The Art of Practice

This morning, I watched a bit of the Saturday edition of The Early Show on CBS. The topic was the real meaning of the holidays, and a Muslim, a Jew, and a Catholic were on the panel. The Muslim stated, “This is a nation under god,” which is when my frustration erupted.

That frustration is on a sensitive trigger these days because of so many people making holiday greetings–how we express those–into a political issue. I wished a clerk behind the counter “Happy Holidays,” not to eschew Christianity, but because I don’t know by looking at someone or by their speech patterns which winter holiday she chooses to celebrate. “Happy Holidays” respects and includes all of it.

But she needed to assert her Christianity. She said, “And Merry Christmas to you!” Being of mature mind, I moved on with my life, rather than making more of an issue of it than necessary.

But not everyone is like me, and I’m saddened that at this time of year when our focus is supposed to be on generosity of spirit, people are grumbling and growling at each other for saying “I hope you find some happiness” the wrong way.

Whether Pagans are celebrating Yule, or Christians are celebrating Christmas, or Jews are celebrating Hanukah, what we’re all turning toward at this season is Light. That is the true meaning of this festive season, the recognition that in all the darkness of being human animals, we have the choice to turn towards the light, to choose light in the midst of the dark, to realize we aren’t stuck with the default instinctual behavior of mammals. We can rise above those baser instincts and be kind and loving and good to one another, even those who choose to translate the wonders of living differently.

There’s enough happiness to go around because we create that for ourselves by our choices. We don’t need to assert dominance over others by insisting they believe how we believe. That’s the darkness. Light is made of lovelier things.

May you and yours be merry, whatever you celebrate. May light guide your way, always.

On Wednesday, I went to the Henry Ford Museum, where I’ve been a number of times. The car exhibit was closed for renovation, so I had more time to spend on other exhibits, particularly the one on suffrage.

I’m sure that in my public education, I studied suffrage at some point, though I don’t recall much of what I learned. I knew that women couldn’t always vote, own property, or disobey their husbands. I don’t think I understood previously how much actual suffering took place in the process of securing female rights. I didn’t know the names and stories of the actual women who were willing to put everything on the line so that someday women just like me could and would live free.

That changed on Wednesday.

It’s easy to forget that people sacrificed for the freedom and rights I enjoy today. Being there, reading about their struggle, I was overcome with gratitude, the need to remember what other people went through, not only for themselves, but for other nameless, faceless women of the future.

Women like me.

In the last few days leading up to this 10th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, I’ve been avoiding the media coverage. It isn’t that I don’t care; on the contrary, I still care very much. Because I’m a sensitive person, I connect deeply to the pain of others. And the loss on September 11, 2001, still hurts, still stirs grief in many of us.

I remember the shock. The devastation. The helplessness. The fury. The camaraderie. The bonfire my family held to honor those that were taken by the tragedy. The singing into the night to try to soothe ourselves.

Some pain fades with time. Pain like this lingers. During those terrible moments following the news of the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, and flight 93, I remember making a vow to live life to the fullest in honor of those who couldn’t.

It’s good to remember, no matter how painful. It’s good to remind myself on a day that carries so much pain and grief and sorrow and for some, even remnants of fury, life is precious.

May we never forget, and may remembering inspire us to savor life in honor of those whose loss we mourn.

My mother and I went for a walk a couple weeks ago, before the monsoon season began. I took my camera along, headed for the entrance of our subdivision where a group of tulips were in perfect spring bloom.

On the way, we saw a robin dancing about in a tree, and as I tried to capture it with my camera, it got spooked and flew away.

The resulting photo is one of my favorites, lately. All that new spring green and the bird in between stillness and flight makes me smiile.

When I woke up this morning, there was rain pooling on the deck outside our back door. I thought it would be another grey day. We’ve had so many this spring, and even one who likes rainy days begins to crave the sunshine eventually.

How pleasantly surprised I was to discover the sun peeking out from the oppressive cloud cover this afternoon as Mom and Daniel and I were leaving Boston Market. The sunshine brightened and continued the rest of the day, and I even got to spend some time outside, reading, soaking up the fresh air. So rare lately. I’m grateful.

And I took some photos of our spring flowers. Here are our tulips, in three colors.

So bright and smile-inspiring.

New beginning is just another term for change, and there’s been a lot of that lately. One huge change, in fact. In a matter of a couple of weeks, my whole life changed in ways I’m only beginning to discover.

My mother came to live with me and Daniel.

It’s something we wanted for awhile, and it’s a good thing, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a transition for all of us. So far, it’s going well. Things are getting done, items are getting crossed off the to-do list, and the new reality is settling in.

A few days ago, my husband told me that he’d received a notice from our website host that they were going out of business at the end of April. Well, that was a lie because all of the sudden, our website was gone, and the company that hosted it was un-reachable. And sadly, I broke a rule of modern technology that I know very, very well having worked at a helpdesk once upon a time.

I did not keep a backup of blog posts.

Fortunately, Daniel’s RSS feed has many of the posts from the previous website, though there are some that are permanently lost to cyberspace. We live and learn, which is really what new beginnings are all about. New things, new realities, new routines, all of it tools for learning.

If I’ll be patient and willing and open to making mistakes and not being perfect right out of the gate.