From Me to We

A few months ago, someone suggested I change the way I think and pray. Each time I would use the words "I" or "me", I should use the words "we" or "us". This change brings about a few things.

First, I acknowledge my connectedness to others - to everyone. There is not a thing that I do that does not affect at least one other, usually several others - and always more than I will ever realize. This includes my thoughts, as thoughts guide our actions and our responses - conscious or not. Thoughts can even affect others indirectly, whether we realize this or not.

We are none of us alone
What we send out
Into the lives of others
Comes back into our own
- E Markham

When I change "me" to "we", I eliminate the "me/you" mentality. Instead I am left with the awareness that whatever my impact on another - good or bad - will likewise impact myself. Who in their right mind would want to harm themselves? Thus this kind of thinking should lead to love, compassion, empathy, kindness and generosity.

Further, by thinking "we" instead of "me" I work towards what will be beneficial to us all, not what is beneficial to me alone and the rest are on their own. If I pray for Love, Guidance, Help from God - I do it not just for myself, but for all.

This works both ways. When I hold grudges against someone, I am holding my own guilt like a dark shade of bias and prejudice before my eyes. Thus is why Christ instructs that when we forgive, we are forgiven - by thinking in terms of "we", I either condemn myself when I condemn another or free both of us together.

I will admit, though, this change is a slow process. There are many times I still use the words "I" and "me" and think within the boundaries of my own skin. It's not easy to change, but it is possible. It's amazing how far-reaching thoughts, words or actions can be sometimes when I do hold "we" in mind, rather than just "me." Where I may not be able to do something alone - there is nothing WE cannot do when we work together.

When we work together
Something wondrous happens
We accomplish far more
Than the sum of our individual efforts.

- ESA

Waste Not

Yesterday at the Big E I experienced something I wanted to share, but did not want it lumped in with the rest of the snippets in my Big E blogpost.

We stopped to view a demonstration for one of the kitchen gadgets; my husband enjoys watching the sales pitches so we stayed a bit to listen. It was the same type of presentation I've seen before - it slices, it dices, it scrubs your kitchen sink!

But something in me caused me to mentally step back and see something with new eyes. I watched the sales rep take a whole potato and slice it up. He then did the same with a zucchini, then a carrot, some raw cabbage and at last the precarious tomato. Then I realized with ever-widening eyes - he was THROWING AWAY all that food. Swipe! Down the table-top hole to the garbage bin beneath.

I walked away with an acute awareness that there are people in this world, people in America, even people a few miles away - that are hungry and cannot afford enough food for themselves and their loved ones. Yet here this man is throwing away what would be a dinner for two every fifteen or so minutes!

I walked away with tears in my eyes and, after he coaxed it from me, told my husband what I came to realize I was actually seeing. Here was a horrible waste of food - just for the sale of a piece of plastic and metal! Yet I was at a loss of what to do or how to respond to this...

My husband has been following a "think globally, act locally" approach to things of late. And he tried to apply this to my dilemma too. It was a bitter pill to swallow when I had to acknowledge the times I also wasted food: when I prefer fast food over the leftovers in the fridge, when we cannot eat nor doggie-bag leftovers from a restaurant when we travel.

It's a crying shame when you realize how much is wasted in restaurants, but there are also health codes that must be maintained. One hope we shared together is that culinary schools have a cooperative effort with soup kitchens to feed the hungry with the class materials as the chefs learn their stock and trade...

There were other kitchen gadget vendors there too; some served salsa, vegetable smoothies or whatever products were produced during the demo (and who wouldn't be tempted by free food). But there were others who simply threw it away........

While this was sinking in, and I came to terms that I, myself, needed to change my behaviors and waste less too, I sought the comfort of a hug from my husband. Within his embrace, I heard a whisper in my hair. "I'm here. I'll always be here with you."

At that moment, I felt the same Peace I feel when I pray. It wasn't just my husband comforting me, nor just his words. For the first time in my life, I immediately recognized Christ reaching out to me through another. Often it would take days, months, even years for it to dawn on me. But this time, I knew right away, and I cannot describe the Peace and Joy inside that moment.

It only lasted about a minute, then my husband broke the spell by asking why he suddenly felt a "whoosh" of air blowing down on him; we were inside a building at the time. It could have been the remote controlled helicopter flying from the booth six feet away or it could have been something else. I don't care to speculate. The words and His presence were enough for me.

I will now make more conscientious efforts not to waste - food or opportunities to learn.

- ESA

Sunday Morning Under Big Top

Last year, my husband and I attended Mass under the big top for the first time at the Big E Circus. When we first heard about it, my first reaction was a blend of "Wow, that's something new to me" and "Isn't that where the animals perform and... well, do what we all do after eating?" Some may be appalled that someone even thought to place an alter to God in the center of a circus ring, but by the end of this post, I hope you see things as I came to understand.

Those who work at fairs and carnivals lead different lives than those who just attend them once in a while, but they are essentially the same as you and I. "Carnies" are known to be sly, trick your hard earned money from you, and perhaps lead a less than "saintly" life. Circus performers have similar reputation sometimes - for generations - perhaps stemming from the days when gypsies were more common, and equally misunderstood. The main difference between their job and most of ours is that they travel often and sometimes the trailer is their only home. But they are exactly the same as the rest of us; most are loving, caring and generous and a few can be less than savory.

When I first heard about Sunday Mass under the big top, I thought it was just a convenient place the Big E administration chose to house people who wanted to attend Sunday Services at the Big E. What I didn't understand until I went: this was the Mass for the circus performers and fair workers. They had opened it to share with the rest of us. Here is a group of people often ostracized by a suspicious society, yet where we draw circles to segregate them from "the rest of us" they erased that line in the sand by inviting us to share in a special celebration.

They are people from many different countries - literally around the world - gathered for a short time in a place far from home. Many do not share the same language, but together they are still brothers and sisters by profession - and by faith. Every Sunday morning there is an opportunity to gather with those who share their faith and celebrate it together.

No matter where in the world they are from, no matter where in the world they are now, no matter who is sitting by their side in the stands, all changing several times over the course of a year... they are still one. And they open this oneness to any who wish to celebrate it with them.

There is a group called "Circus Ministries" that celebrate Mass or other Sunday Services with circus performers, race-car drivers, carnival workers, and migrant farm-workers and fishermen. These people are on the cusp of our society, but they still get married, lose loved ones, need spiritual counseling and what many of us find in a place that is close to our home. But they have no permanent home, so the home they take with them is in their hearts. And they take time each week to visit that place and share it with others.

- ESA

Big E

To many outside of New England, the words "Big E" means nothing. To many in New England, the "Big E" is an annual fall event that is bigger than the State Fair and smaller than a World's Fair and encompasses a bit of both. There are rides, booths with everything from mops to the latest inventions, from agricultural products ranging from corn, cheese and syrup to beef jerky, alpaca and wool products, and sheepskin slippers. Each of the six New England States has its own exhibit hall and there are several large buildings that include vendors literally from around the world (the vendors, not just the products they sell), to 4-H, FFA (Future Farmers of America), National Parks and other organization's displays. The New England Grange building is fun to browse and meet people, as is the animal exhibits in the Mallory Complex. Competitions in the Coliseum include oxen-pulls and various equestrian skills. One year we were able to view the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, a spectacle I shall not forget anytime soon. There is a whole colonial re-creationist village made of authentic, relocated buildings from that era, a full circus, a circus miniature museum, several acts and performances from stage shows to walk-ups, and much more.

Why do I bring all this up in a blog where many of my readers are from distant lands and may never get a chance to experience the Big E personally? This is NOT an advertisement for the Big E (they do enough of their own - lol). This is to simply share some of what my husband and I do there that makes it a very special time of year. For us this is more than just attending a local fair...



For the past nine or ten years, my husband and I have purchased season ("17-day") tickets for the fair and spent much of our spare time there, including evenings on some work days and taking at least one vacation day to go during the week when the crowds are thinner, like we did yesterday.

We spend the majority of our time talking with the people there - the vendors, the performers, the volunteers - the people who spend the 17-days there trying to make it a wonderful experience for the rest of us, the fair-goers. By now, each year is like some giant family reunion. Vendors and volunteers know each other, and they know us too. We spend time each year catching up with each other on stories about what has happened near and far over the past year.

I remember in 2001, the International (Young) Building was mostly vacant for the first half of the Big E, especially as the Big E opened just over a week after 9/11. The travel restrictions - especially international - impacted many of the vendors. When they arrived, the stories of the 9/11 impact in their own home country was shared in their own words, through their own eyes.

There is a broomsquire that hand-crafts brooms, using broom straw he harvests himself, working in one corner of the village green. On the year he didn't make his appearance, many were concerned and called him up. You'd be amazed how much it feels like family when you take the time to know people who attend year-after-year. And when something is amiss - there is compassion and a need to reach out to them.

This year, my husband and I were greeted with some sad news. One of the crafters who has a booth behind the Connecticut exhibition hall/building had passed away November 2, just after the close of last year's Big E. This was a kind, loving and lovable man with white hair, white beard and crinkles that followed a generous smile behind his glasses. He was beloved by many of the displayers and vendors in that exhibit hall as he would always give them a hand building and tearing down their booths as well as his own. He even played Santa Claus in the neighboring (New Hampshire?) building. Many called him "Santa", though his name was Bob. Though, I admit, walking away from the subdued booth that more than seemed diminished by his lack of presence, I commented to my husband, "I feel like a kid who has just been told that Santa died..." May Bob rest in Peace for all the good he has shown in this world over the years.

There are many happy moments too. There's a vendor who befriended us a few years back and with whom we spent many hours bailing out her tent last year after she was assigned a location where the rain runoff formed a stream right through her shop. :P Over the course of this past year, she found a way to combine her love (and talent) of photography with her bread-and-butter business, the online/fair-attending boutique. She now has her own photographs on purses and handbags and is able to color-coordinate these with the shawls/wraps that is her mainstay business. We're happy for her!

Yesterday we also had an opportunity to spend about an hour or more speaking with syrup producers in the New Hampshire building. These people actually trudge out in the deep snow, tap the trees, haul the sap, spend days boiling it down, etc. - not simply sell the maple products. We learned a lot about the production, the difference in grades, how the sap changes early to late (more milky) in the season. One learns many things that is not the "by the book" but "by experience" when time is taken to listen to people. They know that "sugar time" (when the sap runs) is about to arrive when they start seeing the red-winged blackbird in their area. The end of the season has arrived when they start seeing moths in the buckets beneath the tree tap; when it's warm enough for moths to emerge, the season is over. The most explicit description was when he demonstrated the human yoke with which maple producers haul buckets of sap through the woods to the sugar houses to be boiled down. He added, "You know you've experienced it all, when you fall with these. There is no other experience like it. You are trudging through knee-deep snow, you trip on some unseen tree root and fall. Now you are wet from the snow, as it rapidly absorbs into your clothing, and sticky from head to toe from the sap that has now spilled all over you. Worst of all, this always seems to happen within a few feet of your destination. So you are not only wet and sticky, your are darn right pissed off because all the work and effort you just put into hauling that sap all that way is now wasted!" A snapshot of a life completely different from our own, shared for the mere cost of taking the time to listen. :D

After years of buying cheese from them, my husband and I had the opportunity to speak at length with some of the people from Cabot. They are usually swamped with visitors, especially since they give out free samples, but yesterday the crowds were lighter. It turns out that Cabot is actually not a company, per se, but a cooperative of several Vermont dairy farmers. The farmers get 100% of the income. For those who do not know, this is unusual in America. Save for local farm-stands, farmers received approximately 19-cents on the dollar. I'd rather the money go to those who work the land, get up early every day - even weekends and holidays - to care for the farm, the land, and/or the livestock rather than some corporate executive who sits at a desk or makes calls on his mobile device on a golf course pushing to buy-low/sell-high to keep the profits for the corporation.

While I often get my kettle-corn from the vendor behind the New Hampshire building - as they are the best kettle-corn at the Big E and well worth the line on weekends - I discovered yesterday that they are not some organization that goes fair-to-fair selling popcorn. These are people from the NH Department of Agriculture who does this as a fund-raiser each year at the Big E. They don't sell popcorn anywhere else. Each year, they greet you with a smile and a shovel the product hot into the bag from the kettle before you. That this is was a volunteer fundraiser, makes me all the happier to buy their product and recommend it to others.

For the second year in a row, we've seen a new addition to the International (Young) Building: Silk-Thread paintings. For those who have the opportunity to go to the Big E, I recommend just stopping by the booth. What looks like a painting at first glance is actually an awe-inspiring work of several layers of silk-thread embroidery - no paint whatsoever is used. This is a traditional form of artwork from China that was once only available to royalty. For those who do not have the opportunity, here is a website that explains a bit more.

There are many other snapshot moments I recall from yesterday. A young girl shyly held onto her grandmother's hand as she walked beside the wheelchair gazing at the wonders around her, hesitant to stray into new territory. A couple ate lunch out of cooler from the open end of Jeep in a grassy field turned parking lot. People who haven't seen each other for a year warmly shook hands and even embraced, slapping each other on the back, on the first day of the Big E. A child was fast asleep in a carriage by late afternoon, a partially eaten bag of popcorn was tucked into the back to be shared later. A father held his young son on his hip pointing and explaining the different sights. An old man nodded and smiled in a friendly way to a young woman a short distance away; he was waiting for his group to gather before the tour bus left and she was waiting with the pile of shopping bags for others from her group group to emerge from the restrooms before they continued their day at the fair. A fair-goer entertained kids big and small with the chipmunk puppet on his hand for nothing more than a smile. A family of five shared their surplus of Mardi-Gras beads from the parade that just passed by with vendors sitting inside who had no opportunity to try to catch the beads themselves. A group of friends called out "Marco" and "Polo" across the dimly lit parking area as they walked further and further apart to their separate cars. Many more beautiful moments of humanity were observed when I step back from my own thoughts to see what is going on around me. :D



We spent the whole day there, my husband and I. And we plan on attending other days this year too. There are those we have yet to see after the year's interlude, stories we have yet to hear, new people we have yet to meet. One thing I look forward to tomorrow - a tradition that we started last year - Sunday Mass under the Big Top. I will write about that later.

I know I rambled all over the place and this was quite lengthy. I thank you for reading this post and for the opportunity to share this experience with you. My closing thought is simply this: what can you receive when you open your eyes and your ears? What can you give another when you open your heart to them and let them share with you some of their life? Both can be far more precious than we realize.

-ESA

Soup Story (Story)

As the leaves turn here in New England, and pumpkins have been on the farm-stands for weeks, it's time to re-post this story, written originally in 2008.

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Soup Story

There was once a little village in a time not so long ago. Unlike the days of old when the villagers once worked the land as their ancestors, these villagers got into their cars and traveled a distance – sometimes a great distance to get to the jobs they worked. For you see, these jobs paid for the food on their table, paid for the clothes on their back and paid for the roof over their head. But in those days, taxes weren’t so high, jobs paid well, and there was even time for leisure where the village would hold picnics and parties and music concerts on the village green. Neighbors and friends had time to visit one another and even help one another. It was a close knit community. There was even money to spare, and the village would raise funds to donate to charities, such as the soup kitchens in the nearby cities. This went on for several years.

Then times changes, as they sometimes do. Businesses closed nearby and the villagers had to travel even further from home. Leisure time became less. Neighbors stopped seeing each other as much, but would still make time to attend the gatherings on the village green. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the time to visit each other nor help one another like before. Money was still good, but not as good as before. Donations were slimmer at the charities. This went on for some years.

Times changed again. Businesses were laying off, and taxes were rising. The villagers also changed a bit more inside. It had been some time since they knew their neighbors. There were fewer and fewer people they recognized at the village gatherings. Who were all these new people? Where did they come from? Are they after our jobs? If they take our jobs, how will I feed my family? Will we loose our home?

The the news spoke of terrible things that neighbor did against neighbor, and informed one and all that they should be alert against strangers. The attendance at the village green shrank and eventually the village no longer held these outings. Villagers would get home, stay on their own lot and lock their windows and doors, careful not to be noticed by any strangers in their midst.

Then taxes continued to rise, the price of gas skyrocketed and jobs were cut again. With money only trickling in and signs that there were even tougher times ahead, donations dried up. The nearby soup kitchens closed.

Now, during this time, on a bright autumn day, a minister to the poor and hungry in the nearby city decided to try the local villages to see if he could get any donations to reopen the soup kitchens. But try as he might, house by house, block by block, no one had anything to spare, not even a box of macaroni and cheese or a can of soup. Some would not even open the door because he was a stranger.

It didn’t take this minister long to see that not only had this village come upon hard economic times, but the community itself that once thrived in villages like this had also vanished. Taking the villagers into his heart, he decided to do something to help them before he went on his way to the next village.

Near the town green, he spied an old propane grill on one side of someone’s home. He knocked on the door again and said to the surly man who answered, “Excuse me, sir, I know you do not have any food to spare, but I just noticed your gas grill – the one rusting on the side of your house. Could I borrow it to heat up some food out there on the green? You see, we’re going to have an end of the season party, a nice one with food and games and music and laughter. We could use your grill.”

The surly man eyed the minister suspiciously. “Why? There’s no any gas for it.”

The minister merely shrugged, “I would appreciate it if you let me borrow it all the same. I will certainly return it when I’m done.”

The surly man gazed at the minister a long minute and ran his eyes over the expanse of the village green. A few lonely oak trees stood majestically, brightly colored leaves fluttering to the empty lawn beneath them. There was no one on the green or even outside. “Who’s the ‘we’ at this party? There’s no one out there.”

The minister smiled broadly, “Oh, the whole village is invited; you’re more than welcome to come too. It’ll be fun!”

The surly neighbor’s eyes narrowed and he thought a few moments. “What will you charge for those attending?”

“Charge?” asked the minister shocked. “Why nothing! This is merely a friendly gathering. Friends don’t charge friends when they gather together. But” added the minister, “if you feel like bringing anything out to share, it will be more than appreciated. However, it’s not a requirement.”

The surly man shook his head and the beginnings of a smile crept at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re up to, you old coot. But sure, you can borrow my grill. But I can’t give you anything else…” He stepped out of his home and unlocked the grill from the metal pole that secured it.

“I thank you for your loan, that is more than sufficient,” added the minister as he wheeled the grill across the road and onto the village green.

Next, the minister found another gas grill – this time with an empty propane tank. After a similar conversation, he wheeled the second grill next to the first.

Then he found someone who had a little propane left in his tank a little further from the green and managed to acquire this and connected it to the first grill.

After that, the minister wound his way to some of the neighbors and was able to obtain four oversized pots – two for each grill.

With a little bit of a jig in his walk, the minster then went in search of water. “Just a little tap water will do just fine” he told them. Soon he had all four of the borrowed pots full.

By now, the villagers had become very curious. Even though they were suspicious of this stranger in their midst, what kind of harm could he do with four large pots of water, two gas grills and barely enough propane to light one grill for two minutes. They started to gather on the green, keeping their distance from this strange minister and each other, but curious one and the same.

The minister looked up from his work as he finished pouring the last of the water into the forth pot. He smiled broadly and pointed to the nearby picnic tables that had become grey and weathered and long since unused. “It’s going to take some time before the soup will be ready. Perhaps you could sit there and play some games until then.”

The villagers looked wide-eyed at the tables and back to the minister. “There’s no games over there,” one of the villagers called back.

The minister looked over at the tables as if surprised. “Oh, I haven’t gotten them yet. Does anyone know who would be willing to loan us some cards or maybe a board game we can play until the soup is ready?”

“I have some cards I can bring out,” one villager called back and hurried back to her home.

“My kids have some fun board games,” replied another and he hurried off in a different direction.

In no time there were quite a few villagers out on the green on this nice sunny autumn day. Some brought a baseball, bat and gloves and started an impromptu game in one corner; others were playing dodgeball or tag, while those gathered around the picnic tables watched or played the various games that had started there.

In the meantime the minister went out again, asking house to house for some salt, pepper, and common herbs and seasonings. These he added to the cold water in the four large pots above the two unlit grills.

A young man, at the prompting of some neighbors went over to the minister. “How do you expect to heat this soup without any propane?”

The minister tapped the gauge of one tank -- just under a sixteenth of a tank. “This is enough to start. But if someone could donate a little more, I would greatly appreciate it. It will heat up the soup that much faster.”

The young man, smiled and almost laughed. “I’d say it would….” He paused and glanced over at his family. “Say, I have about half a tank at home. This is probably the last time we’d have to use it. I’ll bring it over.”

The minister grinned broadly, “Thank you.”

By the time the young man walked back to the green with the propane tank on his shoulder, a second villager was heading out to get his. Soon the two grills were lit and a vapor of steam wafted off the surface of the contents of the four pots.

A middle-aged woman wandered over as minister was stirring with a long-handled wooden spoon he managed to borrow from somewhere. She glanced into the pots with a knowing eye and commented, “That’s a mighty thin soup you’ve got there.”

“Yes,” replied the minister with a sad smile. “But these are thin times and we can not give what we don’t have…”

The woman glanced at the minister and then at the growing crowd on the village green. “I have some potatoes I was planning for our dinner tonight. It looks like we’re going to be eating here instead, so I’ll bring them out to you. It’s not much but it will help your soup.”

The minister smiled broadly and the hints of tears appeared in his eyes. “That would be a very generous donation, ‘mam. Thank you very much.”

The woman returned with an armload of potatoes, just enough for one and a half in each pot. When she returned to the villagers gathered around the tables, some asked her why she gave the stranger her food. When she told them her reasons, a few others nodded and departed to their kitchens. Soon a few limp carrots and some cabbage were added to the pots.

An old man wandered over to pots and commented to the minister. “You know, sonny. I remember a lean time long before this. My mum would make soup like this back in the ‘30’s. It was a real treat for us when we could get hold of some chicken necks to toss in there.”

The minister’s nose crinkled a bit. “Chicken necks?”

“Aye, sonny, there’s some meat to be had on the necks and there’s flavor from the bones.”

The minister nodded and laughed a little. “It’s a nice thought, but I don’t think the local supermarket carries chicken necks.”

“Laugh and think what you will, sonny. But I used to be a butcher. I still do some butchering now and then.” And the old man winked at the minister. “I have some in my freezer now, if you promise not to tell the others what they are. They think I’m old and crazy as it is.”

The minister’s eyes widened with delight. “That would be wonderful!”

The old man shuffled off to his home humming an old tune that arose from his heart.

Little by little, the small donations the villagers made thickened the soup. Soon the aroma filled the village green and the hungry villagers passed the remaining time playing games, and singing songs accompanied by the guitars and other musical instruments people had brought out. Laughter and the buzz of conversation among neighbors rose in the village green as the shadows of the great oaks extended across the autumn-dry grass.

In the fading daylight the villagers headed home for their bowls and mugs as well as jackets and wraps. They lined up peaceably while the minister spooned out the soup to any who wanted it. In the cool air after a fun day in the sunshine, the soup was warm and wonderful. Everyone had a smile on their face.

Those who loaned the pots were surprised there was some soup leftover and offered some to their neighbors as they headed home.

When the gas grills where wheeled away and the last of the villagers were heading home in the darkness. The minister returned to his car with a sigh. He didn’t accomplish what he planned to do here; there was still no food for the soup kitchen… Then he heard two people talking as they walked by his car on their way home.

“You know, Joe, that was fun. We should do that more often.”

“You’re right, Bob. It’s amazing how far so little food could go.”

The minister smiled to himself as he realized maybe he didn’t fail at all…

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- ESA

Amish Neighbor (Story)

This story was passed on to me recently and I wanted to share with my readers.

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A family moved into Lancaster County in Pennsylvania, an area known for its Amish residents. As the family's belongings were being hauled in by the movers some local Amish paused to watch with the father as the seemingly endless stream of belongings moved from the large truck into the newly built house.

Upon seeing the computers, large high-definition plasma-screen TV, smaller flat-screen TVs and an assortment of other high-tech items, one of the Amish turned to the father and commented, "I see you have a lot of high-end technology."

"Yes, we try to keep up with it."

"Well, sir, if you ever have any trouble with it, let me know and I can help you out."

Shocked, the father turned to his Amish neighbor and eyed him up and down. Amish were known as simple folk, living without cars, electricity and most of modern technology. "I'm surprised. And curious. If you don't mind my frankness, how does an Amish man like yourself come to learn how to fix and operate this stuff?"

The Amish man smiled gently, "I didn't say anything about fixing it. I can teach you how to live without it."

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- ESA

Tuna Fish

The summer following my freshman year at college had an impact on me that I shall never forget. My roommate was eldest of eight girls. Her father lived apart in the Bronx and her mother and sisters moved to her uncle's place in upstate New York. How wonderful, I thought, to live in a place in the mountains, fresh air and countryside!

Just after finals, we borrowed a car from my parents and drove her up there. Her mother welcomed us both warmly and served up lunch on a wobbly folding table surrounded by an assortment of indoor and outdoor chairs. Lunch consisted of watery lemonade and tuna fish sandwiches. I don't like tuna fish - the smell, the taste, any of it.

Discretely I asked my roommate to see if her mom would make me something else. Shamed, she quietly told me there WAS nothing else.... Her mother had given me her own share of the meal.

What I didn't know until then, she was only at college on a full scholarship. The student-work she did on the campus was to pay for her room and board. Her family had no real income at all.

The run-down house-sized structure I sat before wasn't their house - it was 5 apartments! Her family shared a one-bedroom apartment on the second floor. Their uncle managed the place from his basement apartment. The reason we were eating outdoors wasn't because of the nice weather. It was because their kitchen consisted of a sink, stove and small fridge to one side of the small main room - too small for all of us to eat together.

I spent the night there. Sharing the sleeper-sofa with my roommate and one of her sisters. One of the girls had given up her spot on the bed and slept in a sleeping bag on the floor for me.

Over the years, I would visit that place many times. One thing that drew me back was, despite not having "the latest and greatest," this family was close and full of love. They shared everything they had, which wasn't much. Their mother worked as housekeeper at a local resort to keep food on the table. But there was so much love there; the sisters watched out for each other and helped each other. I never felt as welcome anywhere else at that time in my life.

It was the first of many times I've learned there is much more to humanity than what income and position offers.

And it was the last time I've turned down a tuna fish sandwich.

- ESA

The Newcomer (True Story)

This story was told to me a few times and dates back to the late 1970's in a New England church, near one of the prestigious technical universities.

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There was young man who excelled in math, but didn't always have the best social skills, caring little in the ways of social etiquette and appearance. He recently started attendance at the University, and far from home, went to attend services at the local church that Sunday.

His first time in the area, he did not realize how conservative this church was. Everyone there held to the old, traditional ways. Not one person dared cross the threshold without being properly dressed and hair perfectly in place.

The young man entered in jeans and a flannel shirt loosely buttoned. His clothing was clean but rumpled, his hair somewhat askew and a few days growth of stubble shadowed his chin. Worse! He was late too.

When he entered the church, people turned and stared. When he tried to find a seat, not one person would budge for he was certainly not welcome to sit with them. Row-by-row, the young man made his way up to the front of the church. By now, the service itself was disrupted as everyone stared, pointed and whispered. Even the preacher had paused.

No one would let him sit down in the pews, so - being a practical man - he dropped cross-legged right down in the main aisle, facing the man at the pulpit. All in the church were shocked!

Then from the back of the church, a new sound penetrated the profound silence. Tap, tap, click, tap, tap, click... The oldest member of the congregation - the one known to be the strictest and most adherent to the old ways - was making his way up the aisle with his cane. His suit was impeccably pressed, his tie straight, not a hair out of place.

The rest of the congregation ribbed each other with nods of understanding. This was the one to sort this young man out. Half of the attendees expected to see the intruder bodily flung from their church by the back of his shirt and the seat of his pants. They would not put up with such behavior!

Tap, tap, click, tap, tap, click. The preacher watched respectfully as the old man made his way slowly up the aisle. But when the old man reached the front, he wordlessly, limbs trembling, sat down beside the young man right on the floor.

Then he nodded to the preacher to continue.

After recovering, the preacher turned to the congregation and solemnly told them. "Years from now, you will not remember a word that I say before you today. But you will always remember what you have seen here today."

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- ESA

Little Blessings

This occurred a few weeks ago. One Saturday morning, a knock on our door announced some of the young kids who lived in our apartment complex.

I've known these kids to unabashedly ask anyone a lot of personal questions that many adults hesitate to broach. In this way, they discovered one of our neighbors didn't have a bed in which to sleep. Recently moved in with her young son, she ensured he had a bed, but did not have enough money to get one for herself and spent her nights on the couch.

These children then took it upon themselves to help her, and - without her knowledge - knocked on over 16o doors in our complex to try to raise money or get some people to help. After all, they concluded, everyone deserves a place to sleep at night.

How amazing it is that the loving actions of children can get people to open their eyes and see neighbors in need. Many of us have seen this woman around, a few know her name. None knew she needed help until these little blessings made it clear - we are here to help one another.

- ESA

Birthday Blessings

"You did WHAT for your birthday?" That's the response I've been hearing for much of this week and may continue to hear until this week's close. Yesterday was my birthday. I spent the day at a church several miles away, hauling and sorting a truckload of donated items. And, yes, that is exactly what I wanted to do for my birthday.

When I see or hear about someone sincerely helping another, there is this warmth and Love that wells up from deep inside me. But much of my life I've been an outcast, and often only see that loving act from the outside. Rarely could I participate in it too.

Not only was I an outcast during my school years, low income can also make one an outcast. Practically all of my local organizations that have volunteer opportunities require membership for insurance purposes. "Membership" means about $200/year per person plus a monthly meeting fee of $25-$45 each "but they do feed you a nice dinner too" (as one person told us). So far, the VFW was the only one in our town that allows my husband and I to volunteer without membership. I've even tried the Girl Scouts, which is only $10/year for adult membership, but because I have never been blessed with children, the local GS troop leaders looked quite askance upon me every time I offered my services. :(

A few weeks ago, we were visiting my in-laws in a rural part of the state. In their church bulletin was a note asking for volunteers to help. The date they really needed volunteers coincidentally was my birthday, so I opted to take a vacation day and pitch in.

As I said, there is such a special joy when I see people helping each other. There is a value added beyond measure when an outcast like myself can become part of the group - especially when part of a positive act.

Thank you.
From my heart.

-ESA

Birthday Card (Poem)

My niece presented me with a hand-made, construction-paper birthday card in which she wrote this beautiful poem. Sometimes the best presents aren't the expensive gifts found at the store, but ones crafted from the heart.

To My Loving Aunt

How fortunate I am
To have an aunt like you
Your love shows through
In all that you do

So much of yourself
You have given to me
Asking nothing in return
But a good person I be

You taught me values
That are important in life
Your guidance for me
Have always been right

I love you so much
Just had to convey
My love for you in
These words that I say

I LOVE YOU!

River of Opportunity

I spent yesterday at an amusement park with extended family. One of the attractions has the rider sit in an inflatable tube and drift lazily down a meandering river-like waterway. Anyone who has ridden in one may know how tricky it can be to navigate one's tube lying on their back with a strong current and several other tubes between you and your objective. When my niece, riding a double with me, declared she had enough, I struggled to get to the exit, finally needing one of the lifeguards to pull us toward the exit area.

When several in our family group opted to go to another ride, I stood near the departure point to literally pull in the rest of the family as they floated by, so we could all go together. While I was pulling in the group in ones and twos, there was a woman who called out to me with her hand extended. She wanted to get off the ride too but could not reach the exit and was rapidly being swept "downstream" despite all her attempts, not unlike my own attempts about five minutes earlier.

When she thanked me for the help and asked if I was part of the staff, I answered simply, "No, I'm just out here looking to pull my mother in." It wasn't until I was back in the stream looking for my mother - the last of our group to exit - that it dawned on me...

If I wasn't already out there, I never would have seen this woman struggling or been there to help her.

How many opportunities to help a fellow human being - my brothers and sisters - have passed me by because I was not already helping out there, but merely sitting back waiting for the opportunity to come knocking on its own?

How much can pass
When the river of opportunity flows past
And I am not standing in the current?

-ESA

Battle With Oreos

This past week, I've tried NOT to eat the oreo cookies in the recently-restocked vending box down the hall from my office. Recently, I read something on using root-cause-analysis to understand "temptations" I see in this world. And, to anyone who loves oreo cookies and is trying to loose weight, the call of the oreos mere steps away certainly a temptation. ;-)

Why do I want to eat those oreo cookies? Well, at first, I admitted that the kid in me likes to open it up, eat the middle and then the cookies - especially with a glass of milk, just like the commercials. But looking only a bit deeper, I had to admit a strong pull was the "comfort food" factor.

Why do I have the need for comfort food? (<-- part of getting to the root cause) I have some lack within me that seeks to be met - to be comforted and made happy. The oreo cookies take me back to a happy, safe time as a child when I didn't have worries over bills to pay, a job to keep, and other stresses of adult life. A bag of potato chips may call up happy memories of gatherings with friends or family, even when I can polish off most of it sitting alone in front of a TV...

Why do I have the need to be comforted NOW when I didn't then? With this question, still in mind, I spent the day with extended family including 7 kids. Not having been blessed with children of my own, it's amazing soon how I forget that they easily express themselves without holding to the strictures of "personal space" that adults do. Granted, this ranges from temper tantrums and tears, to sudden hugs when they are happy. Growing up, I learned strict limitations in broaching another's "personal space." Most contacts are limited to handshakes and pass the salt. There are no touches on an arm or shoulder and certainly no spontaneous hugs.

Why are there strictures of "personal space" that I obey? When a psychological aspect of "personal space", which is space in the immediate vicinity of the person's body, is looked at, am I not drawing a line that says everything within this space is "I, me, myself, mine" and everything outside is "you and yours"? But in reality, am I not interconnected to all as I live my life? Do I not rely on someone else's work for the food I eat, the shelter I live in, and everything that I need or use in this life. There is also the trees used to build my shelter, the animals/fish for my meat, the bees that pollinate the plants I eat, etc. So in essence, I am quite interconnected to both other people and other things in this world.

But when I draw a line around myself and focus on "I, me, myself, mine", I fail to recognize that interconnectedness. The simple act of a child's hug shouts gladly, "You are a part of my life; what you do makes me happy!" I may say the words "thank you" or nod, or even forget to do those simple things. I've cut myself from others and from the world around me.

And with that void, I've tried to fill that loss with oreo cookies. That is a sorry replacement indeed. So instead of oreo cookies, perhaps I should seek the company of coworkers or share a hug with someone.

Many lives
One world
Interconnected

-ESA

The Woodpecker (Story)

Once upon a time, a woman lived on the outskirts of the village. She was a proud woman, with flowing red hair, beautiful face and attractive body. She was also well-known throughout the area for her culinary skills.

One day, a visitor came to her door. By local custom, she was obligated to invite this person in and offer him some food. But this was not the kind of visitor she wanted in her home. He was rank from being unwashed, his hair and beard were disheveled, plus his patched and worn clothing clearly indicated he did not the means to help better her own life.

She roughly escorted him through the front parlor, down the hall and seated him on a crude stool beside the back door in the kitchen. Then she ransacked her kitchen pantry for the humblest morsel she could feed him.

She spied some old bread and quickly popped the small, dry piece into her warming oven to heat it up. When she took it out a few minutes later, fresh steam rose from a whole loaf providing a mouth-watering aroma of freshly-baked bread. This was too good for her visitor, so she set it aside for her own supper and continued to search.

She spied a pair of rotting apples at the bottom of a bin and smiled. She quickly assembled a small apple tart and placed that in the oven to bake. The scent of cinnamon, baking apples, buttery crust and more filled her kitchen. When she pulled it out of the oven, the flaky crust was a beautiful golden brown. This was also too good for her visitor, so she set it aside for her dessert.

Her quest continued out the back door, and she came upon the manure pile. With a wicked smirk, she shoveled some into a tin and took it back to the kitchen. She added sugar and a few other ingredients hoping to disguise the foul stench of the original produce. The more she added the less foul it seemed. This, too, she popped into the oven, wondering what the result would be. In under an hour, she was staring aghast at the best chocolate mouse ever to grace her kitchen.

That did it! Not knowing what else to do, she grabbed a large wooden spoon and chased the stranger from her kitchen. Just beyond the doorway, the stranger stopped and turned around. His stature grew as his appearance changed. With a sinking feeling the woman quickly realized who she had as her visitor...

"You witnessed a piece of stale bread become a whole fresh loaf, yet you failed to share it with me. You saw rotten apples become a beautiful tart, yet you failed to share it with me. And you beheld the most foul creation your mind could produce become one of your finest dishes, yet STILL you failed to share even THAT with me.

"For this, you and all your children shall spend the rest of your days feasting on insects and you will work hard for every morsel you consume."

As he was spoke, the woman began to shrink - smaller and smaller she became. Her fingers became feathers of wings, as her body sprouted feathers everywhere. The nose on her beautiful face became long and hard and her long beautiful hair was gone - leaving only a patch of red on her head as a bitter reminder.

Perhaps you have seen her or her children in this world. She can often be spied on the sides of trees as she hammers out her living, eating only insects for her meals.

- ESA

Kingdom Visitor (Story)

Once upon a time, in a not too distant land there was a king that loved all the people. Because he had such love for the people, he wanted them to be happy and to love each other as he loved them. One day, he called before him all the magistrates in the land and commanded of them to design a way that would best enable all the people to love one another.

The magistrates gathered and spent much time in council determining the best methods to govern the people that would make them love each other so the king would be happy. They decided on a long list of rules that the people would have to memorize and adhere. They decided on celebration days that would, by their annual repetition, reinforce the rules they established. Further, they set up a system where there would be rewards for those who obeyed the rules and punishment for those who did not.

This, they surmised, was the best way to make the people love each other.

Over the years, the magistrates instructed the people in the rules, meted out the rewards and punishments, and watched the people carefully so they knew who to reward and who to punish. In response, some of the people would either vie with each other to do the most loving acts to gain the best of the rewards, or they followed the rules minimally when they knew they were being watched, lest they face the dreaded punishments.

Then one day, a stranger arrived and set up a temporary home among the people of this kingdom. Within a few days, one of the magistrates presented to her a thick bound volume of the rules. But the stranger handed the book back unopened and, instead, took out her visa which indicated she was not a subject of the king, and thus she was not subject to those rules. The magistrate tried to harass her, but she knew that was the law of all the lands and magistrate could not force their ways on her.

At that time, the king wondered how well the system his magistrates established was working. Were the people truly loving one another as he loved them? Was the system enabling their love for each other to flourish? Or were the people merely following the established set of rules because they sought individually to gain a reward or avoid a punishment? So the king decided to find out for himself. He disguised himself and went out among the people.

Where the magistrates were to be found, people performed all kinds of loving acts, helping one another and more. But where there were no magistrates watching, the poor were left hungry, the cold were left outside alone to fend for themselves, the sick were shoved apart from the healthy, and the outcasts were friendless. There was very little love here.

Then the king spied a young woman, a stranger in this land, and she was doing what the people were not, even when the magistrates were not watching. She shared her supper with someone that had none, she helped carry someone's heavy load, and she welcomed the homeless into the rooms she rented so they would not have to suffer the freezing rain and falling snow. Who was this woman?

The king called court the next day and called this woman before him. "I am king of this realm," he told her, "and I have seen what you have done."

"I know of your rules may be different here, your majesty, but as I am not one of your subjects, so your rules do not apply to me."

"So you do not act as you do fearing punishment?"

"No, sir."

"So you do not act as you do expecting reward?"

"No, sir."

The king's cheeks started to glisten with tears and he stepped down from his throne and faced the woman eye-to-eye. "Then why do you do the things you do?"

The woman shrugged, "It's just the right thing to do. We're all part of this world, we should help each other."

The king stepped forward and embraced the woman fiercely!

When he stepped back he announced, "Let this be known across the land, this woman has acted with Love for her neighbor, not because of reward, not out of fear of punishment - for she clearly does not expect either. She acted simply out of the Love found in her heart. THIS! This is what I sought for my people. All I simply ask is that they love one another."

Love
thy
neighbor

-ESA

Windshield Wipers

When I went to put something in my Jeep yesterday, I noticed one of my windshield wipers was gone. The other was off the hook and bent horrifically. Evidently someone tried to steal both. Reporting the incident to the police was pointless. As I walk to work, the incident could have taken place any time since last Sunday. The Jeep was parked near the back of our apartment complex parking area and easily accessible to anyone walking or driving by. It also could have been much worse; one time someone slashed all the tires of the vehicles parked back there.

I was upset. I'd have to buy new wipers when these were still fairly new themselves. And I could not drive without wipers due to the sudden summer thunder-storms common where we live. So I sat and sulked as my husband drove me.

After the initial pout fest, I tried to forgive through reasoning. Perhaps the person really needed wipers themselves and could not afford to buy replacements. Or perhaps it was just some vandal bent on destruction. In my head, I flip-flopped between the two; I could forgive one easily but not the other. I even felt a bit bad; not only was the person so desperate that they needed to steal off an old Jeep, they will also have to steal from someone else too as they bent one of the wipers, rendering it useless for both of us. I, at least, have some savings where I can get a new set of wipers, some of my neighbors may not.

I know there is much research showing both psychological (mind) and biological/bio-chemical (body) benefits to forgiveness. This morning in the stillness of my prayers I sought to forgive. One of the exercises in a book I'm reading speaks of "letting go of attack thoughts." This includes both thoughts of me attacking others as well as being attacked. And I had to face the truth, I felt attacked when I saw my Jeep yesterday.

When I let the thought of attack go - it is in the past and the past is forever gone; there is nothing I can change about it - I did find some Peace and forgiveness. More, I came to the recognition that it does not matter WHY the person did what was done. It is ALL in the past.

That, I believe, is one of the nuggets of wisdom behind the "Judge not, lest you be judged." In judging we determine what is good and bad. If they did it for one reason, I can forgive. But as long as there is anything that I hold back my forgiveness on, I - myself - bar the way to the Peace I seek. In the end, the person who did this will never know one way or the other if I've forgiven, but *I* do. And withholding forgiveness only harms me.

Holding on harms us so
Benefits as we let go
And grow

-ESA

Positive vs. Punished

Yesterday I received an automatic email notification that an airline, canceling and changing flights, had changed the itineraries for our October trip to Yellowstone. Instead of landing at 2:41 pm in Jackson Hole, WY, which gave us ample time to drive to Mammoth Hot Springs near the park's northern gate, we would now land at 9 pm. After that we would face unfamiliar roads (never been there before), mountainous terrain (which may or may not have guard rails), and the possibility of snow and ice IN THE DARK.

My first response was the typical: I felt life was dumping crap on me and I was pissed! I wanted to call the airline company and scream at the customer service representative - who had NOTHING to do with the change - demanding that they somehow "fix" the mess they created.

Instead, I tried a different tact. I took a few breaths, got myself a fresh cup of coffee, and calmed myself before calling. I rationally explained my concerns and worked with the rep to find a resolution. Instead of focusing on what was originally in place, I opened up my options saying simply I needed to get from "_X_" to Yellowstone on that day before dark. She found flights to Bozeman, MT, which is CLOSER to my destination (practically halving my drive time), and landing at 1:24 pm (an earlier time).

Then came the next step, with the change in flight destination, I obviously needed to change the car pickup. I can imagine it's quite a walk with suitcases from Bozeman, MT to Jackson Hole, WY. My original rental company told me the new bill would change from $661 to $786! Irk!

Again, I could have gotten upset, but I swallowed the rage, said my magic words, "I'll think about it" and set about looking around to see what other options I had available. After all, the goal was to get a working vehicle, not a car from that particular company. And I found a better deal in the long run for $431.

By stepping away from anger and ranting/raving how I was inconvenienced, or bemoaning how life was punishing me again or just being a pain in the asterisks, I focused on a positive outcome - I need to get "X" done. I was able to work with others and not only meet the goals, but I saved both drive time and $230.

I am well aware that these remarkable results will not happen every time. But it does make me wonder how many times something like this was missed because I focused all my energy on ranting and raving instead of resolving things?

Focus on the positive
Forget the anger
And watch

- ESA

Twinkies and Root Beer (Story)

This is a cute little story someone pointed me toward and found here.

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Twinkies and Root Beer

A little boy wanted to meet God. He knew it was a long trip to where God lived, so he packed his suitcase with Twinkies and a six-pack of root beer and he started his journey.

When he had gone about three blocks, he met an elderly man. The man was sitting in the park just feeding some pigeons.

The boy sat down next to him and opened his suitcase. He was about to take a drink from his root beer when he noticed that the man looked hungry, so he offered him a Twinkie.

The man gratefully accepted it and smiled at boy. His smile was so pleasant that the boy wanted to see it again, so he offered him a root beer.

Again, the man smiled at him. The boy was delighted! They sat there all afternoon eating and smiling, but they never said a word.

As it grew dark, the boy realized how tired he was and he got up to leave, but before he had gone more than a few steps, he turned around, ran back to the man, and gave him a hug. The man gave him his biggest smile ever.

When the boy opened the door to his own house a short time later, his mother was surprised by the look of joy on his face. She asked him, "What did you do today that made you so happy?

"He replied, "I had lunch with God." But before his mother could respond, he added, "You know what? God's got the most beautiful smile I've ever seen!"

Meanwhile, the elderly man, also radiant with joy, returned to his home. His son was stunned by the look of peace on his face and he asked," Dad, what did you do today that made you so happy?"

He replied, "I ate Twinkies in the park with God." However, before his son responded, he added," You know, he's much younger than I expected."

Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around. People come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Embrace all equally!

~author unknown~

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-ESA

Forth Fireworks

It's been a long time since I posted to my blog, and it's been revised and integrated with my old story blog. Hopefully things will go smoother from here. :D

At the beginning of this month, my husband and I celebrated Independence Day/Forth of July with those in our apartment complex. What started out as four people, including ourselves, has grown over the last six or seven years. Someone estimated over 40 kids attended this year and at least a few dozen adults.

We told the kids that we would not start the show until it was "dark." To determine when it was "dark enough" we said that when we could see three stars in the sky overhead. I don't think I've ever seen the neighborhood kids look as intently at the sky as they did then. LOL Then came the debate whether or not the "evening star" counted as a planet or a star. LMAO!!!

But all in all, it was an enjoyable time. There is a certain kind of joy when you gather with people and share something together. :)

As my husband and I have no idea what the fireworks look like from the audience perspective, we asked a neighbor to use our camera to take a few snapshots. The camera was moved and the images were delightfully bizarre in themselves. So I wanted to share those with my readers, for laughs, for fun, for the joy of sharing the unexpected. :D

- ESA

PS: Rocket-type fireworks are illegal in our state, so we only had ground-type fountains.

Fear

Litany against fear

(from Dune by Frank Herbert)

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.

Bad To Good

Have you ever had something happen when you sit back with a smile, wondering how something that was frustrating and seemed so wrong opened the way for something good to happen? This happened to me in back-to-back weekends now.

Last weekend, my husband and I had changed our original plans for his birthday to provide me recovery time for my surgery. Then my surgery was canceled at the last minute. But on the very day scheduled for surgery, one of my brother's went to the hospital. My husband and I were free to drive to his State and be with him and help him through the weekend.

This weekend, with the recent stresses and strains, I sought some time -- Alone. I went back to a place I always consider a home - Northeastern PA. I got out early and with delight, I wanted to surprise a friend, but I never had the chance to see him in the end. Instead, I happened upon four wayfarers far from their home, with a broken down car feeling quite alone. If I had my husband on this trip with me, I would not have been able to help them you see.

There are times when it seems life hands me lemons and asks me to make lemonade. There are also times when I sit back and realize, some of the events helped build the lemonade stand....

There is always a bigger picture
Even when we cannot see it.

- ESA

Brown-nosing in School

While at my little brother's place this morning, I saw one of his child's 4th-grade essays. It shows that kids learn early that it pays to brown-nose. Teacher's comments are in red below; typed exactly as the child typed it:

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NO ROBOT TEACHERS - by Danny _____

We cant [can't] have Robot teachers. What if there's a mountfunktion [malfunction] and the robot gos [goes] crazy! Haveing [Having] real people teach you that [crossed out "that"] provids more jobs for people. [Add that elaborating sentence --> Which we all know is important!] If you are in the hospital a real teacher would call you a robot wouldnt [wouldn't] know your gon [gone]. Also you need $ to pay for parts for the robot you dont have to buld a teacher. This is why we cant have robot teachers. Imagin beaing traped in a class with a robot talking like this, ETFBUGFYAFNGDXFFYGDYUGFWAFRGTFSF, to you. Robot teachers wouln't give you party's. I SAY ROBOT TEACHERS ARE A PUNESHMENT! I would have a liveing thing for a teacher rather than a cold hunk of metal! [great language] Electronical teachers cost mony for the electric bill. This is why we cant have robot teachers. [You have great craft (3) Danny! Organization is also important though. Keep related arguments together and make new paragraphs for each different one.]

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I confess I cringed as I typed that because all the spelling mistakes were glaringly obvious and shockingly uncorrected. Then I realized when the teacher stopped correcting the errors: where it became clear the essay promoted human vs. electronic teachers.

Let's face it; the child was stroking the teacher's ego, and the teacher was lapping it up. Only one error was corrected beyond that point, otherwise the teacher was all praises. What does this tell the child? Brown-nosing is REWARDED! You can get away with shoddy work if you are good at brown-nosing your superior!

While I am a strong supporter of keeping jobs for people, and use real cashiers at supermarkets instead of the electronic ones, I find it ironic that an electronic teacher would NOT have an ego to stroke and wouldn't award that paper such a high grade but correct all errors instead.

I also believe we should have human teachers, but I wish they would show some moral backbone and teach the child the correct spelling/grammar instead of rewarding brown-nosing. I'm one of those "hard-ass" HR people that would like to see good spelling in cover letters, resumes and business correspondence instead of seeing employees and candidates try to smooth-talk their way into a job or out of poor work ethic.

-ESA

Saying Farewell

A few weeks ago, my husband and I held a very private ceremony to say farewell ~ farewell to the child we lost in miscarriage and farewell to the opportunity to have biological children of our own.

The ceremony took place in Caumsett State Park on Long Island (NY). Just off the main road there is a 70-foot tree dominating a field, which I've heard called "God's tree."


At the base of the 4-trunk tree, a visitor is essentially enclosed by the tree's branches in a natural cathedral. It is there we made our peace.




With only my husband, myself and one witness, we opened the simple ceremony with a prayer to God and Jesus.

Next, my husband and I uttered, "Little one we name thee ____________" thrice. While we said this, my husband poured some water from a glass vial into the wooden bowl in my hands.

Then we both held the bowl of water together and said three times, "Little one, know that you are loved and you will be missed."

Following, we jointly poured the water from the bowl to the base of the tree, passing on some hope of life and growth back into the world as we said thrice, "Little one, you are free to return to our Creator."


We closed with another prayer and some personal words of our own in the dappled sunlight under that tree.



While we didn't realize this until a few days later, the Saturday where we could all arrange to be there happened to be May 1st - otherwise known as May Day or Beltane.


That is the traditional day of letting go and moving on, starting new plantings and celebrating life to come. What was mere coincidence was an unexpected blessing as it seemed to fit in so well with our simple farewell.


~ ~ ~


Both before and after the ceremony we walked with friends of ours, including a four-year-old who is full of the joy of life.


On our way to the site, we crossed a field with a small rise. To the boy, he had just climbed a mountain!

I also chased him around with "tickle bees."

On the way back, I demonstrated the joy of blowing dandelion seeds so they dance like white poofs in the gentle breeze that was blowing.

So bracketing our sad ceremony was another celebration - one of life, learning and sharing. While the child was not ours, he is a part of our life.

And it is a joy to share things with all those we have in our life - young, our age or those with wisdom beyond our years.


Life does not start and end when other parts are gone.
That which is gone is a stepping stone.
We learn and move on.

- ESA

Punched in the Gut

My blog is going to take a bit of detour. I still have stuff in my head and heart I want to share, but right now life keeps throwing me for a few loops. I hope my readers don't mind. What I share may be far more personal than people are comfortable about reading. But I'm inspired by others, like Hetty (@AliveInMe), who have gone through far worse situations and shared their stories. If people pay counselors hundreds of dollars to listen, maybe there is something about having an opportunity to just say what's going on in life and how we feel about it.

For those that follow me on Twitter, I know I appear happy, upbeat and positive most of the time. But I get knocked down too. Today I think I reached a point where I needed to step back - including leaving the office - just to deal with what got handed me.

As my readers don't know much of this story, I will give you some background. My husband and I have tried unsuccessfully for years to have children. In 2006, I had a seriously bad miscarriage. I bled heavily from the start, hemorrhaged badly three times - blood literally pouring out of me, several trips to the hospital and mandatory bed rest. We lost that child - for all I know children... there were "fetal tissues" lost during the first major hemorrhage, but they still had a heartbeat. I lost 30 pounds over that pregnancy, when one usually gains weight. During the D&C I hemorrhaged again so badly the doctor had to call in another doctor and performed the procedure blindly via ultrasound.

A few months later, my father passed away suddenly and unexpectedly at the young age of 64. His mother is still alive today and our family is known for longevity, so none of us were prepared for this. My mother has relied on our help since then, especially as my siblings have kids to care for and we didn't.

My husband and I were looking at adoption even before that pregnancy, and were working with DCF. We reached the point when we could go no further with them until we showed them the bedrooms we would have for the child. That required a larger home than our small apartment. We were shopping for a house and put several offers on a home we loved two months after my father died - less than a year after the miscarriage. None were accepted and soon thereafter our Realtor quit the profession.

Our house hunt faltered as helping my mother and brother, who was both ill and going through a divorce, took priorities.

All through this, every month I had my "visitor", I would flash back to those horrific moments I had blood pouring out of me and feared I was pregnant and miscarrying again. Several of these were late - and as we were trying, they may have been early term misscarriages. There were also months where I missed altogether and had my doctor confirm I was starting early menopause - younger than 40 years of age.

It didn't help matters that over the last few years I've been getting 6-month mammographies and "paps" for abnormalities and potential breast and cervical cancers. But at least I was monitoring those ready to spring into action to resolve it if something should arise.

Last summer the sole income for the company that employs me filed for bankruptcy. While I wasn't let go with all the other employees, my job barely hung on by a thread. As my husband has been out of work since 2001, I am the only income and we faced loosing it.

Months stretched on and tensions mounted. We never had time to come to emotional terms with our losses as we were busy.

Then a few months ago, I snapped! Our home was in complete disorder and disrepair, cluttered to the point we couldn't move freely. My husband and I shared less and less; we were moving apart. While we started to clear out the clutter, I uncovered the books and paperwork associated with my pregnancy and I just suddenly burst out in sobs of loss.

As grief counseling was the rational approach, I contacted my OB-Gyn for references. On one of my 6-month visits we discussed pregnancy and the doctor revealed that "it is medically determined that is dangerous for you to become pregnant." This in no way helped alleviate my fears each month.

So after careful consideration and reviewing all the options, my husband and I decided that I should go for a tubal ligation ("getting my tubes tied") as a means of ensuring I couldn't get pregnant. The surgery was scheduled for tomorrow.

I was prepared mentally, emotionally, and physically. A few weeks ago, my husband and I even had a ceremony saying farewell both to the one pregnancy we did know, and those we will never know. I may share this ceremony with my readers on a different post later.

Then I went for my pre-op appointment yesterday. Everything I could do I did, ready to face infertility, surgery and move forward ready to restart the adoption process without the "you're the alternative" mentality that could result from an unresolved miscarriage. That challenge was ready to be faced and the book ready to close.

Then we spoke with the doctor....

There are a few issues that came up. When my cervix is dilated - I hemorrhage. There is some "unknown structure" inside my uterus; any contact with which can lead to devastating results. There's no way to try to know what this "fibrous" thing except a biopsy. If they cannot open my cervix for the biopsy, that means surgery. This, as the doctor told me this morning, may mean a full hysterectomy decided by the doctor when I'm in that surgery.

So now, tomorrow's surgery is canceled and we face a few more hurdles and decisions to make. In the interim, abstinence has become a frustrating friend of mine as I fear getting pregnant. I joked with my husband about joining a convent - lol.

It's a mental struggle and an emotional and financial roller-coaster, but a process of life all the same.

I know so many others who have it far worse that we do. But I do ask that if I fail to write in my blog or go silent on Twitter for a spell, not getting back to people as I should, please understand. Some days I need to go and hide to help me deal with what is on my own plate.

Some days life just punches you in the stomach.

- ESA