Relax...A Time for Joy. A Time for Sorrow.

    The premise of  Patty's Ponderings is to reflect on the fast-paced, deadline-driven world in which we live.  My disclaimer?  I am no longer in the work world.  Sometimes, I feel guilty that I am not offering my nephews an example of a good work ethic.  Yet, as my mom says, going swimming--strengthening my right arm, and preserving my right ankle as much as is possible--is my job.  I do not mean that my swimming is drudgery, as the work world often seemed to me to be.  My swimming is challenging.  Yet, it is rewarding--very rewarding.
    But, I digress.
    This morning, I went to work.  Zoomer and I left to swim at the YMCA.  Fifteen minutes after leaving home, she and I arrived at the pool,.  During those 15 minutes, I encountered two people engaged in my pet peeve--engrossment in their electronic devices.  First, a man in his twenties stood at the end of a switchback--an accessible ramp--engrossed in a conversation with someone.  Later in our travels, Zoomer and I met up with an attractive, blond woman dressed in a gray business suit, and a fuchsia blouse.  The blond businesswoman's head was buried in some electronic device.  Zoomer is my silent business partner.  Thus, while the electric wheelchairs of some people make noise that alerts people to their presence, such is not the case for me.  The businesswoman was so engrossed in her electronic encumbrances that she did not see me coming.  I spoke up.  We parted ways.
     Such encounters lead me to wonder--to ponder.  What is so important that we miss in our surroundings--people, beauty, and all that life offers?  What do we miss because of the magnetism of electronic devices?  Complaints are made that no one has time to relax anymore.  I challenge the premise.
     No one has time to relax anymore?  No.  That is wrong.  They do--we all do.  It is a choice.
     I confess that I am addicted to my computer.  I communicate with individuals living on other continents.  But, as much time as I spend sitting at my computer, I am not its slave.  Though my contact with people is radically different from my working days, such is not all bad.  I make choices.  Essential to engaged living is circulating with people every day.  Circulating without tether of wires, ear plugs, or other such appendages.  Be it the grocery store. the Y, the Children's Museum, or wherever I find myself, full attentiveness to the people I encounter, meet, and know is vital.  May  I help them?  May they help me?  May we share our joy?  Or are we called to share our sorrow.  Joy is not happy.  Sorrow is not sad.  Happy and sad are nothing more than superficial ways of gasping for air.  Joy and sorrow call us to inhale...to exhale--to live fully.
    Take time.  Take the time.  Read Ecclesiastes 3:1-15.

Neat Handwriting

     "Based on the handwriting, I know it is yours.  But, I have no idea what the paper says," my high school teacher said offhandedly.
     I laugh.  What else can I do?  What can I say?  I love school. I want to do well.  How hard did she try to read my handwriting? Is it just an excuse?
     I don't mean to be--I don't want to be--defensive.  But, tell me, "What constitutes neat handwriting?"
     ...
     I have had a wonderful weekend at Lake Superior.  How can I express my thanks for our time at Bluefin Bay?  A poem!  Yes, a poem.  Ode to Bluefin.
     The words flow from my mind.  While on the bus home, I craft the poem in my handwritten words.  Carefully shaped letters.  Carefully drawn between my ode's stanzas?  Hand-sketched bluefins.
     The words are written.  The bluefins sketched.  The ode complete.  My gift is ready to present to Mom.
     "Thank you for the poem.  I want you to know, I typed the poem, 'Ode to Bluefin,' and I framed it."
      I don't mean to be--I don't want to be--defensive.  But, can you tell me, "What constitutes neat handwriting?"
     ...
     Diagnosed.  Intentional tremors.  Cerebral palsy.  Diagnosed.  Long-term disability.  Certification questionnaire.
     "Itemize what you do from the time you wake up, until you go to bed at night."  "Address the envelope, and return it to our office."
     "I will type the form, so that my handwriting does not interfere in the message of my need."
     "No, complete the form in your handwriting, so that they may see your need."  Such was the essence of my family's advice.
     I don't mean to be--I don't want to be--defensive.  But, can you tell me, "What constitutes neat handwriting?"

Do I Wish I was Younger?

     Some people wish they were younger--that they could relive their lives differently.  I do not.  Don't be mistaken, I have not lived unblemished by ill-advised words, and actions.  Yet, to relive my youth differently would be to negate the lessons I've learned--the insights I've been given.
     I would return to people, to places, and to events.  Not to change them.  To celebrate them.  To honor them.  But, not to change them.  To friends, to family, you know who you are.  Words escape me.  We know what we have lived--before us is our future.
     To unlikely people my mind is drawn.  To Katie, you taught me the meaning of grace--of disgrace, her antonym, as well.  You gave me poetry--"Brazen Honesty"http://patty-pattysponderings.blogspot.com/2011/03/brazen-honesty.html--a gift I shall treasure forever.  An unlikely gift, I dare say.  A gift nonetheless.  To Janet, never before had I met, and never again will I know, a piece of work such as you are.  Into my core, "there goes another gimp," you did gore.  Yet, your words broadened my vocabulary--sharpened my ear.
     My alter egos.  Pre-school giraffe.  A ballerina.  Patrushka.  Patty Tricia.  Pat.  Ms. P.T.  Thorsen.  Zoomer.  Aunt Patty.  Roboaunt.
     To places.  Michael Dowling School for Crippled Children.  Bassetts Creek.  2625 Vale Crest Road.  Washington, D.C.  Oslo.  The College of St. Catherine.  Grand Marais.  West Publishing.  Developmental Disabilities Council.
     To events.  Teasing.  Junior high school choir class.  My first class at St. Catherine's.  Baptism.  Graduation.  Master's degree graduation.  Master's degree graduation celebration.
     Do I wish I was younger?  Do I wish my youth I could reclaim?  No.  I treasure the joys.  I honor the sorrows.  Neither joy, nor sorrow could enrich me now, if I was younger.
     Once I was asked, "If you had not been born left handed, do you think you would have been right handed?"  I was tempted to say, "If you had not been born a woman, would you have been born a man?"

Inside Anger...Joyful Radiance...

The light you give off
Did not come from a pelvis.
Your features did not begin in semen.
Do not try to hide inside anger.
Radiance that cannot be hidden.
                                A Year with Rumi: Daily Readings
                                Rumi [David Banks, ed.]
     Rumi's reflection today had been beyond my understanding.  I was born into a logical, rational life.  Inside anger, and joyful radiance must be tempered--reserved.  Anger and radiance may be revealed only under moments of tight control, and certainty.  Or, so I learned.  So I believed to be the only possible way to live a decent life.
     There is a huge difference between Minnesota Nice--putting a smile to cover up frustrations, hostilities, aggressive feelings--and radiance.  Minnesota Nice is Politeness's child.  Politeness is shallow.  Politeness is deep only in the depth of her insult to her recipient.
    There is a huge difference between happy and joyful.  I am not--I refuse to be--a happy person.  Happy is shallow.  Happy is an unwilling companion to challenge.  Happy welcomes no adventure--no lessons from challenge.
    Joyful listens, hears, feels, mourns, celebrates, and shares with all who meet her.  Joy and Radiance are intimates.  Joyful Radiance are partners of the soul.   May we be agents of Joyful Radiance.

I Sit Before My Vanity

I sit before my vanity,
Dressed in pride.
In my mourning,
I must ask,
"What face will I put on to the world?
How do I face myself?"
A heartfelt smile of optimism and hope,
Foolish or not,
I am pale without it.
Braced,
I walk straight with few trips on my journey.
                                                             2005
Wearing my first brace since childhood was one of a series of health challenges that called into question how I meet my compromised body.  Questions continue.  The source will change, as will I.  Yet, the questions will continue.  Will I be open to the questions?  Will we?

Suffering--Accepted Sorrow

One has to accept sorrow for it to be of any healing power
                              The Abbess of Andalusia: Flannery O'Connor's Spiritual Journey                                                                                      by Lorraine V. Murray         p. xiv
     Suffering need not be a static, negative experience.  There is a huge difference between suffering and seeking suffering.  I do not subscribe to Julian of Norwich's appeal to God to be given a bodily illness to draw her closer to Christ--closer to God.
     Yet, I do not run from my own suffering--literally or figuratively.  A younger person might say, "Cure me of this debilitating state of being."  I am old enough to know that the entirety of my cerebral palsy may not be cured by the stroke of a magic wand--by the artful manipulation of surgical implements.  I have and I will submit myself to surgery to mediate the effects of my cerebral palsy.  
     If I do not believe that I may be cured by any means, what then?  Does my conviction give me license to give up?  Does my conviction give me entree to fill the position of victim to make my living?    
     I think not.
     To speak of our lives as God's gift to us is understood often to be arrogant.      
     I disagree.    
     Life experience with my cerebral palsy has led me to view walking as a gift.  Yet, as often as I utter the words, "Walking is a gift," the words sound alien--contrived--to my ear.    
     Yet, to my heart, "Walking is a gift," is an intimate companion.  How does my ear--how does my mind--befriend, "Walking is a gift?"
    Suffering--accepted sorrow--is the vehicle that transforms, "Walking is a given," to "Walking is a gift."