Monday Musing

"What is the answer? There is no easy answer, no complete answer. I have only clues, shells from the sea. The bare beauty of the channelled whelk tells me that one answer, and perhaps a first step, is in simplification of life, in cutting out some of the distractions. But how? Total retirement is not possible, I cannot shed my responsibilities. I cannot permanently inhabit a desert island. I cannot be a nun in the midst of family life. I would not want to be. The solution for me, surely, is neither in total renunciation of the world, nor in total acceptance of it. I must find a balance somewhere, or an alternating rhythm between these two extremes; a swinging of the pendulum between solitude and communion, between retreat and return."~A Gift from the Sea, Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Finding balance between the needs of others and ourselves - this has been a key factor in the lives of women for generations. I had forgotten how perfectly Lindbergh expressed this concern in her little book, written just about the time I was born, a time when women's lives were definitely less complicated, a time when society proscribed a woman's role in such a way that any swing of the pendulum, any deviation from the norm was considered peculiar.

I first read Gift From the Sea in the early 80's, when I was a young mother trying to adjust her expectations and find a balance between total immersion in family life and still maintain some "life of the mind." Her words echoed in my heart, and I was comforted by the realization that I was in a company of women seeking the same sense of equilibrium for their lives. Coming across this excerpt today, I realize how timeless this quest truly is. My circumstances today are quite different from those of 25 years ago. My nest is empty, I have fulfilling work and recreation, I have gained a sense of confidence I didn't have upon my first reading. Yet I continue to struggle with that question of balance, continue always to ache for more time to explore my inner life, to immerse myself in books and music, to be able to study everything about this wide world in greater detail. "And yet I cannot shed my responsibilities. I cannot be a nun in the midst of family life. And I would not want to be." For better or worse, this is life ~ the marriage, the home, the family that needs you, the workplace, the church ~ these are the true things, the things that filter our experience of the world and make it real. But I am most definitely a seeker of balance, and I covet that resting state where the pendulum stops naturally, where my body, mind, and heart will feel at ease.

Sunday Scribblings-New

At our church, Epiphany Sunday is celebrated with the distribution of stars. Baskets filled with gold cardboard stars are passed through the congregation, and every star has a word or phrase written on its face. Each person reaches in, picks a star, and with childlike anticipation turns it over to read "their word" for the new year. The church is always packed on Star Sunday - even more so than on Christmas Eve. After all, our minister always jokes, how often do you get to take something out of the collection plate?

"Grace," "Faith," "Retreat," "Serenity," "Courage," "Laughter," "Discipline"...occasionally you'll hear exclamations of mirth or wonder as people read these words they've chosen, for sometimes the meanings are uncannily appropriate.

Whatever your word, it represents a new idea, a new vision, a new way of looking at the world. Perhaps it can spark your interest in doing something new with your life. Perhaps it offers you a reminder to be strong, to have faith. Or it encourages you to dream big, to see beyond what's right in front of your eyes.

Many people carry their stars with them, tucked into compartments in purses or wallets. Some post them at their desk, or stick them on the refrigerator. Many of course, will take one look, and throw the star away.

The sermon title for today was "Looking Farther Than You Can See." Have a vision, our minister exhorted us. Look beyond what's happening today and dream about what tomorrow could be. He recounted the story of a group of college students who have built real homes from recycled trash materials -crushed cars, cardboard boxes, recycled rubber. "Where others saw garbage," he said, "these young people saw building blocks. They saw familiar things in a new way. That's vision."

Seeing familiar things in a new way. Looking farther than you can see.

Concepts worth pondering, I think.

(By the way---my star this year was "practice," a word which certainly applies to my musical life. We'll see what new practices apply to my life in general in 2008!)

for more new thoughts, go here

Home

Dateline: My house, Redford, Michigan, 10:30 p.m. Pewter gray skies, piles of soot blackened snow, icy drizzle...home. In spite of the weather, I'm content to be here. My old house welcomed me with open arms, no catastrophe's (like leaky roofs or basements) had occurred, and everything was just as I left it. Loyal and true, just as it has been for the past 31 years. I enjoyed my time in the sunny south, but more and more I've come to realize the rareified atmosphere of Naples is not the kind of place one can really live. Oh, lots (and lots!) of people do live there, but I can't seem to fit myself into any of the demographics. I'm not old enough to be retired, I'm not rich enough to be not retired, I'm not young and beautiful, I'm not a golfer or a tennis player - what do I do? More often than not, I stay inside the walls of my gated community, avoiding the snarling traffic and road construction, just reading, walking, sitting out on the hill and listening to the fountains. Don't misunderstand - it's a gorgeous place to rest and retreat, and I still love my home there. But I still love my home here, too, probably even more. I love my friends, and my musical groups, and yes, even my work. It's real life, the one I've carved out in 51 years of living. Even at my age, I continue to discover things about myself, and about life in general. I thought I was ready for the nouveau riche lifestyle that a second home in Naples seemed to represent. I thought I would get a head start on my golden years by building my retirement home in this southern paradise. But the fact that so many other people seemed to feel the same way has sort of spoiled it for me. It's too crowded now, too trendy, too busy, too overbuilt...too much. I consider myself extremely lucky to have our home in Naples as a place to visit, a place to retreat from the harsh winter weather, and, of course, a place where we can visit our son and daughter in law. But as far as a place to live - I belong here, (or a place like here) where people work for a living, hang their clothes outside to dry, and can feel comfortable going just about anywhere wearing jeans and a sweater. It's home.

The Difference of A Day

Dateline: Lexington, Kentucky, 9:28 pm And what a difference today was...smooth sailing today, the hemi engine on the Charger whirring across the mountains with nary an interruption, moving so quickly my favorite landscape was almost too much of a blur. The worst thing that happened - we had to settle for Wendy's for lunch (couldn't find an Arby's, which is Magic and Molly's favorite place). The best thing was stopping here. Each time we drive down I-75 and pass the Kentucky Artisan Center, my heart itches to stop and peruse the handmade work for sale inside. Today, since we had plenty of extra time and daylight, I begged for a few minutes "just to see what it was like." Such a treat! A bright, wide open building, chock full of marvelous work by Kentucky artisans. Paintings, wood carving, etched and blown glass, jewelry, the softest of woven blankets, hats, and scarves. A wide assortment of books by local authors, and recordings of bluegrass music. While Jim walked the dogs around the nicely manicured grounds, I raced through like a kid in a candy shop, picking up several items for myself and some to give away as gifts. Even with the small side trip, we reached the hotel before dark, settled in, and brought home grilled chicken salads from Cracker Barrel across the street. Now I'm propped in the easy chair at the Hampton Inn, my feet up, contentedly sipping wine from a tiny bottle, and telling you about my day. Nice.

What a difference a day makes.