People Watching

The following poem evolved from a couple of things - Memory from a Zeta Sister and Invitation to Poetry: Moments from Abbey of the Arts.

Do they know who they will become?
Are they already there?

Pink crocs and purple cast, she floats
across the playground.
Will she be a nurse mending others or
the daredevil breaking bones?

Tiny son in his own blue crocs,
raises his voice to the sky.
Budding opera singer? Talk show host?
Perhaps a bellowing father.

Newborn babes & scampering tots,
mothers, fathers, aunties too.
Do they know who they will become?
Are they already there?

The merry-go-round spins
faster and faster.
Which moments of the blur will
stand in clarity?

Bell bottom jeans, peasant top
& flowing hair, she sits upon the campus wall.
Could she know who she would become?
Was she already there?

Perhaps it is middle age or psychotherapy that has me remembering moments of my past, but I continue to be fascinated by what I am learning about my life. Recent discoveries have led me to consider the "clues" to who I have become that were there all along the way.

The things I loved as a child (which I thought I had forgotten) are still the things I love today. My authentic tendencies (not necessarily those imposed upon me by others) have been with me from ages 5 to 15 to 50.

So, what do you think? Did you know who you would become? Were you already there? Can you see the clues that were there along the way?

photo from Paris, 2008

Memory from a Zeta Sister

"I was just talking to a neighbor who is a Zeta at Sam Houston State, and I had a flashback. Remember when we would leave early for class and sit on the wall in front of the Math Bldg just to people watch? I haven't taken the time to do something like that in years." -- KMP

I received this comment on Facebook from a sorority sister I haven’t seen face to face in over 30 years. Sadly my immediate answer is “No, Karen, I don’t remember that at all.” But then I pause, I close my eyes and I see those girls. I see us in our long 70’s hair and bell-bottomed jeans perhaps a peasant blouse or a Zeta Tau Alpha t-shirt. We are casual friends – sisters – pledged into the same class. I haven’t had contact with her in years and yet today she brings me a very real moment in time.

I can only see it in my mind’s eye. My memory feels so foggy from that time of life, but as I stop and pause, I feel the moment in my body. Tears form in my eyes and my stomach tightens just a bit. They are tears & tightening that cover the span of life - joy, sorrow, loss, memory. I know that girl who has become this woman. She was doing things as a college student that she – that I – love to do today. The woman I thought was never there - the one I thought didn’t come out to bloom until only recently - was laying the groundwork for me there on the campus of Oklahoma State University. She was there all along sitting on the wall in front of the Math Building, people watching. I thought that girl never existed. Now I know that she was there all along. I simply let her be surrounded by the fog of life, but today someone who walked beside me way back then helped lift that fog. A friend held the memory for me. Today I remember and I am blessed.

Today, I vow to find a spot along a wall or sidewalk – perhaps with a friend – perhaps on my own. I will take Karen with me if only in my heart and together those girls of the 70’s who have become women of the 21^st century will take the time to sit and watch. Maybe you will join me. Or perhaps you will share a memory with a friend. The best gifts often come in the simplest forms!!

Peace be with you, friend Karen. Thank you for the sweet memory.

how do you define violence?

..."violence is not just a matter of dropping a bomb on someone or shooting a bullet at them or hitting them in the face. Violence is done whenever we violate the identity and integrity of the other. Violence is done when we demean, marginalize, dismiss, rendering other people irrelevant to our lives or even less than human. Violence is done when we simply don't care or don't look hard enough to evoke our caring for another." -- Parker Palmer

I share this quote today, because my daughter experienced this kind of violence first hand this week. She is a member of a class of citizens known for their extreme "meanness" - that of the teenage girl. Unfortunately this time the 'violence' came from someone who should know better. He is supposedly a role model. He is a coach.

Torn between wanting to rake this man over the coals and also wanting to be compassionate because I cannot know what has brought him to this place, I shall keep my public statements to a minimum. My private journaling, however, includes lots of spewing. I am livid to put it mildly.

How can the next generation grow into positive citizens when their role models daily inflict violence on them? How can we stop violence in the world if we do not stop it in our own homes & neighborhoods? So i must consider... How do I dismiss others without a thought? Where do I inflict violence by simply not caring? I hope you will consider this for yourself alongside me.

"headless" by lucy 7.08.09

celebrating blessings

Only 20 pages in and I am LOVING this book:

My Grandfather's Blessings - Rachel Naomi Remen

"Blessing life may be more about learning how to celebrate life than learning how to fix life."

"...life is about filling yourself up so that your blessings overflow onto others."

"celebrating life" photo by lucy 6.20.09

lucy comes out to complain...

I love driving. I hate parking. Let me clarify that a bit. I love driving most of the time – particularly long stretches of road with the convertible top down and the sound of music or the silence of the evening swirling through the air. I don’t specifically hate parking in the sense of pulling into a space and placing the car in “P.” In fact, just recently I was complimented on my parallel parking skills. The precision of a perfectly executed sideways entry gives me great satisfaction.

The parking to which I refer is more the hunting for it and, then to add insult to injury, the paying for it. Now, I would rather circle a block a dozen times in the hope of a metered space for $3 rather than a quick stop in the $10 lot. (I realize you New Yorkers are asking about now, what am I whining about? Believe, me it’s not even the price that gets me.) So, what is the deal here? I honestly have no idea and it is not something I care to take to the shrink’s couch. However, I feel strongly enough that I must expound on it for a few more moments.

This week I have had to look (& pay) for more parking than normal. Tuesday, I had lunch with a long-lost friend. I rode my scooter downtown, quickly found the perfect spot marked “motorcycles only” and went to dine in the sunshine with my dear friend. Fabulous, huh? Then as we walked back to my “ride”, we noticed a meter-maid (I’m certain there is a more politically correct term, nonetheless), who was carefully adhering a parking ticket to my handle bars. Aaarrggghhh. I was not enraged or even particularly bothered at the moment. (My friend offered to pay for drinks the next time we gathered ☺). Since then, however, my aversion has raised its not-so-pretty head again and again until I decided I just needed to write about it.

So what is with that? I mean I am willing to drive or walk miles today to avoid the thought of looking and paying for parking again. My mind fantasizes about what kind of person would enjoy giving parking tickets for a living. Who are the bozos who placed all of the meters in MY neighborhood? Where’s the law of attraction when you’re looking for a parking place? Oh, I could go on and on. I was visiting a friend who lives in a high density area several weeks ago. I love this person and I adore spending time with her, but after 20 minutes of unsuccessfully looking for parking (there isn’t even any you can pay for in her ‘hood), I almost turned around and drove back home.

You might be wondering what is the point of this post? What self-revelation have I come to? Where is the spiritual component? The lesson to be learned? The questions to be asked? The point is I love driving. I hate parking. Parking is one of my pet peeves. I am most human behind the wheel. Hmmmmm.

So, I can’t end without a question (or two)? Parking? Any thoughts? How about other pet peeves? Where are you most human?

"an early driver" circa 1967? if you look closely you will see my father in the background. there is not a doubt my mother took this picture since she was infamous for cutting off people's heads (in photos).