That Woman

The words you’re about to read come from a dear friend known mostly as “The Peace Dragon Lady.” A survivor of a terrorist attack and cancer, Linda Garrison Ragsdale spends her life teaching kids about making peace and she has an uncanny way of saying what so many of us feel. Especially now. It’s an honor to share her words with you.

In light of the world turning in a direction I’m unacquainted with,
I find as always, my heart leads me back to the place I need to be.
In a world so undefined and filled with illusion, I want to be very clear what kind of American I am.

I am the grown up child
Who forever feels her hand over her beating heart
And hears herself pledge, “indivisible with Liberty and justice for all.”
All.
I meant it then.
I mean it now.

I am the American woman, who would not choose abortion as a young woman,
But know that it is a choice for me to make for me- not made for me by someone else.
I respect the decision of every person to reconcile their choices with themselves and their spiritual or non-spiritual nature, as I would hope they would respect mine.
I cannot imagine the weight of that decision, but would never force a sentence for anyone finding themselves there.
It is never a choice taken lightly.
It is a choice that is never forgotten.
But as women, we have to make choices.
And we do.
I am a woman who believes in owning her choices and their consequences.

I am the American woman who is angered by the hypocrisy of those who profess their pro-life stand, and openly deny the rights of those standing next to them, sharing the same air, but different enough to somehow be deemed unworthy of their passion of support for life, but readily offered the wrath of their limited love and compassion.

I am the American mother, who sees no boundaries for the children I am to called to care for – all children.
I ache for the child who came to speak to me with a gun, and the child who died by my side.
But I am the woman,
the mother,
the American,
who’ll hold the child who comes to me after being bullied, ignored, frightened or ill.
And for those children who are searching for who they are and where they fit in,
I am their home.
My welcome mat is rolled out, and soup is on the table.
I will whisper words of strength to them and like the Iron Lady whom I’ve admired from afar, I will spread my iron skirt and hold them in my lap.
“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”
Yes- I am that American lady too.

I am the American who sees her neighbors on every continent, and wants to hear their stories. I want to know my neighbors and make sure they’re okay. I want them to be able to call on me, and me on them.

And I am the American who loves this land, this lady earth who has graciously held space for us all, while we are learning how to clean up our acts.
I believe in our parks, our sacred lands
And protecting our resources from those select few who seek a buck over a body – a living breathing body of land, water and air and us.
Yes, I am the tree-hugging, animal loving, protect-every-specie, sweetie.

I’m the American who believes we have the right to use our voice, but know only the right voice can create change.
I am the American who will not fight, threaten, trick, lie, or manipulate a fellow human being. I am the American who puts people before the party, and wouldn’t sell my values for a gun, a piece of land or a drop of oil.

I am an American who holds her word as a bond to her very soul.
Words matter.
Actions matter.
What I put out into this world creates the world I live in.
I choose love.
Unconditional love because that is what my spiritual text calls upon me to do.
Those I are the words I choose to empower.

I am the American who sees a darkness on the horizon and will use every ounce of my energy into being a light, and keeping that light bright, dispelling that darkness with truth, honor and compassion.

Because I am the American, who now sees a bit more clearly the dreams I was drawn to as a child,
the America I believed in, hoped for,
wished for,
IS possible
if I keep my human heart beating to that rhythm.
I am that woman.
And I believe in that America. 

For more about Linda’s work and links to her marvelous children’s books, please click here:  www.thepeacedragon.com

MOTB – 3

Monday evening, we arrived home from a great weekend with our kids. Well, except for the whole flying thing! (I’m improving, but still not thrilled with sitting!)

I wasn’t thinking about my Make One Thing Better list when I wandered through the back door and glanced into the kitchen.

There it was!

A huge better thing we’d accomplished before we left. Actually, Bill did the accomplishing. I just did the international sign language thing for two inches to the left.

One day, a month or so ago, a plan sprouted magically in my head. I’ve learned to pay attention to those.

In this case, the plan was for re-arranging the part of our kitchen the early 1960’s builder would have referred to as the breakfast room. In our case “breakfast room” means the place where the refrigerator and two upright deep freezers rub elbows with our antique oak dining table.

We did a great job with the kitchen reno about 15 years ago, given the fact that we couldn’t change the footprint. I’d still choose most of the things we did, which is kind of a miracle.

The big exception for me was the way the multiplying major appliances had worked to close off the space by my favorite, free-standing wooden butcher block.

Our very sexy glass door fridge used to sit butted up against the left side of the butcher block, headed into the breakfast room. A stainless fridge, with black sides. It felt like this massive wall, sucking up all the light. And I spend a lot of time standing at that butcher block.

So, Furniture Yahtzee. Or, in this case, Appliance Yahtzee!

The fridge went where the smaller freezer was.

The smaller freezer went where the metal shelving was.

The metal shelving went where the fridge was.

Bill, who believes we can’t move fewer than seven things in one of my MOTB games, was amazed. We moved three things and made a huge difference. As in, let there be light!

Light from the french doors to the deck. Light not soaked up from the black sides of the fridge.

And sight lines through to the wall murals I worked so hard to paint back in the day. Along with a couple more inches of traffic pattern.

Perhaps best of all, my treasured stock pots, even the biggest one, are much easier to reach.

Would I double the square footage of the space if I could? You bet!

Does it feel bigger and more open and more welcoming? It does!

There’s more room for chopping since I moved the knives.

And, it makes me happy.

I’m still sorting what goes where on the shelves. That really never ends around here.

And setting some stuff aside for donations.

There are also some changes in our routine coming up which will probably require more adjusting.

Seriously, though, it’s a whole lot of better for a couple of hours and no money.

And, since I’m thinking about money in terms of investing, rather than spending, these days, I’m pretty excited.

What’s tickling your mind in this moment?

It might be worth paying attention!

 

 

 

Post-modern Family Dinner

Dinner is quite the event when we’re hanging with our kids!

You see, among us, we have significantly different food needs. Kind of an “everybody doesn’t eat something” situation. And, most of us like to cook. The task for last night was to plate up food that everybody could contribute to and enjoy.

Shopping was in order. The girls like shrimp so we started there. Wild caught. A few added oysters for those who enjoy them. Next, green stuff. Organic Brussels sprouts. Some wax beans and a summer squash from the weekly CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) box. Garlic, lemon, and herbs.

Dave and I did prep work, especially the sharp knife stuff. Olive oil, sea salt & freshly cracked pepper got things well seasoned.

Kenzie and Dave did a great job with the grill. Oysters, shrimp, veg all on a gorgeous night. Kenz, who is almost 10, was in charge of timing and everything was beautifully done.

Taylor was our saucier. We peeled and chopped a whole bulb of garlic and  simmered it in olive oil. When it was tender and fragrant, we added sea salt, black pepper, crushed red pepper flakes and a splash of Chardonnay, and simmered a while longer. Taylor is seven. She tasted frequently and decided when we needed more seasoning. Just before we were ready to serve, we added a small bundle of Italian parsley and about half a cup of arugula, all finely chopped, with a good squeeze of lemon.

Our garlic, herb sauce went great with everything, including the oysters Kelly opened handily after Dave and Kenz popped them on the grill.

A few strawberries rounded out our menu for the evening.

Grampy was in charge of supervision and table setting.

Learning. Laughing. Cuddling. A chance to feed the ones we love. And some really good food.

It doesn’t get much better than that!

What are we teaching?

’tis the season for back to school commercials!

My personal favorite…the dad skipping around Office-wherever, with a cart full of notebooks and colored pencils, singing, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”

And some I like less well. Loaded with peer pressure. Subtle, sometimes, but pressure all the same.

Makeup. Sneakers. Backpacks.

“What the cool kids are doing.”

This color. That style. The way to fit in.

I wish I could say I didn’t get it, but I do.

Want to speak on stage? Rich solid colors. Classic but flowing. Sequins at night. (Or in the daytime if you’re really famous!)

Different rules for guys, but rules nonetheless.

It feels like wanting to share the messages closest to our hearts. To connect with our tribes. Really, it’s marketing.

I look at my girls, so different from each other and utterly amazing in their own ways, and I ache for the doubts they feel already.

The Perfectionist and Comparer inner critics running rampant. In elementary school.

I watch my dogs and think that one of the blessings of their type may be a lack of inner critics. And no particular interest in the cool colors for this year.

I would give that to my girls if I could.

For now, t-shirts with wise owls and the encouragement to “Be Different.” Delivered with huge hugs in just a few days.

Support for their unique gifts.

All my love for each of them.

Prayers that they’ll start to catch on before middle school when the stakes only get higher.

And the courage, however wavering, to walk the talk. To be who I am. To risk living out of the best wisdom I know. Out loud.

What else, really, do we have to give?

Showing up here with about 350 words on a day when everything is crazy and it still hurts to sit and type.

It’s me. The most me I have to give.

That is my hope for all our kids.

That they show up. Whole. Real.

Even when it’s scary.

That is my hope for the world.

Kind of an odd week…

Hi! It’s me, Sarah. I’ve been practicing blogging for a while now.

Today, Mom said she needed my help.

She fell down about a week ago. There was a lot of noise. Some of it was crying. Things have been kind of odd since then.

Sitting down still seems to hurt a lot. She goes in the bedroom, in the middle of the day, and lays on her side so it doesn’t feel so bad.

She also does this new thing when we need water. She puts the water in a big cup, holds onto the freezer door and tips over on one foot to get the water in our bowl without spilling too much.

It seems to help a lot if we all sit while she does it!

Mom still loves us, though. And I think she needs us.

I decided to be the nurse. I’m not sure what other nurses do, but I lay in Dad’s bathtub and listen in case she needs me. (It’s also cool in there!)

She’s been doing the thing called reading a lot. Apparently it’s hard to type lying down.

We still do the usual things.

Everybody gets food. And love. Mom says she’s going to be fine but it seems we’re not roasting chickens right now. Something about the oven being too close to the floor. Phoebe and Luther and I are kind of sad about that. Roast chicken smells really good.

We also have people we can help. Mom says there are lots of ways to help.

She does helping on the phone.

One of our friends got her foot hurt.

Dad hunted around in the place called the basement until he found some crutches we could lend.

Mom stood in the driveway with a package of first aid supplies and gave hugs.

I’m not sure what first aid supplies are, but apparently they have something to do with the thing called healthcare. I think we have enough for right now and some people don’t have so much, which makes Mom sad.

Luther and I tried really hard not to knock the fan over while we watched out the window. It almost worked!

Mom says there are lots of things people could learn from Newfoundlands like us. We’re good at helping.

I think, some days, we even help Mom help.

I’m also pretty sure you don’t have to be a Newfoundland to help people wherever you are.

Maybe you just have to believe in love.

You can do that in the bathtub, too!

PS…Dad made the breakfast room better today. Mom gave advice. We stayed out of the way. Mostly.

 

 

 

MOTB – 2

Hoping you read Sunday’s post, Does anybody really know what time it is?  (Or click to read now!)

I was fired up!

And I started out with a big list of Make One Thing Better plans.

Some of them had to do with harassing politicians about health care.

Others, with the current list of making a small house work better projects.

You get the drift.

Then, Sunday evening, while I was talking to a rescue buddy about making food better for the beasties, I got my feet tangled up in a quilt (Not one of mine…they would never do such a thing!) and fell down.

Freddy, as the old Camp story goes, is fine. Me, too. Or, I will be.

Let’s just say, in this moment, that sitting is not an enjoyable activity.

And my MOTB list has needed some adapting.

I did manage to harass a few politicians. (Miracles of modern science!)

I’ve gotten a bit of important paperwork started.

I’ve caught up on a bit of sleep, thanks to some pain meds and the fact that I’m closest to comfortable in bed.

All the things that were on my list are still there. Along with getting this rather abbreviated blog post up. (My fancy eyeglasses make typing while lying down a real adventure!)

It seems to me that for most of us, at least part of the time, life is about doing the best we can in the moment where we find ourselves.

I found myself on my butt. And hobbling. With plane tickets for a Grammy adventure coming up!

So, for the moment, making me better has moved to the top of the list.

What’s going on in your world? What does it mean for your MOTB list? I’d love to hear. (Keep scrolling down to find space for comments…)

For now, I’m back to bed.

Much love, Sue

 

 

Does anybody really know what time it is?

This has been a major question at our house for a long time now.

When Dave was in 8th or 9th grade, he got obsessed with the idea that time didn’t really exist and was just something somebody made up to try to organize the world. And him.

While this was, in my mind, an inconvenient perception on his part, I must admit he was in pretty good company. Aristotle. Einstein. Stephen Hawking. Not to mention a whole lot of Zen sorts of folks who are still reminding us to stay “in the moment.”

One of the ways this played out at our house, back in the day, had to do with being late for school. Or, more specifically, for the school bus. I have to admit, part of me suspected he was just exercising his adolescent duty to drive me nuts.

This went on for years.

Finally, by the time he was a senior, I figured it out. No more nagging. No more yelling. Just $5.00, cash, payable up front for the Mom-taxi to school.

The first time he thought I was kidding. The second, he raced up the steps, cash in hand, asking if we could leave now. Learning had occurred!

Bill and I have other issues about time.

The light came on for me at a workshop in Neuro-linguistic programming.

It wasn’t just us! People do time differently.

Simply put, there are primarily In-time people and primarily Through-time people.

Bill is an In-time kind of guy.

I am Through-time. 

Here’s what this looks like on just about any weekend at our house:

Me: What time do you want to leave for lunch?

Bill: Well, I need to check on the world and work a while and bike.

Me: I hear you. What time do you want to leave?

Bill: Let’s aim for 12:30.

Me: Your time zone or mine?

Almost always, I’m ready to go at 12:30. (The dogs are a bit of a wild card.)

Bill is almost always in the shower by 12:30. And he usually doesn’t have more than three or four more things to squeeze in before we go out the door.

He really doesn’t think of things in terms of clock time. I do. Hunger is often a factor.

There’s no good/bad or right/wrong here. Just two very different perceptions of moving through the universe.

After 27 years of marriage, I’ve almost stopped thinking he’ll change. Instead, I’m changing me.

I try to be calmly clear ahead of time about occasions when I really need him to live in my time zone. Airplanes. Readings by Anne Lamott. Appointments with the vet.

As he usually drives, charging him $5.00 is somewhat less effective than it was with Dave!

The rest of the time, I take deep breaths and remember that different makes life more interesting and there might just be some bigger questions in the world right now.

Does anybody really know what time it is?

About this time last year we learned that there’s a guy from Vermont who does know, come hell or high water.

It’s time to try and make the world a better place.

Bernie’s still doing just that. And he’s still inspiring yyuge numbers of us to do the same thing.

Donating to food pantries. Calling members of Congress. Growing organic vegetables. Running for office. Marching. Persisting. Voting with our wallets. Tutoring kids.

You can’t do it all yourself. Neither can I.

Here’s what we can do.

MOTB!

Make one thing better. Every day. One thing.

Write a letter. Pick up a phone. Donate a bunch of stuff you don’t need to your favorite charity. Help make dinner for a shelter. Rescue a dog. Support Planned Parenthood. Encourage somebody else. Write a poem.

Whatever moves your heart. MOTB!

And, lest we encourage our inner perfectionists, maybe five or six days out of seven would be a better goal.

Think of what a difference that could make!

It’s time.