Go Take It To The Limit

Give That The Other May Become

2010-01-26T04:47:00.000-08:00

I am amazed at the special relationship between the orchids and the tree. The tree does not get anything, in scientific sense, out of this relationship. On the other hand, orchids being epiphytes, need the trees to grow on. The orchid does not gets its nutrients from the tree and does not harm the tree in anyway. The orchid needs a place to anchor its roots and that is precisely what the tree provides. This kind of relationship is called commensalism, a kind of symbiotic relationship where just one species benefits, while the other is unaffected.

There is much that we, as human beings, can learn from this relationship. Can we see ourselves giving without taking so others can become? In our material word, this seems like asking for the moon. l have spent so many years of my life working with charity to know that most often when we give it is more for "me" rather than for the "other". I try to look back at my own "giving" experiences and I realize that in almost all instances, my "giving" was prompted more by the need to feel good about myself and less about seeing the other not just feel good at the instant of receiving but that he too may be enabled so he could also enjoy for himself the gift of being able to give.

Giving so others we give to may also be empowered to become givers maybe what is missing in our giving culture. Unlike the tree, we give to others in need, pat ourselves in the back and forget about it. We do it to ease our conscience so we don't live with the guilt of not having done anything to help. We do not see giving as an act of binding ourselves to those we give to so together we could work at being able to stand beside each other at an equal plane. Surely if we do, like the orchid and the tree, we as the giver and the one we give too, would both look real beautiful.

When The Beautiful Becomes Ordinary And The Ordinary Becomes Invisible

2009-10-31T23:01:00.000-07:00

I know you would say these are beautiful flowers. They are. But soon, I would not be seeing them in my garden. "They have to go" says my friend, John, who does most of the garden work. "They have become so ordinary, they have lost their charm" - those were John's words. I know what he means. These flowers multiply so fast. In the area where we live, they have ceased being regarded as ornamental. They are now considered as weeds.

Last year, we discarded a variety of flowers among them is the purple beauty which you see at the bottom photo. The reason? They have become so common. The flower had the last say. As I took the snapshot, I could almost hear it tell me, "Look! What is so common about giving an otherwise drab piece of land some color?".

I cannot help but reflect on the idea of the beautiful becoming common. I believe it is a major flaw in our human character. How many of us had ceased counting our blessings just because we are so used to having them? They have become to us so common and therefore have become invisible. If you are a mom, you must have lived that invisibility. You spend so much time doing caring work which is given no value and therefore invisible. I remember when one of my kids, who was in his teens then was asked by his friends what the work is of his mom. His reply "She is just an ordinary housewife". Yes, the woman who gave up her career just to be able to give her family the best care possible is just doing something ordinary.

I could go on and on but I love to hear what you got to say.

Walking Through The Storm With Your Head Up High

2009-09-27T19:22:00.000-07:00

I stayed cooped inside our mountain cottage as the storm continued to rage outside. When it was finally over, I heard it blasted on the radio it left on its wake hundreds of people dead and thousands of people homeless. De javu! I was there before and I know the pain. It is going to be difficult finding the strength to move on. I could only pray that the victims would somehow find a way to get over it.

I went outside the cottage to survey the damage. Tree branches were strewn all over. It was like some crazy went on indiscriminate felling of trees. But what caught my attention were these plants that seemed like they did not go through the storm. I took some pictures and as I did, I tried to reflect on the storms that we all go through in life.

There are days when everything seems right with our life. We feel beautiful. We are on top of the world and nothing seems to go wrong. We wish it would go on and on but that is not the way it goes with living. We could wake up one day and find that life has taken a cruel turn. Everything seems to be falling apart and nothing makes sense any longer. The once sunny life could suddenly disappear in the face of a storm.

I am often asked how I weather the storm that comes into my life and emerge not withered. I do not feel I have the answer. Often, when sailing on life's rough seas, I feel like it is the end for me. I give up all hope of reaching the shore. The reason for the journey is all lost. I feel like this sojourn in life is all for nothing. Still in the face of all this negativity, some fiber of hope within me keeps on stirring. Somehow, I always manage to make myself believe that all this talk about the light at the end of the tunnel is true. Perhaps, that is how I go through it all. I just dream of the light, believe I will find it and survive the storm, maybe not as well as the plants on the photos, but still looking well.

You Are How You Color Life

2009-08-08T20:23:00.000-07:00

Nature's wonderful play of colors is what makes it astoundingly beautiful. Color is what makes each natural beauty what it is. Would Yellow Bells be Yellow Bells if they weren’t yellow or would a Roman Candle be what it is if it were purple? Surely, without their color, they would cease to be what they are.

But so are we. We are how we color ourselves.

One woman donned with courage the mantle of leadership of a revolution that saw the end of one of the world’s most entrenched dictatorship. She colored the revolution yellow. This lady took the color yellow which used to signify cowardice and turned it into a symbol of courage. Yellow became the rallying color that united her people to face the tanks that would have sent the revolution to a river of red, of blood spilled and lives lost.

Yellow is every Filipino who took the courage to say “enough is enough” and put their lives on the line to reclaim their freedom. Yellow is Corazon Aquino who dared to take an almost impossible task and finished it together with the Filipino people with the rain of yellow confetti pouring on their victory parade. Yellow is a proud era in Philippine history. Speak of yellow to any Filipino and that is what they would remember.

I would not be remembered in such grandeur but as I reflect on my life I wonder about how I colored myself and what others would think each time I register on their memory waves. I know that to some, I colored myself as one who is kind and giving to a fault. To those who know of my political beliefs, I am definitely red. Someone who had fiercely fought for what she believes no matter what the price. To my friends and loved ones, my color speaks of one who gave it all without taking. Looking back, I could see colors I wish were either in darker or lighter shade or were another color instead. But such is life. Every color you apply would be there for good. Still, the fabric of my life as I have woven it looks lovely in my eyes. I am sure the people around me who helped provide the thread would agree.

I Wonder If I Ever Lived My Life For Me.

2009-07-29T01:20:00.000-07:00

The town finally emerges from the cover of the clouds. Nothing on the previous photographs betrayed some signs that behind the clouds there are people going on with their own business of living. Perhaps there is no need to know. We look at the photographs and are amazed at nature's wonderful show. We just let the beauty fill up our senses. There are experiences that are meant to be enjoyed in silence. No questions asked.

There are times though that I ponder at my own life and wonder whether I have not strayed in the "no questions ask" zone more times than I should have been. I have relied so much on my senses to guide me in my life journey. Most of the things I did, I did it because I loved, because I cared and sometimes because I hated. I seldom let my reason come into play. I guess I believed in what one often reads in those Hallmark cards about needing no reason to love and letting love be the reason.

Sometimes, I ask myself whether I had been living my life for others or had I lived it for me. I got no clear answer. Perhaps, there is really no contradiction. Perhaps that is really how life ought to be lived. Maybe, it is only in living it for others that one could give meaning to his own life.

Whatever the answer, I still wished I had gotten myself interested in what lay hidden behind the clouds. I wished I had not only let myself just feel the beautiful "panoramas" that came along my life but also "think" them.

If had let reason play a more vital role in my decisions on what turns to take as I drove through life's highway, would my life had been more fulfilling? I do not know. Perhaps, there would have been less hurting and being hurt. Less "downs" and more "ups". Less distractions. More focus.But then again well thought off or not, life is unpredictable. I would just have to go ahead and live it the best way I know how.

(Note: These photos were taken with a 4MP camera and so are not as sharp as I wanted them to be. I have to get you better shots next time. Promise. :))

A Time To Stay And A Time To Go

2009-07-20T05:25:00.000-07:00

Morning has finally broken. The sun has declared its presence. The clouds remains unperturbed. It seems to be telling the sun, I know you must warm the earth and so I should not be on the way and leave but I know that you know I have to take my turn after you to cool the earth back. We do what we have to do. There is time for everything, a time to stay and time to go. Such is how the universe flow. The sun just radiates its rays of smile. It understands.

Life Isn't A Race

2009-07-04T19:41:00.000-07:00

The dawn begins its ritual but still the town is in no hurry to emerge out of the blanket of clouds of which it is enveloped. Life should be no different. Life is not a race. Every minute of it should be lived. What is a hurried life if in the end you wish you did not sprint through it but instead took sometime to take off your shoes and experience the feel of the earth under your feet.

Note: To gain a better appreciation of this photo essay, you have to refer to the preceding post. The photos by themselves have stories to tell.

Hide If You Must

2009-07-01T18:56:00.000-07:00

A whole town, nestled at the the foot of the mountain ranges, hides under the clouds at dusk. Life could prettily be handled in the same way. It is alright to hide from the world if only to seek communion with oneself away from the maddening crowd.

These photographs were taken from the vantage of our mountain cottage to where I hie away each time I want to stop the world and want to get off.

A Poem For You

2009-06-17T12:39:00.000-07:00

Go Take It To The Limit

Why settle for ordinary enough is just not enough with only one life to live why not reach for the unreachable?

Dreams are for dreamers which are not in your future while others wish, you make true excuses just aren't your style

Take life and forge your future tomorrow will never come act and do instead of dream take it to the limit

-Poem by Dragon Blogger

You can read more of my poetry on http://www.wandererthoughts.com and play my random daily twitter poetry game by following @dragonblogger on twitter.

Blog Analysis

2009-04-10T21:32:00.000-07:00

Jess, a freshman student from the University of Indiana, did an analysis of my main blog - Before the Sun Sets, for her English 201 class. I am republishing here the unedited analysis which first appeared on Jess' blog as a way of expressing my gratitude. Jess is very new in the blogging field. I hope this analysis would spark the readers' interest on her blog and pay it a visit.

Blog Analysis #1: Before the Sun Sets

The implied thesis as I saw it is that through believing in yourself and appreciating what you have, you can achieve great friendships and leave something very memorable in your wake as you age.

The blog "Before the Sun Sets" is a very well written one, and it is written mostly in the style of a story. The writer, known on the site as Julehya, is a ninety year old woman from the Philippines. Her blog is a chronicle of her life, spanning from her childhood to the present. Clearly, her writings tell of a time long past, but some truths she has to tell still ring true today. Julehya grew up in the Philippines where missionaries were frequent visitors. She moved to the city from the mountains, and had to adjust to a totally new lifestyle there. She attended a school funded by missionaries, and she worked in a convent for the nuns in the summertime (Juleyha). She does not write much concerning the political perspectives of that time, but she does reveal some things in the way of religion and social attitudes. Though she was in school around eighty years ago, it seems that the attitudes of grade school children were similar to when I was a child. Growing up, neither Julehya nor I had very much money. Therefore, we wore hand-me-down clothes and were picked on at school for it.

The main theme in Julehya's blog seems to be friendship. In the beginning, she was nervous about making friends. As time passed, she came to make friends and spent a great deal of time laughing with them. In this way, we are very similar. However, since we come from different times and different cultures, we have many differences as well. She speaks of different social classes in her childhood, and of how they were treated in different ways. Today in America this is true to an extent, but not to the extreme that it was in the Philippines in the early 20th century.
Julehya writes her posts like a storyteller, with the quality you would see in a novel. She describes people and places in great detail, including herself and her emotional responses to these people, places, and even events. The only reason there would be to doubt her truthfulness is that her writing is of such high quality and it is so interesting. I do not believe that she is not telling the truth. She just wants people to hear the story of her life.

The writer's stated purpose for the blog is telling her life story to anyone who wishes to hear it. I believe she wants people to remember her culture and the lessons she has learned throughout her life. She wants her grandchildren to have something to look back on and learn something about her and their heritage. She wishes to pass on the wisdom she has gained through experience from friends and family during her ninety years on Earth. The words of her father, "hate warps your being," (Julehya) stayed with her through her life, and allowed her to live a full life and make good friends.

The writer communicates her childhood so effectively and even uses pictures of her own to show the topics she is talking about and how they have changed. The way she describes her feelings on subjects are so detailed and well expressed that she gives a definite sense of honesty in her writing. The intended audience seems to be people interested in reading about the life of an ordinary girl 75 years ago, and also her descendants. I believe that this blog is very well written, and relates to young women and the friendships they make in their childhood. Friendship lasts a long time, and even people who are very different can be the best of friends. When you are gone, make sure you leave behind a legacy that can help people to learn and grow.Thank you for sharing and great job

Kind Soul, Thank You!

2009-04-07T18:58:00.000-07:00

How many people would go out of their way to do favors for people they don't know? Gfxden, damn! I don't even know his real name, of http://gfxden.blogspot.com is one of those kind souls I have met in my blogging sojourn. He designed for me the above widgets for one of my blogs without expecting anything in return.

That was more than a year ago but Gfx, I did never forget the kind deed and never will. I wish you the best always.

A Stranger Offers Help

2009-04-05T19:50:00.000-07:00

When she offered to redesign my blog to make it look better, I could not believe it. After all, she was a total stranger. Having worked with charities for years of my life, I am no stranger to strangers offering help to strangers. But seldom am I at the receiving end of a stranger's kind deeds and when I am, it gets me really floored.

When Sasha of http://sasha-says.com offered help to give the looks of my main blog, Before The Sunsets, some makeover, I accepted it immediately like I was afraid she would change her mind. I have been wanting to do something about the anemic look of my generic blog template for a long time but I did not have the needed skills to do it. Now, thanks to Sasha, my blog sports a nicer look.

Again, Sasha, thank you so much. May there be more of your kind.

Jumpstarted By A Comment

2008-11-29T21:01:00.000-08:00

When I first got into the doors of the blogosphere, I felt like I have crashed into someone else’s party. There were many people in attendance but no one seemed to give a damn that I was there. The shy person in me wanted to get out as fast as I could to the confines of an enclave I was more familiar with and where I felt comfortable. The other side of me who seldom leaves a challenge go untried wanted to stay and just make the most out of the situation. I did not need to toss a coin to see which side would win. I did what I believe was the more logical thing to do. I decided to stay and if it did not work I could always head towards the door.

I knew that the the first thing I had to do was seek out the acquaintance of everyone I could manage to rub my elbows with. I believed people would only be strangers if you would let them. It did not take long before I found myself into the thick of a blog hopping adventure. My agenda was not only to get to know as many as I could "shake hands" with but also to learn from them. There was always something to learn from each blog I visited and always when a blog post hooked my attention, I wouldn’t go back to my hopping without leaving a comment.

My idea of making comments was prompted by several reasons. It could be that I just wanted the blogger to know how much I appreciate his/her work. It may also be that I wanted to share what I thought on the subject he/she had written on based upon my own experience. Sometimes, I raised questions on issues the blogger discussed for clarification on some points I was not very clear about. Whatever the reason or reasons behind comments I made, I always made sure that I did it in a way that was polite, with respect and devoid of arrogance. It was the least I could do as I consider it a great privilege to be allowed to share in the blogger’s personal thoughts

Then it happened! I left a comment on a physical fitness blog, Inspiration Life. Terilynn, the blog’s author, writes her physical fitness post in a manner which made me really want to give the exercises she suggested a try if only I wasn’t too old to go for it. LOL. She must have liked the comment. She added my blog into her blogroll. Inspiration Life was soon to be chosen as a Blog of Note by Blogger. As a result of the honor, Terilynn’s blog was an instant hit. My blog rode on the fame of her blog. Her blog was getting several thousand hits a day as a result. Visitors to her blog clicked on my link. Imagine my surprise when I was getting several hundreds of hits a day from people visiting her blog. For a blog, that was only three weeks old, that was simply awesome.

The visitors soon dwindled when a new set of blogs were named Blog of Notes. My blog, however, continued to receive visitors from Terilynn’s blog and surely would continue to do so. Thanks to Terilynn, I had met lots of nice people and made friends who had made my blogging saga, a wonderful experience given the fact that I did not fit into the mold of what some people believe an ideal blogger should be.

Too Innocent To Wear The Poverty Badge

2008-10-16T19:23:00.000-07:00

My life is a story of packing up and moving out. I was only ten the first time I left home. I could still recall the tears rolling down my mother’s cheeks as she packed my things in a nice little trunk. I and my sister Maria were to leave for the city the next morning. We should be thrilled. Every child in the village thought we were lucky. It was everybody’s dream to see the big city. That night before we left, we tried to talk our father out of his decision to let us study under the missionary nuns in the city. We told him we would rather study in the local school, having studied there for the past three years. We did not want to leave our friends. My father dismissed as silly our protestation. I saw my mom shake her head as father tried to convince us everything was for our own good. I knew she understood the torment we were going through. I guess because women invest much of their lives in caring and nurturing they understand the pain involved in uprooting yourself from what I call your world space. That evening, my sister and I cried ourselves to sleep.

My father was right about the big city. It was a beautiful place where lights danced at night and people never went to sleep. He was also right about big stores where we could find plenty of chocolates and toys. I smile as I remember that each time I pass those stores, I could not resist dipping my hands into my pockets trying to search for some pennies I know were not there. I wasn't alone longing for what I can not get. The picture of dirty-faced kids in tattered clothes just staring at the candies with their sunken eyes and protruding bellies being shoved out by the store's security guard is still etched in my mind. I remember writing to my parents about these children. I guess even as a child, I was already puzzled as to how a place can shimmer in such glitter and look so alive while its children roam the streets wearing empty looks in their unwashed faces.

There was something on those dirty faces that I found disturbing. Back in our village, as kids, we got dirty playing and having fun or helping our parents in the farm but always it was a nice excuse to go to the river for a long fun filled swim. Folks in our village encouraged children to play and enjoy themselves. We chose to be dirty and getting dirty was fun. It could not be true for those kids. Being dirty was no choice. Just like their protruding bellies thrusting out on their fragile frame, the thick dirt that lined their skin was a badge of poverty they were forced to wear on their innocent bodies.

My dad told me I was going to love watching the sunset in the city. I thought that was silly. Sunsets just come and go as sunsets did in my village. What was to love about it? No, it was not silly. Watching the sunset by the sea which fringed the city was an experience of a lifetime. The breathtaking show of the sun changing its hue as it was devoured by the sea still play on my mind. The sea by itself looked enchanting. It was hard to resist its calls for one to go naked and play with its waves. I remembered the children. They must have heard the call. Did they ever respond to the it? Did they ever savor the luxury of dipping into the sea's cool blue water? If they didn't, could it be that their empty bellies muffled the sweet calling sound so they could not respond to the sea's invitation? Or could it be that they tried but their bodies were just too emaciated to even try wrestling with the waves? Damn! Were those the questions I should be asking?

Note: This is a revised version of the original which first appeared on my main blog, Before The Sun Sets. I intended it to be a social commentary when I first wrote it but while it received lots of favorable comments, none of the readers saw it from that lens which I understand.

Thank You Is The Way To Live

2008-10-07T03:18:00.000-07:00

The need to say “Please” when we ask people for favors, to say “I am sorry” when we do others wrong and to say “Thank You” when others render us kind actions out of goodwill are to me the most valuable lessons we have received in our early childhood. We may not be aware then but very young kids that we were, these lessons provided us an introduction to one of life’s most precious truths. As we learned to say “Please”, “I am sorry.” and “Thank you”, in our young minds, we were slowly being transported to the realizations that the world is not about “Me” nor “You” nor “Them” but about “Us”. We were beginning to learn that we could only live our lives with and not independent from others.

To say “Thank you” is to humbly acknowledge that we can not go on with life without having others see us through. But more than recognition of our need to have others fill in the holes in our lives, “Thank you” serves as a blue print on how our lives should be lived.

In the indigenous culture in which I was reared, we would not say “You are welcome.” as a way of retort when someone would offer his gratitude. Roughly translated in English, we would answer by saying, “Go live it in your life”.

“Thank you” is a way of life among my people. It would not have any meaning unless we let the good done for us and for which we were thankful, permeate our lives. We must not only act the “good” out so as to be better persons than we already are. We must also pass this “good” along. Viewed along this line, “Thank you” calls on us to be co-responsible in building a more humane world.

But it is so sad. An epitaph to “Thank you.” as a way of life may have long been written. Even the culture which had nurtured me and for which I had always been proud of is now dying if not already dead in the embrace of materialism. Everyone seems to be eager to don the cloak of the “Material Girl”. This world is fast becoming a “Me” world. The “You” and “Them” are now just simply chattels we could use or discard depending on whether we find them useful in propelling us to the heights of our material aspirations or what we believe to be successful life.

I know I would not be there to see it happen. I could only hope for everyone’s sake that a new age would dawn where once again “Thank you” is the way to live.

By Julehya

A Lesson From Bradley

2008-09-20T01:19:00.000-07:00

I have high respect for people who come to terms with the fact that they are different and take their being different as a challenge to make the most of their life. Bradley is one such person.

He does not fall within the label of what society regards as “normal”. He is gay and very proud of it. It did not happen like magic. He went into a period of denial. He even got married and begot himself a child all in an effort to escape the truth. But the truth has always got a way of catching up to those that run away from it. It did with Bradley. He had to choose between the freedom that truth offers and the misery of living a lie. In his blog, he talks about his journey from the Bradley who tried to be what he was not until his final reconciliation with the Bradley that he is. You would even catch a glimpse of his romantic side when he talks of his love, Maurice, which I thought was lovely.

Bradley is not just like any other gay guy. He is bi-polar. Bipolar, or manic-depressive disorder, is a mood disorder that causes radical emotional changes and mood swings, from manic highs to depressive lows. The majority of bipolar individuals experience alternating episodes of mania and depression. It is not an easy affliction. But it is an affliction, Bradley is determined to wage war on and win. Anyone, on such situation could easily be consumed by self pity and being too self centered but not Bradley. He finds time to help others. He chronicles his experiences as a bi-polar in his blog not only as way of self-healing but also with the intention of helping people similarly situated deal with their own bi-polar condition. He also talks of his struggle to get his weight down to a healthy level which anyone with weight problems could learn from

Lately, a new feature, “Uncle Bradley’s Words of Wisdom”, has been added to his blog where he dispenses just that, "words of wisdom", to people who write to him for advice. If you are down and out and your life is in a mess, it is people of the kind of Bradley whom you would wish are there to help you sort things out.

A walk through Bradley's blog is an empowering experience. It is one blog, I would not hesitate to recommend.

By Julehya

Believe Me ...

2008-08-21T18:18:00.000-07:00

It's Never Too Late

In January I wrote about the Follow Me Home Initiative that involved teaching senior citizens how to use computers. That's a topic I know something about. For several years I was president of the computer club at our local senior center, and I helped launch the club’s popular class offerings and taught several classes. Most of my computer mentoring time lately has been spent with lifestory writers, and it’s thrilling to see how successful some are at turning to computers for telling their stories at ages many would not think possible. Several deserve special mention.

One is Paul Ohrman. Two and a half years ago, Paul signed up for a lifestory writing workshop I led at the Monroeville Public Library. He made a commitment to have the story of his first 85 years written by his 85th birthday, twenty-two months later. Paul had never used a computer, but after his wife showed him how to turn it on, within two weeks he had mastered margin changing, centering, changing the font, and all sorts of wonderful things many people never venture to try. Nobody taught him. He just clicked around and tried things to see how they worked.

Paul met his deadline, though it took another couple of months to finish the layout so he could order copies of his book for family Christmas presents. You can see the finished product, and even download it as a free eBook at Lulu.com. It's definitely worth a look. By the way, Paul got hooked on life story writing. His second book, about his World War II experiences as an Army photographer in the war zone, is well under way.

Grandma Julia is another amazing example. She lives in the Philippines and left a comment on the blog about Spelling, which has attracted attention from around the globe. She is ninety years old, and just took up blogging. She writes eloquently, with great passion, in English, her second language. I urge you to pay her blog a visit. Her tales are timeless, and heart-warming.

Aunt Ruth is another success tale. She had been using her local library for e-mail for several years before she decided, at age 89, to buy her own computer. Uncle Walter’s health was failing and it was becoming increasingly difficult to find time to spend at the library. We found a good buy on a laptop, perfect for her tiny apartment, and placed the order. A friend helped her set it up. She quickly discovered that she can have a virtual afternoon in Paris on a whim, listen to opera, and have all sorts of adventures that had become difficult in person.

Last, but certainly not least, is my father. A couple of weeks ago I wrote that he has more cool tech toys than I do. He spends a good part of his time taking digital photos, some of them digital stereo. He’s not at the top of this list, because he's been using computers longer than the others. He became an Atari addict when he found one at a garage sale soon after he retired twenty some years ago. Today he is taking increased personal responsibility for keeping his own system tuned up, because My Brother, the Computer Guru is very busy. So, even though my father has been using computers for a couple of decades, his interest in staying on the cutting edge, and continuing to learn new things, is a great example.

It’s never too late to learn something new — unless you think it is — and learning new things keeps your brain healthy and growing. Writing is one of the best brain exercises, and learning new things about your computer while you create a written legacy of your life is icing on the cake.

Note:

Sharon Lippincot is the author of the books, The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing and The Albuquerque Years. Her passion is writing lifestories and memoir and helping others discover how to find and express their unique stories. This article first appeared on her blog, "The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing" which offers "tips, guidelines and observations to help ordinary people write extraordinary stories about their own life and experiences". I am republishing it here as my way of saying thanks to Sharon for taking notice of my work and for being there constantly to prod me on. It is also one way of affirming one of my life's guiding post - it is never too late to give new things a try.

An Unusual Rock Group

2008-08-16T20:18:00.000-07:00

Life goes on until it doesn't: Young@Heart

Read "Retired, Yes, but Never Too Old to Rock" (NY Times) to learn about this singing group of people, average age of 80, and the just-released movie Young@Heart that tells the story of this unusual rock group.

. . .More than one member admits that his or her favorite music is classical, opera or show tunes. These rock songs are unfamiliar. Instead of comfortable walks around the block, rehearsals (there are three a week) are demanding hikes over hilly terrain. The challenge only makes it more exciting.

Late during the making of “Young@Heart” two members of the chorus, Bob Salvini and Joe Benoit, died within a week. Although neither death was a complete surprise, occurring so close together, they come as shock to a group dedicated to living in the present as fully and exuberantly as possible. The upbeat realism of everyone connected with “Young@Heart” might be summarized in six words: Life goes on until it doesn’t.

From "'YOUNG@HEART': RETIREES REVIVIFY ROCK 'N' ROLL" (Christian Science Monitor):

When we hear the group, which is backed by a professional band, belt out James Brown's "I Feel Good," The Talking Heads' "Road to Nowhere," Coldplay's "Fix You," The Ramones' "I Want to Be Sedated," and The Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go," the words carry a special significance. Each becomes, in its own way, an anthem of survival. This is not a group that indulges in the blues.

The Web site of the Young@Heart Chorus gives you more information and there you can find some great photos. YouTube carries several videos of them, including "Fix You" (you may need a tissue for this one), "I Wanna Be Sedated," "Staying Alive," "Walk on the Wild Side," and "I Will Survive."

Remember The Zimmers (click for their Web site)? The aging crowd is rocking. I have a feeling this is just the beginning!

Note: I have been enjoying a blog written by someone who is 90. Drop by Grandma Julia's My Life at Ninety: Looking Back and Moving On.

Note:

This is an article by Stephanie West Allen, an accomplished lawyer, author and journalist. She writes for various journals and magazines which includes The Complete Lawyer and the Denver Business Journal. It first appeared on her blog, Idealawg . It was Stephanie in this article who gave my blog, My Life At Ninety, barely a few weeks old at that time, its very first publicity. I am republishing it here as my way of saying thanks to Stephanie. But more than that, I have always longed to write about The Zimmers. I have been an avid fan of the group since I first heard of them. An article on my personal thoughts about the group is still on top of my writing agenda. This one by Stephanie should serve as a lovely introduction.

No Place For Old Folks

2008-07-07T18:37:00.000-07:00

I was born into a society that gave credit to wisdom learned from the university of life. A culture that acknowledged the tutoring you got out of living. Grey hair was a badge of honor. It marked you as one who learned from every experience you went through and emerged as a better man. Every elderly was revered and assumed the role of a statesman or community man to be more apt. The elders form a council with the responsibility of ensuring that life in the community was put in order.

The elders assumed multiple roles. They were the community psychiatrist and psychologists. People ran to them for guidance and counseling. They looked into the problems for which their advice was sought always in the context of what was best for all concerned, the community included. The advice was not dispensed off handedly. It would go through a process of consultation and discussions among the elders. Only when convinced that the advice they were going to offer was the most sound and sensible would they dish it out.

They were the community healers and peacemakers. They took it their task to make sure that conflicts and rifts among members of the community were patched. They negotiated peace pacts with other communities to make sure that the right of the community to live their lives without threat from harm and danger was ensured.

Given their status in the community which they rightly deserved, it was almost unthinkable for anyone to treat an elderly with disrespect. To mistreat them would be almost like asking for yourself a curse.

That was then. I do not know what happened. I must have been Rip Van Winkle who slept while things changed around him. I do not know how old people ceased to be icons that the young people should look up to. I do not know how the so called generation gap came to be. This world is fast becoming a no place for old folks like me.

I Write For The Joy It Brings

2008-07-05T18:35:00.000-07:00

I entered the blogosphere for the sheer pleasure of doing something I have always wanted to do but never did get into doing it – write. I could not pride myself as having excellent writing skills but I have always loved putting my thoughts down on paper.

Writing opened to me a way to escape from a world that can often be harsh. My frustrations, anger and pain found their expressions in words I wrote down. At the start, it was all I wanted to do - immortalize the feelings of rejection in ink. My early writings spoke of a woman drowned in self pity and seething with rage. I saw the warning signs as at it blinked. I know I needed to pull the brakes and I did. Soon, I began to see myself in my manuscripts emerged from the shadows of self-flagellation to the lights of self-redemption. I was writing not simply about what I felt. This time it was more focused on why I felt the way I did and what I needed to do to get myself out.

Healing my bruises maybe a big push behind my wanting to write but while I write as a way to seek joy so do I write to celebrate the joys that come into my life. Knowing more about the pains that are thrust my way has a way of making the joys I encounter magnified.

My granddaughter sitting beside me as I write this piece says I give her the impression I lived a sad life. True, like anybody else, I had my share of down moments but I also had my share of walking on paths strewn with roses. But writing, as I have said, was the straw I grasped on each time I find myself gasping for breath.

Writing down my thoughts helped me know myself better. It made me discover the person that I am. It helped shed light on the flaws of my person I did not want to see. It brought out the strength in me I never knew I had. This has helped me to rise above being a victim to the sadness and pain I went through to being a winner by prodding myself to move on believing that being down does not define your life. It is what you do to get yourself up that counts.

I write because it is my way of making the most out of living. I write for the joy it brings.