Keep Thinking for Yourself

The Pitcher

2021-11-18T17:08:00.001-05:00

You think about someone a lot when they die. I might do it too much, I don’t know how to measure it.

My late mother collected pitchers, a hobby about which I knew nothing. I have two: a clear glass creamer, and a red and gold slender pitcher with a vaguely Asian look.

Not knowing her well, I was only temporarily surprised that she had this collection. That was not the dominant feeling.

The dominant feeling, in addition to sadness, was acknowledging that my mother and I knew very little about each other.

Not knowing each other upset me when she was alive. Oddly – to me, at least – after she died, I only felt sadness for both of us.

In lieu of pleasant memories, I washed the pitcher and put the shiny, pretty item on a glass table for display.

And remembering.

A Quandary, If You Must Know

2021-03-09T13:23:00.000-05:00

My memories of people are sometimes good ones, sometimes not, sometimes too much… often too much

to keep knots out of my stomach and tears from my eyes.

But what of pets? A cat, if you must know, not even the first to die but one of many and the third to die but not the third to miss and say goodbye.

I accept necessary memories that are mixed with pain and understand people - why they loved, why they didn’t… understand their needs and flaws.

But what of pets? A cat, if you must know. There’s no logic, except I was needed. Pets depend on us - that is not love. They can be a nuisance but they are not cruel, only selfishly demanding. If they die or leave us, it is not in their control.

We are taught to forgive people and let the pain go. But what of pets? A cat, if you must know. A quandary, if you must know.

Blogbits: Mourning Will Not Be Denied

2020-06-11T19:42:00.000-04:00

Mourning deferred returns with a vengeance. It seems to not matter if we push it aside for a day or a year. Mourning will not be denied.

We need to learn to manage it, not deny it.

“Everyone keeps telling me that time heals all wounds, but no one can tell me what I’m supposed to do right now.”

~ Nina Guilbeau

“She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.”

~ Jonathan Safran Foer

“In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares. The older have learned to ever expect it.”

~ Abraham Lincoln

#blogbits #bluemissn

Blogbits: Passing Thoughts on Someone Passing

2019-12-05T19:05:00.000-05:00

I knew there would be memories, but I forgot the anniversaries.

After her husband died, I would call her on significant days. Of course I called on the day he died (December 4), but also their wedding anniversary (April 3), and his birthday (June 28).

The first couple of years - maybe few - I would say, "I was thinking of you today; how are you doing?" Later, I stop bringing it up but I would still call on those days and just let her talk.

After she was gone, the first time I saw one of those anniversaries (December 4th) my automatic response was an impulse to call. Of course, in a couple seconds, I realized there's no one to call.

And so it goes. I suppose there will be other anniversaries to add to those I've remembered so far and certainly other thoughts and memories.

I feel oddly detached, as though I'm an observer of someone else's life - not unfeeling, just detached.

Strange business when someone passes.

#blogbits #bluemissn

Grandma's Secret Closet

2019-11-30T15:03:00.000-05:00

Hi, friend. Thanks for stopping by. I wrote this for older kids but I'm not sure what age. What ages do YOU think are appropriate?

My grandma had a closet for coats that had a high shelf. We were not allowed in the closet except to get our coats. When grandma said something like that, she meant it and was very stern about it. She often said, “Everyone needs a secret place, and that’s mine.” She was serious but had a glint in her eye that I didn’t notice until I was older.

She seemed to work magic with the things she brought out of that closet and she enjoyed it. When grandma enjoyed something, she changed to someone very nice.

One day, my younger brother was crying because he hurt himself. Nothing could calm him down. First, grandma did what she always did when we got hurt. She cleaned the sore spot, put medicine on it, and put a bandage of some kind on it. When she was finished, she always said the same thing, "There. Now you'll be fine." And we always were fine – and my brother was fine.

Before we left her house, she would go to the closet and pull out a bag. Sometimes she gave us candy or a small gift, like a small chalkboard. She always included a hug. When grandma hugged, it was a big, long hug – sometimes with a kiss on the cheek – and all wrongs were forgiven.

Grandma's closet seemed magical. In fact, I used to call it her "magic" closet but she told me there is no such thing as magic. It's just that when something really special happens and maybe surprises us, it can seem like magic. Grandma didn’t fool around with silly ideas.

One day, when I was sad and angry, nothing worked. My best friend's grandmother had died. Grandma tried talking about it and giving me snacks but, though I felt better for a moment, the sadness didn't go away.

Then she got very quiet. I sat at the table, staring off into space. After a while - I don't know how long - she asked me to sit next to her. Without saying a word, she put her arm around me and we just sat there, staring out the window. It was raining and that made me even sadder.

When she finally did talk, she quietly said, "You know, sometimes there is nothing special that can make our sadness go away. We just have to live through it - as we live through the rain. We can't make the rain stop but, eventually, it will. We can't make the sadness go away but it will stop or least not seem as bad.”

Now that I am older, I realize a lot of things about my grandma. She was sad a lot of times but never asked for hugs. Maybe our long hugs from her were for her, too. She was sick sometimes but no one made her feel better. I wish I knew then what would have made her feel better.

The last gift I received from her didn’t come from the closet. It was a better understanding of what she really was and what she did. I realized that she seemed so amazing because of how she made us feel, but actually, she did ordinary things to make us happy, and so consistently showed she loved us that the effect was wonderful. I learned from her that small things, done with love, and taken seriously, make a difference.

I also learned that truth matters. Her closet wasn’t magical, her actions were not extraordinary, and she never encouraged us to believe in anything artificial. She offered realism and, with that, real love.

The Clever Clipper Caper

2019-06-11T19:30:00.000-04:00

by Bibi the Cat

I should have been suspicious when my servants began to hold me. The pet human with whom I live held me while the "other" (the one I trusted) clipped my long, gorgeous nails. I cried and squirmed; all to no avail. The claws were clipped.

As soon as I broke free (their version states they "let me go"), I ran into the other room and hid. I'm clever at hiding, so they never found me.

Later, I returned to the dread room wherein said crime occurred. Anger and resentment surged up within me and I bounded across the room, leaped on the table where the instrument of torture lay, and knocked something off - all in one, fell swoop. After the fact, I realized I had knocked off the file - the one they never use. I didn't care; the point was made. I'm no one with whom to toy.

After my display of strength and clever aggression, they left me alone. Once again, I rule. I am the queen of the residence, and no one bothers me. There is order in the universe once again.

(Though, strangely, it seems this has all happened before. Perhaps a dream...?)

Is This Moment to Be Believed?

2019-02-16T16:12:00.000-05:00

“1920! Is it to be believed?” – the Dowager Countess on Downtown Abbey,* commenting on the new year. She, who had her prime in the 1800s, seemed amazed at another decade in a new century.

Every year – in deed, every day – can hold the same wonder if we pause our electronic slave masters long enough to reflect. Even a busy person can pause occasionally to see what might be missed if they push past it too quickly.

Some random moments when anyone can hit the pause button:

- Early mornings, before the kids wake up

- At night, after the kids go to sleep (as opposed to “go to bed,” a major distinction)

- A quiet moment with a cup in your hand, sitting alone

- Looking out the window for a moment, even at work

Allow your mind to pause and reflect. It might only be half a minute but, with practice, it becomes a moment of connection and with hardly an effort.

What we connect with can be open to interpretation.

We get hints about moments that matter. A slight natural pause, almost as if the psyche is saying, “What?” as it turns to look at something. A sunset that catches our attention. Noticing the change of seasons as we walk to our car. A green sprout in the concrete. A tug of the heart, a piece of a solution we need for work, realizing we repeated a mistake…you will recognize your own moments.

You will move past the moment and tend to your duties, but you will be different.

The surprising thing is it doesn’t “just” relieve stress (but wouldn’t that be great?). It connects you – even momentarily – to your authentic self.

Going forward and being busy again is different now because you are different. Potentially, you will be bringing your best to the next task. Our authentic self is always our best self.

I am not just recommending a way to relieve stress, be authentic, and move forward with your best self. I am talking about the survival of your very being. The core that needs nourishing, The “self.” You.

It might be one of the most important ways in which we take care of our Self.

*Created by Julian Fellowes

Confessions of a 5th Grade Liar

2018-11-25T12:33:00.001-05:00

I was the awkward kid. The one who felt so painfully self-conscious I could hardly think. My feelings were so strong they seemed to short-circuit my brain.

Also, I was frequently the new kid at school. I was moved from home to home so often I didn’t develop friendships.

So, into this soap opera comes my friend, the librarian. I‘ve tried so hard to recall her name but I can’t. It breaks my heart because her kindness and her attempt to connect with the kid who was so disconnected still effects me strongly, even 60 years later.

I’ll call her Miss (not Ms.) Marian because “Marian the Librarian”* doesn’t offer the same respect. It was the late 50s, so in keeping with the manners of the time, she is Miss Marian.

She invited me to help her in the library.

I was ten years old and completely enthralled. The library was my favorite place! I could work there?

It gave me so much confidence to oversee returning books, checking the card index (everything was paper and ink stamps then), and putting the index cards for the returned books back in the library card index files.

I was careful. I was good. I loved it.

And then I lied and cheated.

I still cringe when I think about what happened and why. I had forgotten a book was due that day. When my class went to the library room, I quickly looked for the index card, so I could dispose of it. Any card left over at the end of the session indicated a book was not returned. I was so embarrassed it never occurred to me to just tell her – and take the consequences. I was in a panic. I had to be perfect. After all, I was chosen for this special job. I threw the card into the wastebasket.

I wasn’t a thief, so the next day, I brought the book back and announced to her I had “found” this book. I went to my classroom, confident I had gotten away with my crime (but sick inside).

For some reason, Miss Marian didn’t need my help any more. When I offered, she simply said, “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” She never accused or confronted me.

Many years later, I knew why she stopped my “job.” Of course, she would notice an index card in a wastebasket (it was likely empty except for the evidence I wanted to destroy).

She also may have had another step in the checking out and checking in process. Perhaps I didn’t cover my crime adequately.

I still feel ashamed for trying to deceive one of the few people who tried to connect with me in my lonely childhood. I also feel sad I could never apologize or reconnect with her. If I had the means, I’d have done it even as an adult - even now.

I never saw her after I left school, but I’ll never forget her – her insight, her kindness, and her magnanimity-after-the fact.

*from The Music Man 1957

Morality, Not Politics (Dear Democrats)

2018-10-26T22:39:00.000-04:00

Dear Democrats in Congress,*

In the upcoming election, I hope you become a majority in congress. At least you will be in a position to accomplish some important tasks, not the least of which is to return the government to the rule of law and to protect national security, both of which are currently at grave risk.

You are not, however, free to resume politics as usual. We can no longer simply go back and forth between so-called conservative and liberal tendencies. Most of us have a mix of views even if we don’t seem to on the surface.

You, as with other parties, are too beholden to funders and lobbying groups who do not have our best interests at heart. In the last couple of years, much has been said regarding the one percent, “dark” money, and political corruption. It’s very easy to see with the current holders of the highest offices in our government; it’s not always so obvious with the minority party. But you share in the crime of corruption and it must stop.

Many of us are sick and tired of the same old games where WE are the pawns. You will not have a day of peace until you (as the saying goes) “grow some.” By that, I don’t mean to become as criminal as the current office holders, nor do I mean you should play the game their way. I mean don’t be weak and passive in the face of wrongdoing – it’s not the same thing as being cruel and immoral. Learn the difference and act accordingly.

More to come, if you win in November. Much more.

*See also: Dear Republican Voters

Morality, Not Politics (Dear Republicans)

2018-10-26T22:28:00.000-04:00

Dear Republican Voters,*

Now is the time. If you honestly are a person who cares about family values and human life, you cannot vote for republicans. I'm sorry, you just can't. Perhaps, at some point in the future, you can give the party a try again when they regain their sanity.

I am not joking and I am not being simply sarcastic. I'm very serious, deadly serious as it happens, given recent news.

Up until very recently, one could easily argue that Democrats could be different things, and Republicans could be different things, but not now. Inciting violence, attempted murder – even attempted assassination of a former president, kidnapping and selling kids (deja vu), and a determination to set off a "war" is not "respect for human life," "pro-life," and it most certainly is NOT "family values." Anyone who is passive in the face of this is complicit in the crimes.

This is no longer between the Democratic party and the Republican party. That is not the choice now. The choice has now become really being truly pro-life or making a mockery of human life and existence. Oh, yes, and our democracy.

I applaud those Republicans who have already resigned the party very publicly and told us why. They didn't become Democrats, as far as I know, but they at least became Independents.

Unlike most of us, they are politicians. That means they have severed ties with people who were part of their professional network. They have severed ties with some of their funders and some of their constituency.

Most of you are like me; we're private citizens. We don't have any public support or professional connections that are affected by our decisions. We simply follow our conscience and do the right thing.

This is a golden opportunity. This isn't playing at political slogans, it's not posting snarky items on Facebook, or smugly debating that "my party is better because...". It is an opportunity to stand up and make a truly moral decision, a decision of conscience. It is making a statement that, regardless of our political differences, we stand together against violence and those who incite it, attempted murder or worse, any kind of "race war," and anything that disturbs the life of law-abiding citizens.

Now is the time. Are you in or are you out?

*See also: Dear Democrats in Congress

MissN's Blog Bits: Pamper Yourself?

2018-10-11T12:22:00.000-04:00

When a friend or relative is sick, or even on the mend, we often say things like “pamper yourself.” I might say, “Give yourself a hug – whatever that means for you: a walk, a hot fudge sundae – whatever.” But we say similar things (though the last comment is more for emotional well-being) and we always mean something good. We mean well.

But why do we say it?

Is it pampering to wisely do the things that will improve our health? Is it simply good health care?

Our visceral reaction to “pamper” is utterly different than our reaction to “good health care.”

Pamper conveys self-indulgence, even spoiling. Good health care tells us we are prudent, practicing self-care with good old common sense.

Words are important. We see that in politics and bias; let’s look to ourselves as well in very personal ways. Be careful how you talk to yourself; it can have a lasting effect. As a psychologist, speaking on positive attitude, said years ago: Be careful what you say, your “self” is listening.

#goodhealth #selfcare #wordsaffectus #blog #bloggers

MissN's Blog Bits: September Story

2018-09-22T21:01:00.000-04:00

If I could do it, I would not recall anything about September.

I can’t forget any of it.

It always started off nice and always ended with some horrific circumstance.

I love September. I love the cooler weather, having more energy, and feeling connected again to nature. I love trees, rocks, and earth. They are beautiful any time of year but, after the oppressive heat of summer, I feel a surge of connection again.

Now I dread it – while trying hard not to cause a neurotic, self-fulfilling prophecy of doom.

September.

All sorts of words - none pleasant - come to mind but, in fact, it's not September I reject. It's my feelings about the memories...the memories.

And yet…

I love the cooler air, the changing trees, and the newness of a different season. i have survived my Septembers and the memories, though not always prettily.

All my life could be summed up in my Septembers.

The Story of A Girl (A Section of "The Criminal in the Room"*)

2018-09-22T07:25:00.001-04:00

I didn’t know what to call the girl because I won’t say her real name. Her strong character and resilience teaches us all, so I shall call her “T.”

T was very young when she was molested by a priest. The crimes took place in various places, at various times. She was in the parish school so she saw him all the time.

T didn’t tell anyone for years. In her description of events, she recounted what so many women do: she was traumatized into silence. The memories came back when a normal act (revisiting the old church) shook memories loose.

I call it traumatized into silence because most victims use words like shame, guilt, and fear. It’s stunning and topsy-turvy how everyone felt these feelings. The perps are the guilty ones; the victims are harmed but our psyche doesn’t record accurately.

As an adult, after the memories invaded her consciousness, and because the priest was gone, T made the generous decision she would not tell her parents. She felt they were victims, too, and wanted to spare them the pain.

Then the priest returned to town.

T told her family. They not only didn’t believe her; they stopped speaking to her – even though others came forward and said the same priest had assaulted them.

Again, this is all so common – not because her story isn’t important by itself - I mean it happens so often. People trivialize the crime; they rationalize, overlook, refuse to hear it.

To me, denying the crime is acting as an accomplice – knowingly or unknowingly. In denial, sympathy goes to the perp, not the victim where it belongs.

Ironically, at least for T, she didn’t receive the support and safety she needed as a child, or the still much-needed support when she told her parents as an adult, but people sometimes ask intrusive questions at inappropriate times even now.

Odd. We blame the victim, protect some perps, and then push our way in uninvited.

Much of T’s experience has happened to many others. Her resiliency and tenacity is especially strong, and appears to influence or at least partially contribute to her known humane ways. She is a generous and thoughtful person. In her case, I’d say she is surviving beautifully.

The Story of a Mother (section to "The Criminal in the Room"*)

2018-09-21T22:58:00.001-04:00

Nothing good ever comes from being awakened in the middle of the night. It’s always news of someone dying, being hurt, or another disaster.

It’s never good news.

This mother almost never talks about her child being victimized by a child molester. She wants her story told but lives in fear of her family being identified. I’ve done what I can (I hope) to not reveal anything that would identify anyone in the family.

This is her story, her words:

My children woke me up about 1:00 a.m. and didn’t respond immediately to my groggy, “What’s wrong?”

The older, less afraid child said, “She has something to tell you.”

When her younger sibling didn’t say anything, she added, “She thinks ___ is molesting her. I told her we have to tell you.”

[To me, the elder sibling is a hero. She was young enough to shy away from it, or dismiss it, or just declare she wanted to sleep. She didn’t.]

Back to the mom’s words:

Since no one believed me when “it” happened to me, my first thought was, “I have to let her know I believe her.”

It amazes me how differently we recall that night. They remember I was groggy and said, “I want coffee.” I remember thinking this is too important to handle until I’m more awake and alert. I wanted to handle it so carefully, so I said I had to make coffee and that everything would be okay.

I fear they thought talking about coffee and my very few words until later somehow trivialized it.

It wasn’t trivial. It changed all our lives. I cry when I think about it, all these many years later.

[…much more, not included at this time…]

MY COMMENTARY:

Believing the child is important as well as making them feel safe. Taking action is important, too, so they know you will stand up for/with them. This mother seemed to do that but still feels guilty. She shared, at other times, that she felt guilty because she didn’t figure out what was going on. Again, we see the victims – in this case, secondary – feeling guilty. It’s one of the reasons I consider this such a crime. It affects everyone who loves the child and even those who just know the child. Its evil is pervasive, and I don’t think that is hyperbole.

Exercising Your Core (no, not that one)

2018-01-02T08:47:00.000-05:00

Your core is critical.

You are holistic - “whole-istic” - in the sense that everything is connected and interacting all the time. What develops in your character (or soul, or inner self) is a direct result of how you exercise that core.

To illustrate, I’ll use physical exercise as an example.

If my back hurts, I can’t just straighten up my body by way of my torso. I must pull in the muscles that support my spine and, in doing that, I straighten my back in a way that’s correct. If I pull myself up some other way, it might hurt my back.

You know that reading about exercising, thinking about it, visualizing it, or talking about it will not help your cardio-vascular system or tone muscles. You know you must actually do the exercise to benefit your body.

The same principle applies to our inner self. Whether you call it character development, spiritual exercises, or anything that improves our total “self,” if it doesn’t start with our core, we may not end up where we intended. It might even reflect a different intention.

Your spiritual core is the same as your physical core insofar as the benefits of exercise. You can’t only talk, think, visualize, write or read about it (though they each have limited advantages by themselves), and just stop. It takes persistent, consistent, and both emotive and intellectual determination and action to push forward and to cause a change.

From the core is better than from the heart, which might mean we are controlled by passing emotions. The core is your most inner self, your basic nature, your true self – the part of you no one sees or fully knows except God. THAT is the core of which I write.

Good character comes from the consistent exercise of this development. Good character (as the memes say: how you are when no one is looking) effects everything and everyone in our life. It is well worth the effort and critical to our own well-being.

The Moral Moment

2017-11-04T08:39:00.000-04:00

We are at a turning point, a crossroads, a moral moment – in which we will either take an ethical stand or not.

There is no compromise.

Our current trend is the actions and agenda of a small but violent minority who have both a history of and permission to hate, kill, and oppress. They have a seal of approval from our government, some comrades who wear badges, and acquiescence by the silent ones who are in denial or who are apathetic because they think it doesn’t affect them.

That’s the current state of the union.

It’s overwhelming to face the assault from so many sides. I’m old and I’m tired. I can’t walk to rallies or march or travel to gatherings, but I can talk, and I can write.

We have a moral imperative to make America ethical and kind again. (Can we say “again”? Racists have always been around, and Nazis have been around for decades. Because they hid in the shadows or got away with crimes, enabled by laws or by common practice, doesn’t mean they weren’t there. Nor does it mean we were “great” or “ethical” at those times.)

In the past, passive people were like many now: people who weren’t hostile or violent but didn’t challenge themselves to face their biases. They may not have been active haters, but they were passively complicit.

The good news is that many people are thinking like me. They realize this can’t go on and they want to do something about it - something different, something effective, and they know it is urgent.

Jews, Christians, Muslims, humanists, and others have had events to address the hate and killings. They have written about it, encouraging ethics and peaceful protests. I couldn’t possibly recount here all the many articles and actions and discussions of those who resist the hate - prompted by the horror of a bully president and the hate groups who have been emboldened. I can only say it is very encouraging.

We must follow up on all these thoughts or they will just remain nice ideas. Everyone plays a part in it. White people need to talk to other white people about racism (any person of color already knows racism is systemic and rampant). We need to call each other out on statements or actions that – intentionally or not – support a racist mentality or, indeed, any bias against someone different from ourselves.

People must stand up for both their rights as well as others’ rights – which is already happening nationwide.

Find those who agree and nurture those relationships. Start neighborhood projects or movements. Even informal discussions that are frank and encouraging could foster a change of mind in someone. Do whatever little bit you can.

If the bad guys win in a nation of laws, we played a part in it.

As an aside, I no longer believe we can change the world or save it, but we can save ourselves and be the positive, motivating force in our small circles. The rippling effect could surprise even me.

Pushed to Politics

2017-11-02T13:47:00.000-04:00

I never wanted to write a political blog. My original idea was to share family stories and encourage others to think about – and possible write about – their family stories. Family stories are good and seem necessary to our feeling rooted and a part of some important continuity. The stories we tell our children don’t have to be magical or about perfect people. No child can measure up to perfection. Stories help them to know those who have gone before, “warts and all,” and to feel acceptable in spite of their own shortcomings.

However, I can’t ignore events around me. Not only do I care, I am deeply disturbed by much of it. It can’t go unnoticed, unspoken, unwritten.

I shall continue to write about my family and ordinary people to illustrate our common experiences. I hope others do something similar.

In the meantime, part of our reality is the strong effect politics has on our daily life. Though I am not politically savvy, I will write about important effects on us. The “effects” are more important to me than the politics. Sadly, they are connected.

THE GUILELESS VOTER

2016-10-26T20:55:00.002-04:00

This is NOT about a candidate or a political party. Please read.

Voters in this country have the advantage of access to lots of information in an open society.

We also have the disadvantage of having to make an effort to being informed. We have many choices that are considered sources of information but we have to wend our way through the deception and sort it out for ourselves. We can’t always be sure if someone is lying about themselves or someone else, or if we have been fooled by their image or reputation.

None of us is immune to being misled.

We all have biases, too, which further complicates it.

Please fact-check, not only recent comments but the history of the candidates. It only takes a few minutes. We have access to the facts. Use it!

Personally, I don’t go to the websites set up by a campaign, or at least not until I check facts, both historical and current. Then I *might* go to their web sites to see their claims and then I try to verify those claims, or find out more about organizations with which they are affiliated.

I have been amazed at how often I still don’t know something about a person or organization. Imagine how much less I’d know if I did not even try.

Another pitfall is voting for a person based on one issue. It is not a smart way to vote. There is an actual example from our history. One candidate was against abortion when much of the country was also against it. He won by a landslide. He also turned out to be one of our worst presidents, having committed actual crimes.

Don’t vote based on one issue. Our method of campaigning is too cumbersome and misleading so we might miss a good person for that office based on disagreeing on that issue.

You might view this as a lot of work but it really does not take long. It’s well worth it because that person will be in office for a long time – TOO long if we are wrong.

None of us have guarantees but without due diligence, we have only ourselves to blame if we don’t research these matters. It can cause great harm to us and to our country.

On Mourning and Anger and Matters of the Soul

2016-06-14T23:32:00.000-04:00

When these horrible crimes take place (Orlando, et al.), we immediately start talking about gun control, safety for children, terrorism (should that have been first?), legislation, protesting, and contacting our (fill in the blank) in Washington, DC.

That typically evokes a response from the other side and then we are off to the races: arguments, anger, pleading, and my political party is better than yours - in fact, “we” are better than “you,” ad nauseam.

There is something else.

This is not a sermon. It's a reminder.

Ask yourself, quietly, alone in your room, when it's easier to think of God: "What are we missing?" "What can I do - since I'm not the one committing the crimes and I have no real political power?" If you start with what God starts with, there is the forgiveness but also standing for justice.

For the most part, we seem to fall in to two camps: the "lovers" and the "legalists."

"Lovers" will forgive anything, overlook even wrong-doing for fear of seeming to lack in mercy, or that calling something wrong is "judging" - or a misguided thinking that nothing is really "wrong" (that is becoming more prevalent in our society).

"Legalists" have a list of sins and crimes and can tell you everything that is wrong but without the mercy and kindness we are told to have by God (in all our holy books).

Our only list should include segments of both but not extremely one to the exclusion of the other.

There IS wrong, sin, evil. If we deny it, we give it more power. Those of us who would never commit such crimes can't be passive. I don't mean take action like these shooters do. Doing evil will never defeat evil. I mean try to prevent it (to the best of our ability).

(That brings to mind a whole other theme: "but I'm doing the best I can." No. We are not. But that theme has to wait its turn.)

Even those who don't claim a religion can be ethical and humane. Some excel at one without the other.

We all have a moral compass. Really, we do. If we haven't thought about it enough lately, we might have to put forth extraordinary effort to get back in touch with it. But it's there, at your very core, where no one but God touches, sees, or hears.

Going forward with that in the balance changes our world view. It will change how we approach the very necessary actions like legislation or work in our community to protect everyone, especially - but not only - children.

A moral compass means I shall not judge you but I will not endorse wrong-doing. I will not harm you because doing evil will never defeat evil.

A moral compass means I will make every effort I can, what I am honestly able to do to help others in a way that might change things *just* a little.

That “just a little” is all we have as individuals.

Those of us who believe in God know that all power really comes only from Him but if I don’t do my little bit, I’m wrong.

Some online comments have diminished the phrase “thoughts and prayers” but I think they are wrong. It could be an automatic response that has little meaning but I know I mean it when I say it, so surely others do, too. What else can we say online?

OFFline, we have to do more. I’m in tears as I start to type these words: I honestly will keep people in my thoughts and prayers. It is part of our connection. I also will do what I can to influence others in my small sphere. We can hope the ripple effect will cause change – even a little – in others.

With God’s help, it’s what we can do.

My First Incredibly Arrogant-Because-I'm-Not-Even-Published-Writing-Advice

2016-02-11T19:48:00.004-05:00

My comments are based on both my own painful experience and others’ very good advice.

Honestly, I don’t come from a place of arrogance. It’s more to offer supportive advice to anyone else struggling to be a better writer.

Using goals, or any system, to reach a certain word count or writing for a certain length of time, has helped my daily writing somewhat (not quite daily, truth be told). I would use a system for a while and feel very encouraged that it does work. And then it didn't – or I didn't. I would try something else and that would work as well. And then it didn't.

The lesson is simple: sit down and write regardless of the “system” you use and be consistent. If one system doesn't work for you, then use another system and just keep writing. The only “secret” or “trick” to it is simply to stay put and write!

To further my goal of concentrating on writing, I had an old desktop cleaned up to be sure it's clear of viruses and old junk from family use. There is no wireless card on it, so I cannot connect to the Internet. What I can do is write. I save drafts on a flash drive and move to my laptop for revisions. But at least for the time I'm writing, I won't be tempted to click on something online to "just check real fast."

I have a comfortable new chair for my ailing back. I have new pens that write with great ease. I have my safe desktop with no Internet connection. My desk is by the glass door showing the patio in a pretty grassy area (or snowy, depending on the season). What more could I want?

Now, there are no excuses to prevent writing.

When you fail to be that disciplined - and you will - don't give up on you. The first part of this blog was not to give up on writing but now I remind you (and myself) that we can't give up on ourselves. Just because we don't achieve a particular goal, such as NaNoWriMo or any other system of discipline where we could see our accomplishments, it doesn't mean we don't keep trying. Writers write, so write, and keep believing in yourself enough to not give up because you have not been disciplined lately, or today, or this year. It will sap your confidence and that negative energy is the enemy.

Grandma's Secret Closet

2016-01-17T10:21:00.000-05:00

Hi, friend. Thanks for stopping by. I wrote this for older kids but I'm not sure what age. What ages do YOU think are appropriate?

Grandma's Secret Closet

She seemed to work magic with the things she brought out of that closet and she enjoyed it. When grandma enjoyed something, she changed to someone very nice.

Before we left her house, she would go to the closet and pull out a bag. Sometimes she gave us candy or a small gift, like a small chalk board. She always included a hug. When grandma hugged, it was a big, long hug – sometimes with a kiss on the cheek – and all wrongs were forgiven.

One day, when I was sad and angry, nothing worked. My best friend's grandma had died. Grandma tried talking about it and giving me snacks but, though I felt better for a moment, the sadness didn't go away.

When she finally did talk, she quietly said, "You know, sometimes there is nothing special that can make our sadness go away. We just have to live through it - like we live through the rain. We can't make the rain stop but, eventually it will. We can't make the sadness go away but it will stop or least not seem as bad.”

Now that I am older, I realize a lot of things about my grandma. She was sad a lot a times but never asked for hugs. Maybe our long hugs from her were for her, too. She was sick sometimes but no one made her feel better. I wish I knew then what would have made her feel better.

The last gift I received from her didn’t come from the closet. It was a better understanding about what she really was and what she did. I realized that she seemed so amazing because of how she made us feel, but actually she did ordinary things to make us happy, and so consistently showed she loved us that the effect was wonderful. I learned from her that small things, done with love, and taken seriously, make a difference.

* * *

My Babies

2016-01-15T22:17:00.001-05:00

My baby is 39 years old today. Sure, she’s a busy mother, writer, work-at-home, home-schooling person but she’s still my baby.

Come to think of it, I said the same thing last year when her sister turned 40 – “my baby is 40.” I knew she was remarkable but somehow still seemed surprised by her ongoing intelligence and creativity, unfolding year by year, like petals on a flower.

Tears are forming even as I realize how silly this is. They are mature women with busy, productive lives (isn’t that what I wanted?) and I still think of them as my “babies.” I raised them to be adults, that’s what we do. I applaud their accomplishments (like I applauded going potty?), I admire them for being better than me, smarter than me.

But something, that vague something, that is in the heart and has no one word to describe it, is always there.

I feel silly, but I don’t apologize. I’m sentimental - so sue me.

I feel inadequate as a writer that no words seem good enough here but I know there are those who will understand.

Is that what we do? Communicate without all the words because we share a common experience? Or do we just accept each other’s inadequacies?

Or am I assuming too much? That I’m understood by enough people, that it’s okay to just be whatever this is, that others are the same so it’s acceptable? Perhaps I should hold myself to a higher standard of clear thinking and better writing.

I struggle almost constantly with what I am and am not, what others seem to be. Frankly, at this point in my aged life, I feel as though I have failed at almost every undertaking. Nothing looks good enough from where I sit now.

But I loved parenting – still do, though it’s much harder now. Women are different than little girls. I never think of them as inadequate; only their mother is.

I think I’ll explore this more in my work-in-progress about life.

But today, I’ll frost a cake and take it to my baby’s house because today my baby is 39.

Jake and Jake's Friend

2015-10-12T17:41:00.002-04:00

I only write non-fiction. I'm dabbling in short stories, but only if they are true. This is the first I've published on my blog. It is based on someone who really did this.

JAKE AND JAKE'S FRIEND

Jake ordered two drinks, indicating one should be next to his, but he was alone. Jimmy thought nothing of it. He figured someone else would be joining Jake. He went about his work, mostly cleaning because there were few customers that night.

After several minutes, Jake ordered two more drinks. It was then Jimmy noticed both original drinks were gone. Bartenders notice many details but often act as though they don’t notice anything. He knew no one else had even sat at that back end of the bar. The couple who were alone in the section of small cafe tables left. One man at the front end of the bar had left, leaving only Paul, a regular.

Now Jimmy watched. He realized that, whenever Jake took a drink, he would first say something to the empty chair beside him and then drink.

As Jimmy poured another drink for Jake, he paused, since no one else was there. Sure enough, Jake nodded toward the counter next to his spot and said, “Another one, please.”

The hair stood up on Jimmy’s neck but he tried to show nothing. He said, “Sure” and poured the drink. He took the money, smiled and said, “thanks,” and just went back to work as though this was all very normal.

A few minutes later, Jake left. Jimmy thought he saw the glint of tears in Jake’s eyes but only said, “Good night.”

The weekend came and went, no Jake in sight. Jimmy found himself watching the door, half hoping he would come in and yet relieved that he didn’t.

On Monday, though, there he was, sitting in the same place, and alone. Jimmy was prepared this time and was surprised when Jake simply ordered one drink. Jimmy watched carefully this time, easy enough since Jake seemed not to notice anyone else was there. That night, he paused, looked down a moment, tipped up his drink, and drank it all at once. He took a deep breath and said something to himself. This time, Jimmy was sure he saw tears in Jake’s eyes; so much that he was afraid Jake was going to start crying.

He didn’t. He got up and walked out.

Ruminating on Tele-viewing and Other Lies

2015-06-08T20:25:00.000-04:00

We are experts at fooling ourselves, and I think it's easier than fooling others and just as damaging.

Fooling someone else can make them feel embarrassed, disappointed, or angry but whatever emotion it evokes, it breaches trust and damages a relationship.

We damage ourselves because it's a character issue. To develop and strengthen good character takes consistent practice and being authentic.

Some of today's thoughts started like this:

For years, I have proudly - likely smugly - stated that I do not watch much television. Well, it turns out I was wrong.

One of those random thoughts struck me, namely: why did someone choose the word "television" and what did it really mean? Even before researching it, I figured it had something to do with a (then) modernistic notion of what we were viewing.

Sort of.

"Tele" means "at a distance." Combine it with vision and you get the idea.

A British dictionary defines television as “the system or process of producing on a distant screen a series of transient visible images, usually with an accompanying sound signal.”

The means of transmission is no longer limited and is different than the old broadcasting but it is just as surely still viewing something from "a distance." The Internet is one type of transmission, a DVD is another, but the viewing is the same.

Each system is also the same danger-versus-opportunity. I can learn something or be entertained by something wholesome and relaxing, or I can risk damage to my psyche by viewing violence or anything that contradicts my value system. Our value system is at the core of who and what we really are, so it's no trivial matter.

We knew this already but sometimes we (read: I) need to think things through a bit more. I'm kidding myself if I think I'm above it all and yet I spend time every day viewing movies and TV (gasp!) shows on my laptop.

Any tele-viewing is not the worst of it, fooling myself is because it is critical to being authentically who and what I am. My wholeness could depend on it.

What Am I Doing Here - again

2015-05-07T12:26:00.002-04:00

My desire and eventual decision to start a blog came to me slowly. I know that most of us feel our ideas and thoughts are far more interesting than they really are. But I have been a beginning writer for over 50 years now. I guess it’s time to get over my shyness about writing.

I wanted to re-post this to welcome feedback but I have a secondary reason. I've noticed my ads went from very positive (education and health links) to rather negative or not as helpful when I posted certain blogs. Let's see what happens now.

I really DO welcome your comments or advice, if offered politely. Just post or email me (bluemissn@gmail.com).

HAVE A GREAT DAY!