Laugh till it hurts

Good morning! And another beautiful day it is. I'm trying to focus on that sort of thing these days, not always successfully. It is a dark and deeply unsettling time, as you well know. How to live through it? I got to thinking about the words I put at the end of every post. I don't know where they came from. Well, I do, but you might not believe that. This morning I decided to talk about one of them--laughter.

I just read William Kristol's column in the NYTimes (see, I don't just read liberal stuff) and he suggests John McCain ditch his present campaign and return to his nature, a serious but cheerful guy. There is great power in humor, of course. Look how the late night TV hosts use it to help form public opinion.

Thus when I sense anxiety washing over me, I'm going to find something to laugh about--something decent, not cruel. Physically it will strengthen my body; mentally it will clear my head; and spiritually it will help refill my soul with faith, hope and love. It's not a cop out. It's an act of defiance and trust.

Now all I need it to find something to laugh about!

So--breathe, listen, look, laugh and love!

"Dirty Rotten Church Skipper"

Well, it's a lovely October Sunday and I didn't go to church. I feel a bit guilty, believing as I do that one goes to church not just for personal "gain", but to support the Body of Christ gathered there. And I know, having a long history in that place, that I am seen as a leader in the congregation, even though these days I prefer not to be.

Some of my younger friends coined the term DRCS (see title above) and it has stuck. Nevertheless, I am happy to have this day of quiet and beauty. Not just happy, grateful.
Last week was difficult and the upcoming one will be demanding. So this is my Sabbath rest.

Last night a friend and I went to our city's Symphony concert and heard the premiere of a concerto for alto saxophone and orchestra--five movements worth. It was absolutely sublime!! So much so, that she and I left at intermission, fearing the Beethoven Symphony coming up would somehow dilute our euphoria. My teacher training taught: to teach more, teach less. Perhaps the same is true of anything. Perhaps that is a lesson we will be forced to learn in the coming days and years. Less is more. Smörgåsbord is tempting, but not truly satisfying. Simplicity is beautiful and sustaining. I'm grateful for that little reminder last night.

This is Thanksgiving weekend for my Canadian friends and family. I'm grateful for them, too, and for that beautiful country to our north, to which I've thought of moving sometimes. But I do love Michigan and I know the Canadians don't want us disillusioned Americans. So guess I'll stay put. Besides, I wouldn't be able to sell my house!

Blessings to you this day! Breathe, listen, look, LAUGH, and love!

Struggling with Acedia or: What the heck does "buff" mean?

Yes, well, I hoped that title would grab your attention! I'm reading Kathleen Norris's new book with the weird title "Acedia and Me: A Marriage, Monks, and A Writers Life". Got that?

Acedia is an old word referring to one of the "vices" or "demons" that plague human beings. And though it's hard to define, I know I suffer from it, as does Kathleen. It isn't quite the same as depression; more a depression of the soul that encourages giving up, doing nothing, listlessness, avoidance--especially avoidance of God, the One to Whom I have given myself, or at least tried to.

She points out that acedia isn't just inactivity; that our culture is full of it. Maybe like the social worker I knew who, after a day of agonizing encounters with patients and the system, liked nothing more than to stop at the mall on her way home and just look. Or maybe like when we immerse ourselves in sports. Or maybe when we're trying to be "buff".

OK, maybe that's a stretch, but I wanted to tell you about a guy in my neighborhood who runs every day. A close friend of mine might describe him as "buff", but I don't know what that means. I even looked it up and none of the definitions fit a sexy body. So maybe one of you will illuminate me. Anyway, Tessa and I often see him, panting and sweating and looking miserable, running down the street, earphones on, looking straight ahead. We see him so often I feel we should be friends by now, but no. He never notices or if he does, there's no connection whatsoever. I guess he has a nice body, but where IS he?

Now, I realize I know nothing about the man's personal life and this may be the most healthy self-care he can give. So I'm not intending to be unkind. But he seems to me a symbol of acedia--running, running, trying to get away from it all, breathless and weary. Me, I'm more apt to sit and stare out the window.

I am grateful to Kathleen for raising this subject, for now I am more aware of this very effective demon and, with God's help, hope to rid my soul of it. For when acedia reigns, love and laughter and life are diminished. The things I am called to offer this world get neglected. Despair grows and loving action languishes. Does this ring any bells for you?

Well, whether it does or not, remember to breathe AND listen, look, laugh and love!!

In memory of Norris

I was married for 40 years to an unusual, dynamic, funny, thoughtful, intelligent, curious, observant, tolerant, earthy, quiet and mouthy, affectionate, compassionate man. He would be 75 today. He died in December, '05. To say he is missed is an understatement.

Walking with him through at least two years of decline, then a frustrating and unresolved hospital stay, and several weeks of home care before his death, was a journey I never expected to take and had I known about it in advance, my only certainty would be that I couldn't to do it. And yet I did; we did. And we grew closer and learned many lessons together on the way.

It was excruciatingly painful to watch a man of success, strength and dedication, ever so slowly lose his ability to function. He was well known and respected in this community and around Michigan as a journalist of many talents--writer, photographer, editor. He mentored and encouraged countless colleagues and youngsters, finding newspaper articles appropriate to some one's particular field; telling funny stories, often made up, to lighten another's day; listening for long minutes to the tales of a lonely person who called with a nature question, even when he was near deadline. He won over 40 awards for his press photography and in later life focused especially on nature, lifting up the little things most of us miss, delighting in everything from a lady bug to a dragon fly to a blue heron to a teasel bloom.

When he was working, he was totally focused, which didn't always please his spouse. Especially in our younger years, I felt jealous of his passion for journalism, wondering if he had to choose, which of us would win out. As I matured and found my own life and passions, including motherhood, I became more accepting. And, as often happens, as I stopped "pulling on the reins", he grew more willing to include me or defer to my needs. And he taught me to be a bit of a photographer, too.

I hold in my possession his beautiful pictures, reflections of a great and good man--a man who knew many famous people, but was humble enough to willingly do his mother-in-law's laundry the five years she resided in a nursing home; a father who encouraged, challenged and understood his daughter; a man who bought countless books for the children of "his" waitresses, so wanting to help them and their moms in the struggle to grow up and offer their gifts to the world; a man who would bring home a modest bouquet of daffodils for me, just because; a man who never went a day without giving and receiving hugs, kisses, and saying "I love you."

What a special blessing he was to many, but especially to me and our beautiful daughter. And so tonight I celebrate him, our years together, and the great legacy of beauty, generosity, peace and justice he left behind. Thank you, God, for Norris!

Remember to breathe, listen, look, laugh, and love!