The Tube of Toothpaste

I'm one of those anal-retentive people who likes my toothpaste to be squeezed from the bottom of the tube.  It doesn't have to be exactly lined up or anything, but you get the idea.  My husband John, who is a very spontaneous person, loves to mash a big dent right in the center of the tube. I was muttering to myself about it the other night. That was quickly replaced with a thought of perfect clarity.

What if I could always keep that tube rolled up just the way I like?  The only reason that would happen is if I lost John from my life.  If John died, I could have a lot of things just to my liking.  And none of it would mean squat.  I'd be squeezing and squirting that tube of toothpaste all over the bathroom as I cried to God to let me have more time with John.

John is beyond tired from another long, hot day of landscaping.  He's 53 now and the energy he expends in his work takes so much more out of him than it did 20 years ago. All I want to do tonight is make him glad he came home to me.  We can watch nonsense on TV, talk about current events,or enjoy some ice cream.  Or I can once again broach the idea of John going to part-time work next year.  I suspect there is lots more broaching and reassuring to be done before he puts his toe in that pool of water. But he has always accepted me the way I am.  So the least I can do is return the favor.

I've got your back, John.

 Vanity Unwrapped

When I was young, I was told that I had great skin.  This was good, because I hardly ever used make-up until I was around 30.  People often thought I was younger than I was.  In fact, a cashier at a casino in Reno made me deliriously happy when she told me she almost carded me when in fact I had just turned 31. At 40, I still looked decent away from the fluorescent lights of work.  What evil creature invented that kind of lighting, anyway?

Somewhere in my 40's, I started using moisturizer.  I'd gone to a Mary Kay party and the hostess was talking about the importance of using it daily.  I'm not making it up when I say that I was only vaguely aware of things like moisturizer.  I figured it was part of the routine of women who spent gobs of money and time at spas and the like.  In short, I was clueless.  That wasn't necessarily a bad thing.  I wasn't focusing on how old I looked.  Weight is different matter, but that's a story for another day.

But as I near my 52nd birthday, I have become vain, vain, vain.  And it's all about the face.  In the last few years, wrinkles have gleefully taken up residence around my mouth and eyes.  Speaking of eyes, please don't look at the half moons under them.  There is not enough make-up in the world to hide the dark circles.  I could say they make for a more interesting face or that these imperfections are a small price to pay for the wisdom that comes with more than a half century of living.  Yeah, right.  For all my beliefs about the importance of the inner person, I want a nice looking package.  I'd never have cosmetic surgery.  But is there a department of youth I could sue over the sagging effects of gravity?

Hope in the Face of Tragedy

I've been reading daily from an advent book by the name of "The Little Blue Book."  The reading for 12/15 seemed like it was written with the horrific events at Newtown, CT in mind.  Part of the reading says:

"In the face of all that I see as wrong in the world, I have two options.

One option is to see all of these problems as fatal.  The world is doomed to be forever unjust and tragic, so I should simply do my best to get the most I can for myself out of the situation.

  The other option is to see all creation as the recipient of the overwhelming power of God's compassion and transforming love.  When I look at the world this way, I believe that every struggle for peace and justice, however small, ultimately has an effect, and whatever energy I spend to relieve suffering is worth the effort.

Christian faith calls me to choose the second option - to live my life in this world with hope.

Not wishful thinking.  Not pie in the sky.

Hope.  The hope that is the theme of this Advent season...a flesh-and-blood hope that never fades because 'the Word became flesh and dwelled among us.'

This hope isn't pie in the sky because we know the many victims of this and other massacres are gone from this world.  The survivors have memories but no longer the physical presence of those they thought they had more time with.

But each one of us can make a difference in moving our world toward the light.  Do the good, show kindness, spend the extra time with someone in need. Champion better mental health services, life skills education, tighter gun control laws.  Follow your instincts big and small.  In short, stand up to the things or people who reside in darkness.  Choose to be a force for love.  Create love, practice it, share it, spread it - one action and one person at a time.  

Regardless of your religious or political beliefs, it's imperative that those in despair see examples of hatred turned to good, to compassion.  We all have times in life when we are tempted by despair.  We then need to be able to see the light that is alive and well in the midst of suffering.

Namaste

  

 

  

Life in a Magnet

I have a new magnet that I just love.  It shows a couple out of the 1950's.  She's scraping off dirty dinner dishes as she says to her husband, "That lobotomy really did wonders for my morale...no more crazy feminist talk from me!" John thinks it’s really funny, too.  Some people just give me blank or nonplussed looks when I show it or tell them about it. It's on my refrigerator close to a prayer and some spiritual thoughts.  I'm sure that to some the sentiment on the magnet and the spiritual words are at odds. To me, it expresses a lot about who I am.

I've always felt strongly about women having the world as open to them as men.  That doesn't mean I think we're the same in every way.  It's more about being heard and treated with respect.  Being patronized is very different from being respected. 

John and I have always approached our almost 29 year marriage as a team.  We compromise or occasionally we choose to give deference to each other out of love when it’s something important to one of us.  But it's usually small stuff when you look at the big picture.  The point is that neither of us rules the roost.  It makes having fun and laughing at ourselves so much easier.  Relationships where one of the spouses has all or most of the power disturb me.  And it's just as true when the woman is the one spouting all the rules.  Where is the balance in the relationship?

I don't believe God wants us to be puppets on a string.  Sometimes walking the spiritual path is hard if we are true to how we are to act and treat others.  But those choices need to be freely made, not the result of an earthly authority figure saying that every step  in life is a series of black and white rules to be followed.  We were given consciences for a reason.  That means we need to learn, pray, think.  Guidance from those who have more learning or life experience can be very helpful.  But when I hear the beep-beep-beep going off from the hierarchy, I know it’s time to go to my quiet place to be still and listen.

     My husband John talked last night about the importance of human touch.  Sadly, touch has sometimes come to mean an ugly thing.  But we talked about the the kind of touch that connects and reconnects us to others. I'm on the introverted side, but I can't imagine what life is like for those so isolated that they have no one who shows them that the space they take up on this earth is important, even sacred.

    I grew up in a family that rarely touched.  It wasn't a question of love.  I knew my parents loved me and both would have thrown themselves in front of a moving car to save me or any of the rest of my siblings. But friendly touches or hugs weren't something we exchanged.  We had lively conversations and lots of stimulation for our brains. We also had fun.  But it wasn't until I went to college and made lasting friendships that I found out hugs felt good. 

John comes from a family of huggers and kissers.  On our first vacation, I met people who kissed me on my cheek when we were introduced.  All I could think was, "What is this kissy on the face business?"
I'm happy to report that with the example of John, I learned how wonderful touch feels.  The great feel good hormones can last a long time. My brothers and sisters now hug.  My Dad passed away almost 10 years ago, but even Mom is now used to our kisses.

Peace,
Therese

Newbie

Hi there,

I'm a writer who rarely writes.  Does that sound right?  But whether the words in my heart come out on the page or not, they're still my words.  But now it's time to use my voice.  Interesting or not, I want to join the fray.  I'm a person of faith but more interested in walking the walk than walking the dogma.  Exchanging ideas and shining the light of day with a dash of humor is my style. Lively conversation and different opinions are great.  But this a place of kindness, too - the  mean-spirited can go somewhere else.

I have a husband who I love in ways there are no words for.  That doesn't mean things are romantic all the time. We both like to be right.  We drive each other crazy with our quirks.  But at the end of the day, there's no one else I want in my corner . It helps that we both like to use disposable income for eating out, too. We've lived in the same house for 25 years and I still hope I never have to move again until they take me to the funeral home. 

We also have a 24 year old son.  He's a chemical engineer who does battery research. He loves having a life of his own and we are beyond happy that he found such a good job in this economy.

Time to say good night.

Therese