Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm feeling grateful that my daughter's dear friend, whose baby was due nine weeks from now, has safely delivered her son by C Section and though he will be in the hospital for some weeks, both are fine.  My daughter replied immediately when I texted, and that is right speech.  She does not want me to worry.  Sometimes speediness is right speech even if the words are not chosen wisely or well.  Some people have a knack for knowing how to impart information smoothly and quickly when anxiety is high.  My kids knew if they called late at night to first say they were fine, then detail the ride needed, the car broken down, the missed connection, the lost cell phone. 

Prefacing the beginning of a call or an encounter with reassuring information is compassionate.  If possible, it is a good idea to figure out exactly how to begin the conversation in the most calm and comforting manner.  Sometimes the news is bad, and the anxiety of the listener will be worse after hearing the news, but still, speaking carefully helps process the situation.  When a policeman called about my brother's death, he asked first if I knew him, and I quickly said I was his sister.  I knew a policeman in Texas would only be calling with bad or worse news.  It was worse, but his calm slow drawl helped me not scream or drop the phone, and I was able to hear the details and respond that I would find a flight and call him back with the info. 

Then I sat there stunned, and retold the conversation to my husband.  But the policeman's skills enabled me to take in the information and know what I wanted to do next.  That was a professional kindness, but I appreciated it none the less.  When it later turned out he'd done a bad job of finding a will or notes (he missed them on my brother's desk completely, even missed the room) I was able to be calm and not confront him.  He was a policeman in a small town who was a novice.  I forgave him, because it seemed he was compassionate.  So the delivery is huge.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I was a late convert to texting, but I really have a good time with it with a couple of friends who live far away, I must admit.  They make a big effort and include pictures, and it really can be satisfying.  Yes, the texts and photos are usually about grandkids.  This morning, while the unexpected rain poured down, I enjoyed the texting and the connection.  It cheered me right up.  I'm lucky that these same friends also indulge in long phone calls occasionally, so I get the best of both worlds. 
I'm beginning to get the feeling that texting forces a kind of right speech.  No sloppiness.  The text is information rich and to the point.  Now, I don't always want to impart information.  Sometimes I want to meander or whine or goof off.  Phone calls are better for that purpose and also feedback on my thinking or actions.  But texting has its place.

And I am crazy about sending photos.  A picture still is worth a thousand words.  I often look through the photos on my phone and smile.  I connect with my kids and grandkids for a heart tug.  It's sublime1

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Today was a mostly silent lunch between my husband and I.  He slept poorly last night and was depressed.  He has been struggling with sleep and bad dreams for a while, but won't listen to advice to see his doctor or exercise or give up caffeine or any mundane suggestions from me.  He's in a slog and I think he believes it will pass, and it may, without him taking any action.  I see him suffering and fight the urge to "fix" the problem.  I know it's not my business, but I live with him, and his misery is difficult to witness.

I let there be silence while we were at the cafe, because my several attempts at talking about a movie or a book that just came out fell flat.  I'm more comfortable with silence than he is, because I meditate.  But I wanted to be anywhere but there with him, and I felt embarrassed that we were exposed in our difficulties.  It shouldn't matter, but I'm admitting I felt it.  Now I'm going to go to see the movie we were going to see together by myself.  I am not willing to stay in the house as if I had the flu.  All I can do is tell him I'm sorry he's exhausted and miserable.  That I have done.  I have no magic to cheer him up.  So I'm left to worry.  And neither one of us is getting any help.

I would speak up and ask for help, but he won't.  He doesn't think there is any help and I know there is, if only he would seek it.  Stalemate.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Visits with family or friends have changed for me.  Whereas before I asked questions and when I didn't, had questions in my mind I wanted to answer for myself, now I go someplace and want to FEEL the atmosphere.  I trust my instincts more and language less.  So on the four day visit last week I wasn't waiting around for people to tell me what was going on, what their struggles were, how happy their lives were.  I was seeing with my heart, and words would have been something to puzzle out how accurate they were.  In fact, several statements struck me afterwards as not at all what was going on with the person.  I did feel a moment of insight, but not because the words were a true reflection of who they were but because they pointed out wounds and struggles.

So I have nothing to report really, but I'm satisfied I have a heartfelt understanding of what is going on, how unbearable complex their lives are, and what their aspirations say about them.  It's a strange way to find out more about people, but right now, it is the only method I trust.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I've just returned from a delightful trip to see my granddaughter and daughter.  I especially got a kick out of my granddaughter, just turned eight, asking what insurance was.  She was intensely interested, and we talked about "assurance" and I explained about paying money each month so if something happens to your house or car the insurance will fix it.  Then she pondered about the "in" part of the word, and we wondered if it had to do with being in volved with protecting the house or car.  I have no idea where she heard the word originally, but I believe some worry about a hurricane or tornado or some other act of nature might have been the source.  Catastrophe must have been in the mix.  I wisely did not discuss life insurance, because I did not want to go down that road.

But our talk was about security, and safety, and fear of something like Japan and Equador just experienced.  I hope I comforted her, but these issues loom large not just for eight year olds but for all of us.  I afforded it the respect it deserved.

Things are not in our control, and I believe she had a shiver of understanding recently.  The lives of children are as complicated as that of adults.  The myth may be they are carefree, but reality is darker and more unknown.  We should respect the reality, not comfort ourselves with the myth of childhood.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Last night at writing group we were very efficient about discussing each other's work and even did a quick write and read those.  We ended on the dot.  But then, the facilitator asked if we had any personal issues to bring up and we had a rip roaring conversation about being mothers-in-law and the perils and pitfalls of our relations with our grown children.  I really wish someone would write a book to guide us along the path of readjusting our relationships with our kids, how to speak appropriately, how to let go, and how to know when to shut up. 
But this huge shift is a difficult adjustment for all of us.  And we offend our kids without knowing the "rules" if they even know the rules.  So our solidarity together is important.  I went home feeling supported and soothed.  It's not just me; this stage of moving off into the wings is challenging and confusing at times.  But we're in it together.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My friend is executor for a friend's estate, and has a great attitude about it.  She loves that friend's daughter, husband and two daughters, and they struggle with money, so she's hanging tough to try to get the estate fairly settled between the deceased and her ex-wife.  The ex-wife is wealthy, and yet being a bit difficult, as a house and business were co-owned.  What a blessing my friend can take this off the shoulders of the daughter and her sister, and without rancor or emotion speak for them to receive what they deserve and their mother would have wanted them to have.  It's a great gift, totally disinterested, and completely generous.

When someone we love dies we need a person to speak for our interests and to listen to our turmoil of feelings.  My friend is filling that role, and also lessening the impact of a mother and grandmother lost.  I'm so proud of her and her great heart.
 Filling a need and not making a fuss about it:  just seeing what must be done and stepping up to the plate.  That's true heroism.  I just finished reading Rebecca Solnit's book "Hope" and she relates in one chapter how as people were running away from the towers on 9/11 in the midst of an overbearing cloud of debris, a man fell and was being trampled when an elderly woman stopped, grabbed his arm and helped him stand.  He feels certain he would have died had she not stopped and offered an arm.  She was old, he was young, she was weak, he was fit, but she saved him and they stayed side by side until they were out of danger.  She just stopped because she saw a need, even in the middle of terror and chaos.  How wonderful!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I've been going up to our older son's house to help out with the baby.  That experience has been lovely, but a side benefit has been time to talk once the baby is asleep at night or grocery shopping or on a walk.  He's a historian, and he's been wondering about early experiences of him and his sister.  So he asks questions, some of which I can't answer because either I no longer remember or never knew, and he reveals his preschool and up experiences that I wasn't present for and did not learn about until now.  Often it is sad:  what I couldn't know and the suffering he was too young to express to me.  I had sole custody of the kids, but no way of knowing what happened on visitation visits and no one around my exhusband who observed anything. 
But this is good.  He can tell me, I can hear with regret but without freaking out.  And I really had no choice in the matter.  This was before people knew the term "battered woman" and way before people could see a connection between that and fear generated by the batterer to his children.  I would have had to have hidden out, and there were no shelters or underground.  I obeyed the judge.  I was tortured over it, but powerless to stop the visits or get supervised visits.  I thought their father had calmed down, but it sounds like he wasn't calm enough.
This is coming up now because my son has a son, and he's figuring out how to protect and defend him.  When he described being bullied at school, I felt sad, but I was bullied as well, and pushed off a tall slide sideways by a mean boy right in the asphalt playground.  I remember bloody knees and my dad coming to pick me up and take me to the doctor.  It's vicious on school playgrounds, and I don't blame my parents for not protecting me.  I wish my son had told me at the time, so I could at least have lodged a protest with the principal, but stopping rough stuff in school is almost impossible. 
Being a parent involves that helplessness you feel when you know your child will be in situations where you are powerless.  That's truly scary, and painful, and yet a part of life.  We seldom tell our parents until the incident is way past, if we ever tell them.  Maybe partly because to do so would drive home to us how little they can really do.  So we protect the truth from our parents, out of instinctive wisdom about the nature of our lives.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

When I drop my foster granddaughter off after our afternoon together, her three year old sister makes sure she sees me and speaks to me.  Yesterday she wanted to show me two Scooby Doo plastic figurines.  Before it  was her new basketball hoop and before that it was a doll.  I've never taken her anywhere or included her in her sister's and my outings, but she wants that feeling of inclusion, and perhaps a bit of the attention her big sister receives from me.  So I make a concerted effort to respond verbally to her and say her name, so that she's formally acknowledged.  There is a seven year difference between the sisters, which means to the younger the older leads a glamorous, mysterious life.

I do bring the three year old little gifts sometimes and give her a modest birthday and Christmas present.  It's hard to balance these things.  My relationship is fundamentally with the older girl, but when she makes the effort to be sure and see me and say hi, then I want her to know I see her clearly.  She's a little person in her own right.  So if she has something to "show" me each week, I take special care to appreciate her.  That's how it works.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm beginning to get a flurry of emails from friends who want me to vote one way or another.  I respect their right to inform others, but I'm already on an overload of information.  Today a friend sent something about Clinton, from an article about her before her husband was even president, and that I was curious about, so I read it.  It's interesting and relevant.  And of course it weighs in Clinton's favor that I value my friend's intelligence and even wisdom.  So I saved it to peruse more thoroughly later. 
What I notice about myself is my reluctance to read MORE even when it might be more detailed, more pertinent, more helpful.  Media creates this situation where they throw so much at us that we can't summon the energy to read when something important comes along.  We are drowning in trivial details, and won't get on the boat when it pulls up.  And I am your basic reclusive voter, so what is it like for others?  I don't watch TV news or the debates (I will watch the debates when we have the actual candidates).  I listen to classical music not talk shows.  I don't read the articles in the paper written for scandal, or to inflame us, or about spouses of candidates or family members.  In other words, I try not to see the election as another "American Idol" or "Downtown Abbey".

It's a hairy task, being a voter, in this day and age.  I want to be a good citizen, and be informed, but not manipulated and shaped like silly putty.  I am a voter warrior, hear me roar.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

It's pretty dreary out today, so I did an exercise video rather than the walk I'd planned.  Then I returned a call from a friend, who likes to ask a lot of questions.  I seldom ask questions, unless they are of a general nature:  how is your knee feeling?  what did you do on the weekend?  I wonder if my friend was a proscecutor in another life, and I was a witness on a stand pinned like a bug.  I'm comfortable deflecting questions these days if I don't want to reveal information, but I had to practice for years to get to this stage.

I don't like to be grilled.  But also, I don't like my own answers.  At my age everything seems impossibly complex and condensing responses not accurate.  Those who know me well don't want to hear my answers because they go on way too long.  I'm not satisfied with the standard replies.

I did my friend a favor.  I avoided serious answers, and asked her about herself.  It's a jungle out there, and I have to have my defenses in place to chat.  This conversation business is not easy!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I listened to my Buddhist's teacher's dharma talk on "The Heart is the Medicine" and it felt so true and comforting.  We get so caught up in our minds, but our minds are never going to free us from anxieties.  Our minds are stuffed with thoughts, things people have said to us, and information that causes fear and tension.  Our minds cannot get us out of the box we are in.  I've been paying attention to my eye with the bleed, too much attention, until I've made myself almost crazy, and monitoring my weight and diet, as well as testing my blood sugar.  It's of course good to be aware of my behavior and body, but right now I'm on overload, and it's freaking me out.

Anam Thubten suggests we listen to our heart, not our mind, and perhaps I need to listen to my heart about my body.  I am taking good care of myself.  I cannot control the eye disease, only trust in my doctor to take action when I need it.  My weight is going down.  My blood sugar is within control levels it should be.  So what is happening?  For one thing, I'm blaming myself and feeling guilty I have these health issues.  Yes, I'm overweight, but when I began taking medication for Graves Disease many years ago I knew I would have a difficult time avoiding weight gain and diabetes and other problems.  These problems are common and everyone has problems, and mine could be a lot worse.  And it's my mind that jumps to catastrophe, and obcesses about garlic bread, not my heart.  My heart knows I'm blessed.  I have an amazing family and friends, and a great living situation. 

My mind goes around like a rat in a cage.  My heart calms the activity going on upstairs and reminds me how grateful I am for eye treatments, great doctors, excellent health insurance and support from everyone around me.  My heart feels the love, and if I let it, will love me tender, as Elvis would say.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We're doing some travel writing in my writer's group, and I thought today of my trip to Morocco with my best friend a few years ago.  We flew in to Casablanca, then took the train to Marrakesh, where we stayed for four nights before traveling on to Meknes, where we met my daughter and son-in-law, who were living and teach in Ifrane.  We had a great time at two different riyads off the great square in the center of the medina, enjoying the souks, the throngs of people, the food.  When we got on the train again, men helped us lift our bags and manage the steep stairs.  Everywhere we went people were curious.  Two women traveling alone?  We faced many blunt questions.  Most people relaxed when I said we were going to visit my pregnant daughter.  Ah, a mother.  They could relate to that.  But on on trip to Meknes, a teenage boy engaged my friend, not to be friendly, but clearly because he thought that though a youth, he was, after all, male, therefore superior in intelligence, and he asked rude and prying questions with the rest of the car as his audience.  My friend, being in charge of student affairs at a respected university, was highly skilled and answering transparently, without rancor and defensiveness. 

The youth gave up after he couldn't offend us, and we smiled at each other with amusement and tolerance.  We were wise women, but nobody at home acknowledged that fact either, so we traveled incognito.  But my friend's right speech:  engaging, but without need to take a side or win an argument, has stuck with me.  I have no hope the boy learned anything.  He did not seem receptive.  But just maybe.  Just maybe we've stuck in his mind a little bit as he's matured.  You never know.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Yesterday my son helped me plan for my husband's birthday a few months hence.  We got a lot done, and as we were doing it online and by phone, I was struck yet again with how smooth and poised our son is with people.  He has such a friendly, easy manner and people respond really well to him.  He has a flash of my father, who loved engaging with others most of the time, and even mannerisms that remind me of my dad.  What a gift it is to instinctually know the way to speak to others.  I'm sometimes able to engage well, but I'm shy, so with strangers or people on the phone I don't appear open or friendly.  All of our kids are better at the poise thing than my husband and I, and what a blessing it is.

I really enjoy people, and love a chat, but in groups I freeze.  Groups trigger an ancient shyness from the experience of being the new kid in the classroom.  I lose all confidence that anyone would want to meet me.  I feel I have nothing to offer.  But I can see this is narcissism on my part.  Really, other people are shy as well and feeling like deer in the headlights.  If I can keep the focus on the other person I behave better and DON'T TAKE IT PERSONALLY.  What a concept, as my dad would say.  If I concentrate on putting others at their ease, I warm up.  "Get over yourself" is an excellent mantra for me.  And it's gratifying to see my kids have leaped over that hurdle way ahead of me.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My foster granddaughter learned a lesson in right speech this week.  A friend of mine wanted to get together with her two granddaughters and my foster granddaughter, and when I suggested it (they have gotten together a few times before and had fun), my granddaughter wanted to hold off on accepting, because she was hoping her friend would invite her that night for a sleepover to see her baby rabbits.  Perhaps her mother explained to her that waiting until the last minute was rude, or maybe my telling her mother I was uncomfortable saying my friend's plan was second choice for my granddaughter had an impact directly or indirectly, but when I picked my granddaughter up from school on Wednesday, she said she wanted to go with us.  She may have checked with her friend and it was a no go, or her mother had a talk with her, or she realized she had to give a yes or no.  I did not inquire.

I simply acted as if I was glad she was able to come, but it was no big deal, with no anxiety behind it on my part.  On my own, I had decided to refuse the invitation that day if my granddaughter couldn't commit.  I was too uncomfortable with promoting what I thought was rude behavior.  And I was not going to even imply that my friend and her granddaughters were distant second place choices.  That would have been hurtful speech.  I was just going to say my granddaughter already had made other plans. 

I'm grateful my granddaughter rose to the occasion, and did not hurt me or my friend or her granddaughters.  We're going to the movies and for pizza, and what's not to like about that?!  So all's well that ends well, and without any lecturing on my part. 

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I've been following the stories about sexual harassment at my alma mater, and today a woman, married with five kids, who had complained about her boss to little avail, came forward publicly to describe her anguish and frustration.  She got a strong response once she finally filed a lawsuit.  I'm a woman, so I know this harassment is rampant, and I've heard many stories over the years, as well as experienced sexism in the workplace a few times.  Like battering, or date rape, the culture sympathizes with the perpetrator not the victim.  We learn early to not make a fuss, and that if we do, we will be blamed for the way we talk, dress, behave.  I'm not sure in our own supposedly advanced culture, we aren't awfully close to believing women flaunt their sexuality just by having breasts and lips and vaginas.  We are the biblical seducers, and men are helpless in our clutches.  I'm not buying it. 

Sexual harassment is about power, not sex.  Just as rape and battering are.  Are we a society that prizes gender equality?  We pay lip service to it, but we don't see much hard evidence.  And those in power desire to stay in power.  They often don't think about it consciously, they just behave as if their impulses and desires are all that matter.

So good for this brave woman for speaking up about an elephant in the room, and I mean every room in the country.  Women want to work in a professional manner, and not have pressures added on top of the work load.  We are tired of being worn down by "jokes" and comments about our dress or physical attributes.  We want men to grow up and act like adults instead of out of control little boys.  I hope every woman speaks up when this happens and then other women will know it's not them, it's the system, and there are millions of us to rally with them.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm trying to organize a birthday trip for my husband, and it involves four kids, spouses, grandkids and conflicting schedules and priorities.  It requires a lot of right speech and patience.  The last time I attempted a family trip, it ended badly, and that makes me leery.  I'm going to keep as relaxed as possible, and also not be swallowed up with logistics.  It's only been a year and a half since our younger daughter's wedding, so I know I can handle this, but in that case it was about agreeing with the couple, not all the family.  Our kids have busy lives and children and they plan their trips so far ahead I may already be in conflict with plans.

Why try?  It matters that families come together for big events, and it will matter to my husband that his birthday be marked and highlighted.  It's a big transition, and he doesn't have friends who will do anything for him.  It's up to us.  But I hope to remember to do the planning cheerfully, with grace, and not with unrealistic expectations.  I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do. 

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Today is my brother's birthday.  He would have been 68 today.  I'm alone in the world even remembering this.  That's okay.  A year and a half after his death, my thoughts are more trusting that he lived a life he chose, to the best of his ability, and what his life looks like on the outside to me is not necessarily what it felt like to him.  We were very different as kids and then as adults.  We had a strong emotional bond, and loved each other, but we didn't understand each other, and often judged the other.  In broad strokes:  I chose marriage and family and college, and he chose being single, no kids, no attachments, and no college.  How much of his path was the result of addiction or mental illness, I'll never know.  But clearly he needed to be a lone wolf, and I'm the wolf pack gal.  Everything for me is about interconnectiveness, and he felt we are each alone in a difficult world.  I may be too trusting; he was paranoid.

But right now I feel gratitude for having him as my brother, and for all the experiences and laughter we shared, as well as my certain knowledge that he, like my parents, loved me deeply.  I had a sibling.  We had adventures and fights and fun times.  We mattered to each other.  I respected his choice not to see or speak to me the last thirteen years of his life.  I took care of all the details big and small when he died.  I did everything with dignity and respectfully.  I no longer question anything about him.  He was connected directly to my heart.  He still is.