She's old now, so it would be difficult to change words for either of the dogs.  I wish I had picked something like "toasted cheeseballs" in a deep voice with a frown to accompany it, but I wasn't that aware of my dog language eleven years ago.  I just used words from the puppy classes.  My female dog already knows she's done something she's not supposed to do, like eating poop, and she doesn't really give a rip, so we're not talking devastation or soul crushing here.  She is quite intelligent, she just is going to get away with whatever she can.  The male dog has an interesting moral compass.  He sneaks and does things (like eating my bookmark or mail, stealing socks or licking plates in the sink) only when no one is looking.  I can't catch him in the act, therefore it never happened.  So he seldom gets the "bad dog" hairy eyeball treatment, due to short term memory issues.

But are they being "bad"?  Not really.  There are being quintesential labradors.  I want them to overcome all their instincts and behave to please me.  But I'm not the alpha dog for the male, the female is.  And the female cares, but only up to a point.  She figures she'll snuggle up while I'm reading and all is forgiven.  Which is true.  She tolerates children for my sake and behaves well around them.  She knows that is non-negotiable.  They both behave at the vets.  But other things...well, they let things slide.

Okay, next time I'll try using their names in a dark, threatening way, without the labeling.  Let's see if I can break my habit.  It won't change the dogs' behavior, but I'll feel less guilty about the good/bad thing, which is false to my beliefs.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I had a phone conversation yesterday afternoon with a friend who is "difficult".  She has many admirable qualities, but can be quite negative and critical.  She attempts, consciously or unconsciously, to worm information out of me.  She wants to know if I've had a social event and not included her, and perhaps included someone she has a vendetta against.  She wanted to know about a mutual friend yesterday and also if I would admit to her I'd had a book launch to which she was not invited.  I played stupid.  I said a couple of positive things about the mutual friend and then suggested she call for more information.  She sternly said, "She'll have to call me."  I did not mention the event.  I switched subjects.  Now this person is in her mid eighties, is not going to change, and she may have many reasons for bitterness.  I am mostly able to navigate the choppy waters of conversation with her, and without gossiping and feeling terriible after.  She doesn't bully me as she does others, because then I stay incommunicato for a few months.  I can't be guilt tripped into doing something with her.  It has to be convenient for me as well.  But she bullies some of my friends, and her anger management problem is substantial.

It's challenging keeping contact with a long time friend like this, but it's also been a great learning experience.  I've learned to take care of myself, and also not to feel guilty that I don't share that much of my life with her.  She's not safe.  She would be stunned to hear me say it, but that's the way I feel.  All my guardrails are up and running around her.  But guardrails are a good protection; they keep you from falling down a cliff.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I had a nice Mother's Day.  It began with a dharma talk about taming the mind.  My teacher used the Zen ox metaphor, about looking for the ox, trying to tame the ox, sitting on the ox, finally playing the flute on the ox and in the end, the ox being gone.  Most of us have to live with the ox our whole lives, sometimes being bucked off, sometimes sitting on the back with trepidation.  But more and more I'm able to observe my mind having a calm moment.  Progress is evident.  Enlightenment still far away.

At the dinner where three of my kids and their spouses/partner were present, my younger son asked me what I liked best about being a parent, and several spoke up and chimed in "being a grandparent", but I said really the best thing was seeing them grow up, change, make life decisions, and find their path.  Grandchildren are amazing, but my fascination is mostly with my kids and their choices.  They surprise me, astound me at times, and make me proud.  Who they are is validation for all my efforts.  I love being a witness to their lives.  My life is pretty quiet and undramatic, but theirs are filled with events and pledges and romance and children and career movement.  It's exhausting, thinking that I once lived at that level of intensity.  But I did it, and now they are.  Fascinating!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Last night, as I got under the covers and turned out the light, I had this overwhelming gratitude for the bed, the sheets, my nightgown and my life.  It was the particular that led me to the gratitude for my life.  And then I had a rush of superstition, because I'm prone to such feelings, but I brushed the dread away and said to myself, "This moment is what it is, and feels perfect, no matter what comes after.  I've had a good life, four healthy children, healthy grandchildren.  I am fortunate". 

Now, I practice gratitude as an antidote to fear.  I write every evening in a gratitude journal, and when feelings of gratitude pop up for me I try to express them to the person I'm thinking about.  But this was different.  It was simple joy in being alive.  There was no reason.  It was the same ritual, the same sheets, the same nightgown, the same light, the same time of night.  Nothing unusual had occurred yesterday.  I often have a similar feeling in the morning, when I get out of bed.  I'm so happy to grab my robe, go downstairs, let the dogs out, feed them, pick up their poop, get the paper and contemplate what to have for breakfast.  Barbara's shredded oats or scrambled eggs?  A fruit yogurt shake or raisin toast?  I love my V8 and tea.  These rituals are comforting to me. 

I wonder if the lack of expectation is part of the joy?  When I'm going to sleep or waking up I'm facing ordinariness.  I don't have exciting dreams and though sometimes I think about an earthquake before I go to sleep (Where is my purse?  The flashlight?) or in the morning perhaps I'm going to meet a friend later or pick up my new glasses, mostly expectation is not part of the mix.  I seem freer when my mind is not jumping ahead, but right in the moment without anticipation.  I'm tired at night, so perhaps that quiets my mind, and in the morning I'm full of energy and possibility but generalized, without specifics.  Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

What is a blessing?  I sometimes write blessings for others, but when I think about it, what authority do I have to do so? I first wrote a blessing for a dear friend's 65th birthday.  I stood up at the tea and read it aloud.   I wrote a blessing for my older daughter's second wedding, and then for my younger daughter's recent wedding.  I write them from the heart, as I do when writing poetry.  I wish them well.  I acknowledge their unique qualities and honor them. 
But the authority thing is disturbing.  Do I have the right?  Do I know what I'm doing enough to undertake a blessing?  Is it appreciated? 
I know I'm always grateful for a blessing from a teacher.  I don't believe a friend has ever blessed me.  And I'm not a teacher.  If a blessing is wishing someone well, then it seems no authority is needed if the intention is generous.  And I have done these last two blessings to a younger generation, from the point of view of long and fruitful life.  Am I pretending to be an elder?
I know I've been careful crafting the blessings.  I write a draft and go over it many times over several months.  I watch what I say.  I aim for no harming, only good wishes. 
But it is strange, when I think about it, that I had the nerve to desire to do this.  Am I trying to hog the limelight?  Is ego in the way?  Something to think about.  Delusions of grandeur and all that. 
Yet truthfully, I wish I'd started this tradition earlier, with my older two kids' weddings.  With them, I sang a song at the rehearsal dinners.  Now I've added the blessing tradition.  It happened so subtly I hardly noticed myself.  And here I am, practically blessing the animals in the fields.  I know I'm goofy, but oh, dear.  This takes the cake!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

The other day, at an event at my house, a woman whom I'd not met before as she was the friend of a friend, asked me about the paintings on my walls.  I was in the middle of a sentence when a mutual friend entered the room and the woman said, "Excuse me, I've not see so-and-so in ages", and she turned from me and began speaking to the mutual friend.  I quickly walked away, but was stung by the abruptness of the cutting off of my sentence.  It seems to me she might have included our mutual friend by saying, "I was just in the process of hearing about these paintings" or some such transition, and then I probably would have greeted my friend and encouraged them to "catch up".  After all, I was the hostess.  But the way it actually happened, I would have bet that this woman could find no one to talk to and was filling space by a question to which she really didn't want to hear the answer.  We've all been guilty of this party politeness.  She was relieved not to hear my answer to the question she really didn't care about, and I was left with a negative impression of this person.  I wish she'd not been so obviously anxious to not speak with me any longer, though she hadn't even given me a chance to be witty or dull.

Parties are danger zones for me.  I want to be genuine, and have interesting conversations, but others sometimes seem to be more than satisfied with the superficial and hop from person to person like rabbits.  I would have liked to have known how this person knew my friends, and a little about her.  But she had no curiousity about me.  That hurts when it shows.  Maybe I'm too thin skinned, or easily insulted.  My expectations of parties are quite low, though one where everyone knows everyone else is fun, and some parties have energies due to concentrated intention to raise the happiness quotient, as at a wedding.  This party made me happy, because the person I was hosting was pleased and the logistics went smoothly.  And I had many delightful conversations.  So I recall this one incident as a lesson and warning to me to strive not to be false or insensitive when meeting new people.  Because I sure wouldn't want to hurt someone unnecessarily, and guilty of closing a door when it might have been opened.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My husband and I finished watching the film "Wild", which I had previously seen in a movie theater by myself.  His reaction was different from mine, probably some of it based on gender.  He didn't like the character "Cheryl", and therefore was not engaged by her quest.  I certainly don't condone her behavior, but I feel the movie adequately shows the viewer the reasons:  her mother had died suddenly, she had no support system to help her through the healthcare issues, she had a breakdown and was self destructive, and her family life before had been harmful, with an abusive father that her mother finally left.  I had compassion.  I understood her need to purify herself and start anew.  My husband wanted to see what had changed in the end, but the only thing that had changed was Cheryl's view of who she was.  She now was a survivor, could use the memories of her mother to guide her, and realized she wanted to live not die.  There was nothing visible or tangible at the end.  It was a shift.

But what I admire is the writer Cheryl Strayed's candor.  She was willing to expose her drug addiction, careless sex, and destruction of her marriage.  She spoke the truth, daring to be judged, not fearing such judgment, because she'd been her own harshest judge before.  She was brave enough to be transparent.  My husband feels feelings should be hidden and managed at all times.  He doesn't like the idea of exposure.  He's protected himself by what he doesn't say.  His point of view has validity and is right for him. 

But is it partially because he's a man?  The women I am close with are more honest about their thoughts and feelings, not with everyone, but more regularly.  We trust in the empathy of our women friends.  This is gross generalizing, but maybe men can't trust men friends to not be competitive or judge.  Maybe they have no feeling of safety.  Now, women gossip, and we try to be circumspect about what we tell to whom, but our image isn't so often built on an idea of perfection.  Men expect perhaps more of themselves and need that image to be shiny.  I don't really know.  I just felt, last night, that something about our differing views was about speech, and what is right and wrong speech.  He was offended by the privacy violation of such a story, and I understood why breaking that taboo was freeing for the author.  There is no right or wrong interpretation, but I felt aided in my understanding of the film by simply being a woman.  Interesting.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I ran into two friends while I was walking the dogs this morning.  We joked about aging, which was kicked off when one friend asked about a growth on the elbow of one of my dogs.  Somehow we got onto leggings and how we don't wear them out anywhere, because we haven't the bodies or the nerve.  I admitted I tried harder these days to look well groomed, as a distraction perhaps to the wrinkles, gray hair and general lumpiness.  This was a good talk, though it would have sounded trivial to an eavesdropper, because the subject of aging is ever before our eyes, especially in the mirror, but walking, interacting with strangers, and negotiating our retired lives.  We want to help out with our grandchildren, but we recognize our slow reaction time, easy fatigue and other limitations.  So the joking keeps us understanding we are all in the same boat, and it's just as well to have a sense of humor about it.

As my physician says, "Welcome to old age".  What's the harm in whining a bit or grumping with friends?  It lets off steam.  Because we have challenges these days, and as someone else said, "Old age is not for sissies".  We have to gut up and face pain, uncertainty, deterioration of knees and hips, strange growths on our skin, surgeries, medicines; a host of experiences that range from not pleasant to terrifying.  But, after all, the alternative is worse!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Tonight my quiet time will be over.  My husband is returning, and I have a writing group this evening.  I look forward to both these things, and am ready to open my mouth.  This weekend pause also has been long enough to set me upright again.  Remember "weebles wobble but the don't fall down"?  I am a weeble.  I get centered, then I lean.  I get centered then a big emotion or event or thought has me wobbling like jelly in an earthquake.  The pausing, the silence, is what makes me quiet down and stabilize.  My heart closed a bit like eyelids resting, and now I'm ready to open it all the way again and see what comes.

Without having any intention to organize, this morning I came to the studio and took out all my writing and put novels in progress together, poems, blogs, the whole nine yards.  I discovered that the reason I'm having trouble in organizing my book about Fiji is I have too many versions printed out.  It's disorganized and confusing.  No wonder when I get feedback I don't incorporate it into the desktop version.  Hundreds of pages, but the book is one fifth the size of my mountain of pages.  I have not pared down, but now I know what I need to do to feel in control of this book.  Having this pause this weekend clarified a problem for me that I hadn't realized I had.  So I'm grateful for my husband's departure, the phone not ringing, and no real tasks to be done, so that I could have the clutter in my mind settle down enough to get a true picture of my reluctance to work on the book.  I can work now, and will start by sorting through the pages until I have one clean copy.  Maybe it should be chronological as well.  I've put the cart before the horse by mixing the sections all up.  I thought I was so clever, but ironically, I confused myself.  Weebles rule!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I haven't had any speaking practice this weekend.  My husband is at the cabin with the dogs, and I have kept to myself, a rare opportunity for me.  I would pick up the phone if a friend called, and probably agree to some social suggestion, but no one has, which I take as a sign that I need this breathing space.  I've seldom been alone in my life, as I married young and had kids quickly, and I enjoy a break from society occasionally.  But I especialy need space away from my husband, as now he has been retired for three years and he doesn't go out except with me or to walk the dogs.  He'll figure out something more meaningful to do with his time eventually, but I am forced to leave the house to get space, and right now, having the house to myself is nice.  I'm not doing anything in particular, just letting my mind rest from engagement with others.

I don't feel lonely, because I grew up left to my own devices mostly.  I could walk in the woods for hours, bicycle to the river ten miles away and back, read in my room with the door closed once I had my own room at twelve, and generally figure out how to entertain myself.  That background has stood me in good stead, because I'm not afraid of my thoughts, or even of strong feelings, when they come.  Everything changes.  I didn't need a Buddhist practice to accept that fact.  I knew it from my own experience moving a lot as a child, having my father gone quite a bit, being deposited with relatives in the midwest, and having a mother who was busy with sewing projects and social activities galore.  I did have breathing space in my family, whereas my husband did not.  So are needs are different.  He's learned to get more comfortable by himself, and I have mastered how to be more comfortable with others.

So this weekend, my right speech is what I tell myself, about myself, and how forgiving I am for my not making plans or "getting things done" or calling people I haven't spoken to in a while.  I'm being kindly to myself.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

A couple of days ago my husband and I went to see the film "Ex Machina".  It was very thought provoking, especially through the lens of right speech.  A man has invented a robot that he wants to test for sentience.  He has his gifted employee flown in to his retreat to conduct the "Turning Test".  In the past this has been run while the questioner and possible candidate are unable to see each other.  But in this film, the questioner can see emphatically that the robot is a robot.  So the imagination seems clipped from the beginning.  In the movie, the audience slowly is convinced that the robot is a sentient being.  This leap is startling, and shakes up our preconceptions about what is human.  Can speech be that persuasive?  Can it counter our own eyes? 

I think we know this to be true.  There is a gentle young man who is revealed to be a serial killer.  His neighbors say he is so nice.  There is the woman who is deeply concerned about the health of her child, until it is discovered she has Baron Munchausen syndrome.  People are not how they appear to be, and may harbor other sides not apparent to others.  There is the fact that people attribute better intelligence, grace and kindness to those with more pleasing faces.  We get caught up in either looks or talk which may not represent the true or complete picture of an individual. 

One trick the robot displays is she turns the questioner into the questioned.  People do this who do not wish to be examined too closely.  With the myriad of complexities about the intention of speech, who among us can sort out curiousity from manipulation?  Who can determine character from speech?  In the end, as in the movie, it is the action of the speaker that ultimately tells us intention.  Getting caught up in the net of speech can lead us further and further from truth.  No verbal test can determine humanity, caring and feeling levels.  Actions speak louder than words.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

So this wordsmanship involved in selling my brother's house is getting to me.  The buyer wouldn't even counter the counter, and I'm not willing to accept his first offer that is far below the asking price.  So his realtor tells us he's fatigued with looking at houses and hints we should lower our counter and he might deign to perk up.  For heaven's sakes!  I want businesslike negotiations, but with the  first offer the guy realized he was going to pay more child support than he thought, and drops out.  He definitely didn't have all his ducks in a row.  The second is sulking because he didn't get the great deal he hoped for.  I wish people would stop gambling and consider ahead what they can really afford and not play around with us.  I just hope a grownup with a sensible grasp of his/her financial situation and boundaries will make an offer.  I don't like countering and refused with our last house, and I wish I'd stuck to my guns this time around.  Counter offers tend to insult the seller, and then the seller, demoralized,  feels he/she should respond out of politeness.  We are forced to look at the offer, swallow our pride and negotiate.  Well, the negotiating failed in both cases, so I'm not inclined to move any pieces on the chess board.  Next time I'll say yes or no.  But by countering, I've left the door open to that price for anyone from here on out, so I'm the one trapped, not the buyer.

I'm going to sing "Que sera, sera" in my head until I relax, enjoy this weekend, and follow Doris Day's advice.