Finding Peace Amidst Imperfection

I only have a few minutes to share this thought. Must get ready for work. I like my job. But do I wish today were Saturday? Yes. Do I wish Bob didn't have to work from 12-9:30 on Saturday? You betcha. I have almost trained my mind to recognize that thought, capture it, and quickly jump to another thought. It's a beautiful morning. Very still today. The sun is angling in across the yard and the kitchen counter. The counter is clean. The stove burners are not. The carpet is not. The windows are spotted. The chores are never done. The chores of life are never done. We are works in imperfect process. If I search for more imperfections, I will find them. If I search for peace, I'll find that too. The slow in and out of my breathing. The quiet in the house. The knowledge that God loves me, that Bob loves me, that I've been blessed with caring friends who have helped me through many a lonely Saturday. They understand. They have their own imperfections, and I do my best to empathize and help them on the pathway to peace. Love helps everything. It's the brake pad of life that keeps hard things from hitting each other. I'm always free to choose love. And peace. The hippies sure had that right! Peace out.

Dreaming

How much time do you spend dreaming every day? My answer is "not enough." I've become accustomed to life's can'ts instead of the cans. And just last weekend I was singing the song "Impossible" from Cinderella -- the quintessential song for dreamers. It says "impossible things are happening every day." And those things begin with a dream. The moment we stop dreaming, or believe a dream is stupid, our spirit dies. Not good. I dreamed of being a singer. I did it. I dreamed of writing songs. I did that too. I dreamed of finding my true love and marrying him. Wow, three for three! Then the obstacles got bigger. A work schedule that not only keeps us from spending time as a couple, it keeps us from having time to do our music. The obstacle hasn't won in reality. But maybe it has won over our spirits. Oh no. Not good. If it's possible for a plain yellow pumpkin to become a golden carriage, it's possible for two people who love each other to reclaim their lives and share their music. Because the world is full of zanies and fools who don't believe in sensible rules. And won't believe what sensible people say. And because these daft and dewey-eyed dopes keep building up impossible hopes, impossible things are happening every day. Thanks Rogers & Hammerstein!

Just say Yes!

One of my favorite songwriters wrote a song called “I Can’t Tell You No.” If you could see James Dean Hicks, you probably would have trouble telling him no too. But I digress. I love his line “all it takes is your sweet kiss, and yes starts rolling off my lips.” So much of life is about what we say yes or no to. This past weekend I said yes to almost everything. Yes I consumed too many calories…yes I lost sleep…yes I had a hangover three mornings in a row. Yes let’s meet after work at The Landing. Yes I’ll have some wine and yes I’ll have some real butter on that sourdough bread. Yes my mother-in-law can stay with us for the weekend. Yes let’s make that “not so easy” chicken pot pie recipe. Yes let’s drop more bucks than we can afford to see “Cinderella” at the Civic Arts Plaza. Yes let’s coordinate it so my sisters and brother-in-law can join us. Yes let’s buy cupcakes for $3.50 each, and let’s eat them. Yes I’ll go get a pizza. Yes I’ll give my testimony at church for both services. Yes I’ll sing too. Yes we can take Mom to mass. I did say “no” to Scrabble. I should have said yes. I would be batting a thousand. And I did pass on the Tequila shots because the headache isn’t worth it. It wasn’t really a no, because nobody asked me. The power of YES comes from its contrast to NO. If I always said yes to these things, they wouldn’t be as much fun. But do I wish I could say yes to all these things and more every weekend? YES, YES, YES!!! Here’s to more YES and less NO in life!

The Everythingers

Envy or gratitude, which one will you choose? I think envy is etched into our hearts through the illusion that there are people out there who have it all. I call them the “everythingers.” In high school they had good looks, good grades and good luck. They were the cheerleaders, jocks and homecoming court. Everybody liked them. We all wanted to be like them. If we were lacking some key ingredient, we felt defective. The marketers know this. They sell us weight loss pills, plastic surgery, overpriced make-up, steroids, and expensive online degree programs. They whisper “you can still make it” and “you may not have been born with the goods, but you can buy them.”

First of all, the everythinger perception is a myth. Someone may appear to have it all, but no one has it all for their whole life. Just like us mere mortals, they gain weight, get divorced, lose money on investments, struggle with their jobs, get frustrated with their children, lose loved ones and eventually die. Does it make any sense to envy them, or to try to become like them, or try to be like anyone else for that matter? Really? Ya think? What a recipe for misery.

I woke up a little grumpy this morning (as usual) and the unseasonably gray skies didn’t help. So I just started saying “thank you.” Thank you for my job, thank you for this breakfast, thank you for this car that still runs and gets me to work. Thank you for my husband, he’s a peach. I have my imperfections, just like the everythingers. I’d like to be in Hawaii snorkeling. My hair won’t do anything in damp weather. Oh well, I’ll hit the pool instead. My hair will look the same. I can eat a little healthier today, work out and firm up. I can choose less coffee and less alcohol and feel better. I like my eyelashes. And I like who I am today. Not every day, but today I can start over.

How often do we ask God “why?” when something bad happens? But do we ask “why?” when something good happens? No, that’s just expected. It’s a mixed bag. We can’t choose everything. But we can choose gratitude. That’ll do.

Superficiality Snob

I'm losing my patience for small talk. Not that I ever had much. I don't want to hear about how much you saved on your car purchase. I'm not that interested in most television shows, especially the "ego on parade" reality shows, and I don't think consuming 2,000 calories in one sitting at a restaurant is all that worthy of note. I guess I would call it "consumer talk." I feel it just consumes precious minutes that could be spent connecting about something more personal or sharing an activity. I love water volleyball. I like bowling. Swimming is life affirming. Every time I lose a loved one I am reminded how valuable, and short, our time on earth is. And how relationships are what matter. I am energized to truly live my life with less talk and more action. And more meaningful interaction. This is the desire of my heart and the deepest whine from my soul.

He was just here

Here are Bob's parents, Angie and Pete Lopez, sitting on our couch on Father's Day. Just a few weeks ago. Bob's sister had written a nice tribute to her dad and was reading it aloud. Her boyfriend had written a song called "You don't have to say good-bye" and had it recorded with family members singing and giving tributes to dad. We played it for dad that day and he just loved it. I was thinking, "this is kind of maudlin, because even though he's been sick for a year, he still seems so strong." I'm so glad we played it for him. Two weeks later, he was gone. Now we are planning his memorial service. It was much more fun paying tribute to him while he was here. A friend of mine wrote a poem for his mother after she passed away called "she was just here." That's how it feels when the loss is so new. I like Beth Nielsen Chapman's "Say Good Night not Good bye." This is surreal. I feel like Pete is on vacation. It seems like he will walk in any minute and say "hi Sue." His voice is still fresh upon my ear. It's almost like he's here.

Our loved ones are always with us. Thanks Pete for accepting me into your family and treating my like your own daughter. Thanks for raising such a wonderful son. He received his gifts of music and art from you. And you showed him how to treat a lady right. He is the man he is because you were the man you were. Your legacy lives on through him. I love you. I miss you. And I'll see you again. You're not getting rid of me.

What was my mission?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFRxDmet-Lo

Here's a little video walk down memory lane. I was temping for a healthcare company and looking for a full-time gig, when my fingers did the walking through monster.com and landed on a listing for a copywriter at Pleasant Holidays. In seconds I was typing, "Dear dream job..." and before I knew it, there I was in the travel buz learning about Hawaii, Mexico, Tahiti, Asia, Australia, Fiji and New Zealand.

The company had just embraced a new mission statement and there was a contest for how to exemplify the new mission. The words "we're on a mission" popped into my head. I heard the sound of a jet in my mind, which reminded me of the Beatles' "Back in the USSR." Then I started playing with words that rhymed with "mission." Wow -- so many -- vision, expedition, competition...and the lyrics just fell out. Bob got the groove going and produced one heck of a song -- I'm never sure where my part ends and his part begins, which is a larger analogy for another time. He played all those instruments. Love the guitar solo -- go Bob! And yes that's me singing. I wanted the song to be a department project, not a solo entry, so my coworkers jumped in, took photos and created a slide show. The big "earth ball" was ours -- a gift to Bob from Donnelle -- and it was a fun photo prop since the company was known mainly for Hawaii travel, and was expanding to "take on the world."

Our little department won the contest and two air tickets to Hawaii. A lot of the folks in the video are not with the company anymore. It wasn't long after the video that the travel industry suffered the economic effects of 2008 and 2009. A new CEO came, layoffs ensued, and the magic was gone. This little memory of the "calm before the storm" will always be special to me, as I hope it is to all who were a part of it.