Put A Bell On It

Someone whom I have always greatly admired, the late great Helen Keller, once said, “Your success and happiness lies in you.  Resolve to keep happy, and your joy and you shall form an invincible host against difficulties.”  On this, the first day of the New Year, many have made resolutions.  The difference between a resolution and a resolve is different.  A resolution is defined as a decision to do or NOT to do something.  To resolve means a firm determination to DO something.  I am continually striving for the positive.  So, for instance, I would rather say I am going to eat more vegetables instead of adding a negative by declaring, “I am NOT eating sweets.”  It may seem like semantics, but I have always believed in the power of words as well as their importance.  A couple of weeks ago I fractured some toes on my right foot.  My big toe especially has hurt a lot ever since but I figured it would get better.  Our wise eleven-year-old said I had better go have it checked out because it could get even worse; turns out she was right.  Apparently the lower knuckle bone is resting on top of my upper one (right underneath my big toe nail) and the doctors say I need surgery to correct it.  If not they say I will be affected in years to come not just with arthritis but with stability, balance, and all sorts of other things.  I have been told I cannot drive or bear weight on it for potentially three months in order for it to properly heal.  At present they are undecided if I will have a plate, pins, or what.  My inner “Negative Nelly” started whining, “What about your exercise regimen you were about to start?!” and “How can I work if I cannot drive?!”  “How will I get my child hone from school??”  “How am I supposed to walk our wolf dog!!”  I tried to stifle my negative thoughts as my little one and I were going to lunch with my father-in-law.  Entering the restaurant, I noticed an older lady with twinkling eyes, a bright smile, and uproarious laughter seated at a table to my left.  I also saw the huge boot she had sticking out awkwardly and hollered, “HEY!” as I waggled my surgical shoe at her.  “Hey!” she greeted me like a lost friend.  We immediately began a deep dive into tendons in our feet, things fusing, and procedures.  She told me she was a week and a half out of surgery with over six more to go with no weight-bearing on it.  I informed her I had a break that was starting to fuse badly and that my surgery was the following week.  During our conversation not once did I hear her express ANYthing but gratitude.  And then I thought to myself:  “What is wrong with you??”  I have a friend who just lost two of his toes to diabetes.  I have another who has never even had the use of her feet.  Two other close girlfriends of mine have both endured a lot of really difficult surgeries over the past several years.  I silently chastised Negative Nelly and brought out Positive Polly instead.  After our meals this woman and I happened to leave at the same time and we wished each other well.  As she zoomed down the disabled ramp on her knee scooter she gleefully rang an old-school bike bell she’d attached to it.  Those three rings made my day.  A girlfriend of mine just gave me a beautiful bell (pictured above) this Christmas for my bike.  I found myself looking forward to first putting it on my knee scooter, provided I’ll need one.  Beginning this year, with the good and the bad, I am reminding myself to put a bell on it.

Facebooktwitterpinterestmail

The Wolves’ Night Before Christmas

Former Defenders of Wildlife Senior Northwest Representative Suzanne Asha Stone rewrote what is, in my opinion, the greatest rendition of “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” since its inception.  It has become a revered part of my Christmas tradition, and I hope perhaps it may become a part of yours as well.  I am grateful for her generosity in allowing me to repost her work.  This is the first year I have changed the imagery on my blog.  Pictured here is my very favorite Christmas ornament in the world.  For anyone who knows anything about me they will understand why.  Also in recent years I have taken the liberty of changing a few things that have became dated politically.  However — please know this: the one constant is that our wolves world-wide are still in great peril.  Witness how Yellowstone National Park in the United States has irrefutably been COMPLETELY transformed for the better after their reintroduction.  Whatever your religion; whatever your race; wherever your nationality: I implore you to care about our wolves as well as all of our planet’s wildlife.  In my opinion they are God’s gifts for us to look after, care for, and protect:  they are a vital, and incalculable part of our world’s heritage.  “Happy Howlidays!” however you celebrate … Christian, Jew, Muslim, Buddhist, undecided, or whatever.  However you may feel, I believe Our Creator made us all.

The Wolves’ Night Before Christmas

‘Twas the eve before Christmas
And to Santa’s dismay
Came such an icy storm
The reindeer couldn’t budge his sleigh.

As Santa paced and worried
And elves began to scowl
‘Rose a song through the wind:
A wolf pack’s mighty howl.

From the thick of the storm
O’er deep snow on big padded feet
Came eight silvery wolves
Ice and wind could not beat.

Santa’s mouth hung open for a blink
As the wolves lined up in front of his sleigh
Then he sputtered to the elves
“Well… let’s be on our way!”

Santa thanked each wolf
As the elves finished loading the last gift
Then he sprinkled them with fairy dust
Chuckling, “That’ll give you the lift.”

“They won’t believe this …”
He laughed, a merry twinkle in his eyes
Then the elves harnessed the wolves
And they took to the skies.

On Lightfoot! On Blacktail! On Windswift! On Howler!
On GreenEyes! On MoonSong! On Hunter! On Prowler!
The wolves’ eyes glowed as they leapt through the storm
Santa wished his own coat could keep him as warm.

That night the wolves even taught Santa to howl
An ancient song filled with hope for Peace and Joy
That this season may bring for all Life on Earth
As they left special gifts for each girl and boy.

‘Twas that eve before Christmas
Santa will always fondly remember
When wolves rescued his mission
That stormy December.

Facebooktwitterpinterestmail

Take A Shot

It’s autumn and this is second time I have ever really thought much about team sports.  In middle school and high school I enjoyed competing on the swim team.  Since becoming a mother, I have learned to love soccer (which I wanted to play as a kid) and now volleyball (which I also wanted to play but, by middle school, was too afraid of missing and looking “uncool.”)  This is the first year my girl could play volleyball for her school (she had been playing soccer for the YMCA in the spring) and she had no idea at first what she was doing for either sport.  In soccer she was not sure whose goal was whom’s and in volleyball she could not return the ball when she first started.  I found myself shrieking for my child’s teams, even as I only half knew what they were doing.  In volleyball I discovered I enjoyed visiting the other schools’ campuses as I developed my appreciation of the sport, just as I did with the different soccer fields when she was playing for the Y.  Her teams made it to the playoffs for the championships in both sports!  Far more moving was that her teams supported her even when she was goalie in soccer and let a goal pass (to forfeit the championship) as well as when she failed to make her serves in volleyball.  As a kid I had always been SO afraid about what others would think.  I know I never even scratched the surface of living up to my sports potential.  I love learning lessons from my little one.  Albert Einstein once said, “Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.”  The older I become, the more important I realize this is.  No matter who you are, where you’re from, what challenges you may have, or how old you are:  if there is something you want to do, be thankful you can and take a shot.

Facebooktwitterpinterestmail

Be Kind To All Kinds


I grew up with my mother’s baby grand in our small apartment.  It looked so elegant and yet, when I got married and my husband bought our house I just could not seem to make it fit.  Mama’s Story and Clark was over 100 years old and in need of significant repair.  When I was in college I acquired this little upright Kimball and that easily fit into our home.  Have you ever noticed when you hear something “off” long enough you can actually get used to it?  Our little one’s piano teacher informed me our piano was in need of tuning.  It was so cool to watch the guy who came out, and he told me my piano was over 75 years old.  It got me to thinking about time, and (literally) being “out of tune.”  The whole concept (which has a negative connotation in some circles) about being “woke” has simply helped some people become in tune with what the truth of history actually is.  My
parents reared me to always do my best.  They also taught me to humbly accept there would be inevitable disappointments in my life:  crummy boyfriends; jobs that didn’t work out, or things that just weren’t fair.  I am not sure whether or not I have written this before, but my father taught me there was one thing I could always do.  He said I could ALWAYS be the most kind.  That really stuck with me.  It has been sort of the one thing I could always control.  How I wish my parents were still living.  In this picture it shows my daughter wearing her favorite T-shirt:  Be kind to all kinds.  She took it to mean plants and animals, while I took it to mean all the people who have hurt and/or betrayed me in life.  This was also when our piano was being tuned.  The Nobel Prize winning Polish-born American Jewish writer, Isaac Bashevis Singer, wrote, “Kindness, I’ve discovered, is everything in life.”  Times change and, if we are in tune with them, perhaps we can hear/understand things a bit better.  Whether or not we agree with everything happening — we all can still be kind to all kinds.

Facebooktwitterpinterestmail

This Too Shall Pass


“The Plague” never became a real concept for me until we went to Venice for the second part of our honeymoon.  We kept seeing bird masked people everywhere, as pictured above.  I learned that they were stationed as warnings for people to turn back, because the town had been struck by the Bubonic plague.  Being part Native American, I was always more than aware of the fact that disease was what really wiped out the majority of North American Indians, way before Europeans could even reach their settlements.  Serious airborne disease has always been frightening to me.  In an episode of “Downton Abbey” the Dowager Duchess recounted hearing of a “mask” in Paris where half of the attendants dropped dead before it was over.  I believe she was referring to the cholera outbreak of 1832.  This was of course before the “Spanish Influenza” of 1918 broke out.  Growing up I cannot say I had really heard of a terrible epidemic, with the exception of polio.  My father was born in in 1932 and contracted it just three days after he was born.  My folks were big believers in vaccines, and growing up I never thought too much of it.  As an adult I became aware of an “anti-vaxxer” movement where some “celebrity” claimed their child became autistic from “too many shots.”  I know that spooked a lot of people who then became fearful of vaccines.  When COVID struck, I had two immediate family members to worry over — my husband and our little girl.  After a year into this virus, I met a girl who had lost her husband to COVID.  Everyone was wearing masks, separated by plastic “shields,” but it did not matter.  I became fearful to allow my child to attend school (despite all the safety measures in place) and yet I was also afraid of leaving her at home in front of a screen all day.  I kept thinking of how recess was a highlight in my day as a kid.  I could sing, play tetherball, jump rope, and swing with my closest friends freely on the blacktop.  My husband and I both received two doses of Moderna (as that was what was available to us at the time) and our ten year old has received a full vaccine as well.  My husband and I have also received one booster.  Dutifully, I had “proper” masks for our little family when we flew again on an airplane, and only after we had all been vaccinated.  When the pandemic initailly hit over two years ago, our little one referred to hand sanitizer as “hanitizer,” which I truly wish I’d trademarked.  Admittedly I have let my travel section here fall short, although I would say our family has been hyper-viligant about travel safety.  Our beach trips, which I have yet to write about, up until this year have been road trips.  We have yet to resume traveling abroad.  At the depth of the Great Depression, Franklin D. Roosevelt, helped the American people regain faith in themselves by saying in his Inaugural Address, “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”  I have truly lived in fear of catching COVID, and I have been in even greater fear of my family somehow contracting it.  Recently our return flight from Tampa to Dallas got canceled, and we had a twelve hour wait at the airport.  It was pizza oven hot — even for Native Texans such as ourselves.  I confess I was stressed and got lax, allowing myself and my family to drop their masks both in the airport and on the airplane.  And now we have all had Covid; heaven only knows what variant.  Fortunately it was like having a cold.  Of course I am well aware we have all been admonished to avoid this disease like “the Plague.”  We live in dangerous times all around our world.  A powerful Persian King, who called his wisemen sages, once asked for the one quote that would be accurate at all times and in all situations.  King Solomon was so impressed by the quote he had it inscribed into a ring.  The phrase was, “this too shall pass.”  Dear readers take heart:  this too shall pass.

Facebooktwitterpinterestmail

You Are Enough


Growing up I always felt my family had a deficit because we lived in an apartment, drove an old car, and we did not have many clothes.  Beginning in elementary school the kids all LOVED my parents, which made me happy.  Mama and daddy did everything together, always held hands, and always included me.  My parents were married only to each other, and they were whole-heartedly devoted to me.  We were all just so very happy.  I figured everyone had that, only with a house and money.  My father taught me to always be positive and thankful for all we had.  I have just come to realize how many families are seriously dysfunctional.  People can be incredibly cold, unforgiving, and hold grudges.  Frankly it is mind-boggling to me to NOT be loved:  truly and sincerely.  I remember when my husband and I first got married and we’d had a fight.  My mother told me that my husband was her son now, too — and she refused to take a side.  My mother truly loved my husband as her own son, and I am an only child!  Naively, I assumed all families genuinely merge together.  If that does not happen please know you do not need to win the approval of others in order to gain your value.  Instead I would say go where you are loved, appreciated, and/or at least needed.  In the Bible, Proverbs 15:17 (Contemporary Version) says:  “A simple meal with love is better than a feast where there is hatred.”  I discovered that is true even 2,000 years past the time it was written.  What I have learned is that you cannot expect or even hope for others to love you.  The reasons are not important and often it is complicated.  Sometimes it’s not even about you.  However, sometimes you just cannot please people no matter how hard you try — or how many years pass while trying to do so.  Being excluded from things can be both highly embarrassing and incredibly hurtful.  My advice to you is to be gracious and rise above it.  Other people do not define your self-worth.  Be kind, be forgiving, and be empathetic.  Do not ever exclude someone because of some perceived infraction.  I am writing this for everyone — regardless of race, religion, nationality, age, sexual orientation, gender, or socioeconomic level.  You deserve to be truly accepted and, if you are not — know that you are enough.

Facebooktwitterpinterestmail

The Attribute Of The Strong


Once upon a time I was fortunate enough to have a best friend.  She was close to my age, beautiful, and smart.  We met at a pet store where her rescue group was offering adoption opportunities for cats.  We both loved animals, were both vegetarians, we both loved to sing, and we became instant friends.  She was the sister I never had.  She lent me clothes to wear on trips and I became the recipient of her considerable closet whenever she culled it.  Then one day we had a falling out.  I was hurt, and I believe I hurt her.  Of course none of that was intentional on either of our parts.  Over half a decade would slip by before I received a private message from her.  SHE reached out to me and said she was terrified I might not choose to respond.  It was sent during the first of January this year but, as heaven is my witness, I received it on a random day about a month ago.  Her words touched me, humbled me, and made me incredibly sad.  I am very much accustomed to being a “lone wolf.”  After my parents died I have been on my own, with the exception of my husband and daughter.  Lately I have been drowning in a sea of depression, despite knowing how fortunate I am.  In my life I have learned people can be incredibly unforgiving.  I have spent almost two decades trying to be loved and truly accepted by people who just never will.  It has finally dawned on me I need to stop seeking water from a dry well.  Tears were streaming down my face and staring back at me from my iPhone were words of love, hope, and forgiveness.  I answered my friend immediately and subsequently we had a three hour phone conversation.  It wasn’t even very awkward and the layers of time peeled back as if it had only been a minute instead of years.  For anyone out there who is struggling with old hurts or perceived “slights” I offer this:  it is never too late.  I am finally letting go of my Sisyphian boulder.  I am trying to accept the things I cannot change.  Go instead where you are truly wanted, valued, and accepted.  God bless my best friend for being braver and bigger than I and deciding to reach out.  The late, great Mahatma Gandhi once said, “The weak can never forgive.  Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.”

Facebooktwitterpinterestmail

Let’s Eat!


My daughter was barely four years old when she had to undergo both an endoscopy and a colonoscopy, whereafter it was pronounced that she was “gluten intolerant.”  I remember asking the doctor if it was Celiac’s and she replied it was too early to tell.  She said our child *might* outgrow it by the age of twelve.  Our girl is now ten and the little thing has been sneaking gluten (wheat) for quite some time now.  I think it all started when she was a flower girl at her cousin’s wedding.  I love the way my mother-in-law joked she ate “32 egg salad sandwiches” at a pre-wedding shower.  Honestly, I am not sure how far off that was from the truth!!!  We were told the bread was gluten-free but my mother-in-law knew better.  I was so dumb I believed them.  My MIL just sat back and watched, proclaiming my child would either “drop dead” or be fine.  Next her daddy starting allowing her “bites” of his food covered in flour, unbeknownst to me.  Then I find out my little one is trading her food at school like some kind of professional card sharp.  I found myself saying things like, “How do you know what that tastes like?” and receiving some cryptic, mumbled response.  During this past spring break we met a lovely couple of over twenty years and he offered our girl a (fried) “chicken finger.”  I told them she had never “officially” had gluten and I was incredibly relieved when I discovered his husband was a doctor.  Our girl had absolutely no side effects and my husband and I decided she could SLOWLY begin to implement “gluten” (wheat) into her diet.  Each day (which I thought was too fast) we’d introduce her to something new.  “DOUGHNUTS!” she’d shout.  The next day “QUESADILLAS!”  For those of you at home complaining about dietary restrictions, imagine a little girl in Kindergarten all the way through the fourth grade asking to leave birthday parties early because she knew she could not have cake, or pizza, or even ice cream.  While I may be celebrating our daughter’s newfound ability to eat wheat, I know many out there struggle with food allergies.  I cannot eat cinnamon or seafood.  Some people are deathly allergic to various foods.  The ancient Greek playwright Euripides once wrote, “When a man’s stomach is full it makes no difference whether he is rich or poor.”  Let us all remember those around the world who are suffering from malnutrition and starvation, and pray earnestly for them.  Gratitude is an attitude and I always try to acknowledge it.  I know my little one is … she keeps hollering “let’s eat!”

Facebooktwitterpinterestmail

The Nature of God’s Circle

When I was in the fourth grade, I began serving as an acolyte in the Methodist church.  I remember it was one of the very few “positions” open to girls.  We would process in before the service and go up to the altar to light the candles.  Afterward the two of us would sit on opposite sides of the church and then we would rise together to extinguish the candles at the end of the service.  In college (at Southern Methodist University) ironically I fell in love with the Episcopal Church.  Now I have a little girl who is in the fourth grade and she has begun serving as an acolyte in the Episcopal Church.  There are differences, as there is more responsibility in the Episcopal church versus when I was a Methodist.  An acolyte in the Episcopal church is more like a torchbearer:  two of them walk on either side of the crucifer (the acolyte who carries the cross/crucifix) up and down the aisle at the beginning and the end of the service.  In addition, they accompany the priest when the Holy Gospel is read.  My favorite is the thurifer, an acolyte who administers the incense.  Additional duties of acolytes may include taking the offering plates from the ushers so that the priest may bless them, as well as carrying the Sacraments up to the Celebrant for consecration.  It was my great honor to have attended my first “Stations of the Cross” with my little one serving as an acolyte.  In Anglican, Roman Catholic, and Orthodox churches (Greek, Russian, Ethiopian, etc.) all around the sanctuary there are scenes depicted of Christ’s journey to His crucifixion.  During Lent congregants may make a “pilgrimage,” following the path Jesus made to Calvary, from His condemnation to His entombment.  Commonly, a series of fourteen images are arranged in chronological order, and there is a pause at each station to pray and to reflect.  The cross upon which Christ was crucified was heavy; so are the torches acolytes carry to illuminate His journey.  My little one held her tall, wooden torch throughout all fourteen stations, and I was afraid she could not maintain it for that long.  I covertly snapped this picture of her first time to serve, kneeling at the altar, with the Sanctus bell off to her left.  I began serving formally in the church in the fourth grade and now my daughter is as well … life’s cycles continuing.  Empedocles was a pre-Socratic Greek philosopher who once said, “The nature of God is a circle of which the center is everywhere and the circumference is nowhere.”  I love this so very much.  We are all encompassed in the nature of God’s circle.

Facebooktwitterpinterestmail

Point of View

am proud of my girl, and I am fortunate in that my parents were proud of me.  My father always told me to “work hard and do my best.”  He assured me that if I had done those two things, he and Mama could never be disappointed.  I was not paid for good grades nor for doing chores — lessons for which I am still immensely grateful.  Almost everyone must work in life, in one form or another, and we are not always compensated for everything we do.  I attended a financial meeting recently where one of the speakers expressed they felt their key to success was in having “a servant’s heart.”  I immediately recognized that as a reference to Holy Scripture; (the Bible.)  My father, who grew up very poor, never once said it was wrong to make money; rather he taught me it was wrong to profit off the backs of others.  Knowing my father did not have the benefit of “white privilege” or generational wealth as a half-Choctaw, I caught on very early as to exactly what all that meant.  I was reared never to envy, but always to aspire — through hard work, discipline, determination, and intellect.  We all view the world and our own life’s experiences through different lenses, and we all have a different point of view.  One of the great lessons my father taught me was to try to see things through another’s eyes and to always treat others the way I would want to be treated.  The 19th-century American poet, preacher, and suffragist Mary T. Lathrap is credited with having coined the phrase “Walk a mile in his moccasins” in a poem she wrote entitled “Judge Softly.”  In it she challenges the reader to see things from the other’s perspective.  How do we judge others?  Subconsciously or no, I submit we judge them by their teeth, their clothes, their accents, their careers, and where they live.  HOW I admire my father for always rising above it all.  He treated everyone the same — from prestigious “big shots” to the homeless.  It feels as if everyone is so quick to form their own opinion weighted in cement without having any firsthand knowledge or backstory about the person or subject in question.  As I write, there is a lovely young man in my house who has a heavy Spanish accent.  He is here upgrading our cable TV equipment.  In his native Venezuela he was a lawyer.  He is worried about the Bar exam here only because he is nervous about his English which, for the record, is excellent.  He thanked me for taking an interest but I told him I was so thankful to him for sharing his life and his experience, which he certainly did not have to do.  (Confession:  I am a journalist so I tend to naturally (and genuinely) ask a lot of questions.)  My husband actually cares about others and has always been quick to ask someone where they were born as well as their religion, heritage, and culture; free of judgement, but rather from a sincere desire to learn.  Much like my father, he takes an earnest interest in whomever he is speaking to … from a wealthy CEO to the kid who took our tickets at the movies.  Recently our little girl wrote a story in school from a book entitled, “Island of the Blue Dolphins,” which is based upon the true story of a twelve-year-old Native American girl named Karana.  She gets stranded alone for eighteen years on an island off the California coast during the 19th century.  During her time there she befriended a wolf whom she named Rontu.  The writer in me is beyond proud my child got a perfect score for her work.  Moreover, she chose to write her paper from the perspective of the wolf:  to be able to see through the eyes of another — particularly an animal — is an especially beautiful thing to me.  If only we all took the time to try and see things from another’s point of view.

Facebooktwitterpinterestmail