Some Days Are Not Flip Flop Days

February is coming. I was born and raised in the Chicago area, so I will be blunt and tell you honestly: February sucks. I say this in full recognition of some very important dates in February. Like Groundhog's Day. And Valentine's Day. Then there are important birthdays. Along with the birthdays of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, 3/5 of my family of origin celebrate birthdays in February. So there are cakes, candles, and a day off from school.

That is all she wrote for February.

February in my estimation is the antithesis of July. July is blue sky, sunshine, long days fading into mild evenings. July is t-shirts, short pants, and flip flops.  February is short days, gray skies, and cold weather. If you are wise, February involves layers of clothing. February is SAD, as in Seasonal Affective Disorder.  On a positive note, February is the shortest month of the year.

It is best to prepare for February. So, here is a blist (blog list) of the top ten things I hope to keep in mind during the deep, dark days of this approaching Chicagoland February.

Appreciate the snow

It snowed here this morning and it really lightened things, including my mood. Even though it makes for slow travel and shoveling, snow brightens everything. It covers the dead, ugly muck. 

Get outside

Despite the cold and gray, it can feel so good to move. If you have kids, sledding or building something in the snow can be fun. Walking can be invigorating, looking down for tracks in the snow or up for snow in the branches.   

Take your time

Driving can be crazy. I remember purchasing my first cell phone in February. It was very calming to be able to phone to say the roads are a bitch and I am on the way.  

Use your crockpot

February is our time to simmer soups in the crockpot. It warms us at the end of the day and we come home to a good-smelling home. If I was a baker, I would bake breads. I am not a baker.

Cuddle

This is where family and pets are important home accoutrements.  

Vicks on your feet

To add insult to injury, most of us get a upper respiratory some thing some time in February. Vicks on your feet is crazily inexplicable, but many swear by its therapeutic effects. We are Vicks-ready.

Open the curtains and shades

When it is dark, I tend to think "why bother" when it comes to this. But I force myself and, if and when the sun comes out, it can be glorious and well worth the effort.

Get out of town

If possible, it is good to get to a spot that is above 50 degrees. Even a long weekend of sun accompanied by a warm, caressing breeze can be therapeutic.

Don't bitch about it.

It is February. It sucks. Accept it. Spring is just beyond the horizon.

Get a heated toilet seat.

I have been fantasizing about this since visiting my friend Roger.

In closing, I recommend you stay warm, use antidepressants as needed, and have a tolerable February.

Some Days Are Legacies

"Hope is subversive precisely because it dares to admit that all is not as it should be."

I read these words last week. They were blogged by Sarah Bessey at sarahbessey.com. Her words leaped off the screen and have been in my thoughts all week.

At first glance, these words do not image hope as a lit candle. Yet hope is about seeking light. It is not an image of that time before dawn, with the sun about to rise again. Yet it is about waiting. It is not about smiling and putting on a brave but false front. It seems impossible to simultaneously pretend all is fine and admit all is not as it should be.

Everything in life is often not okay. When we hope, we are admitting that things are not okay. When we hope, we believe that a different future is possible. Even when we cannot see exactly what that future is, hope gives us the courage, and the agency, to live into what is possible.

I find that it is not easy to be hopeful. In painful moments, I tend towards abandoning all hope, rather than staring pain straight in the face and admitting that everything is not as it should be.

Today we remember the life and legacy of Martin Luther King Jr.  Dr. King spoke eloquently about hope. He spoke of his Dream, of what could be possible. He also struggled with the harsh realities. He shared in a poignant sermon how his dream had turned to a nightmare, how life was a series of shattered dreams. His hope was subversive because he dared to admit that all was not as it should be.

Walter Brueggeman wrote in The Prophetic Imagination, "Only if we have tasted despair, only if we have known the deep sadness of unfulfilled dreams and promises, only if we can dare to look reality in the face and name it for what it is, can we dare to begin to imagine a better way."

Such is the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Some Days Are Distractions

It is freezing outside.
It is the week before high school finals.
Several new children and families have been added to my work week.
During this past week alone, I have misplaced my credit card, a giftcard, and my terrycloth duck puppet.
And Juliana Yabuku remains on our kitchen whiteboard.

Eight months ago, Boko Haram militants stormed a high school in the village of Chibok in Nigeria and abducted more than 200 teenage girls. Juliana Yabuku was one of these girls

We know about Juliana Yabuku and the other girls because of Ibrahim Abdullahi.  Ibrahim Abdullahi, a Nigerian lawyer, began the hashtag Bring Back Our Girls campaign, bringing international attention to the abductions. Without this campaign, we may have never known.

Despite international attention and international efforts, the kidnapped girls remain missing. In the meantime, Boko Haram has continued a reign of terror, striking again this week in the northeast area of Nigeria.

And it is freezing outside.
And it is the week before high school finals.
During this week alone, there have been so many distractions.

In Abuja, the capital of Nigeria, hundreds of people continue to gather daily. These people include families and neighbors of the missing girls. They carry signs and chant "Bring Back Our Girls." They do this daily. 272 days since the girls went missing.

Juliana Yabuka's name remains on our whiteboard. Her name is there to remind us of her life, to ask that light shine upon her, to keep hope alive that she be returned to her home and family.

It is so amazingly cold and finals week cometh. I am meeting new children and families as well as devoting time to lost and misplaced objects. The weekend is full. Lots going on in our lives. Lots of distractions. That is why Juliana Yabuka needs to stay on our whiteboard.

Some Days I Resolve

This past year, one of my very best friends and I have been following the advice best summed up in this poem by Jenny Joseph:

Warning

By Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick flowers in other people’s gardens

And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Jenny Joseph wrote this poem when she was twenty-nine years old. Such wisdom at such a young age! To be honest, neither my friend nor I are willing to grow fat gracefully. And I may spend my pension (or 401k Plan) on wine, not brandy. My girlfriend will probably spend it on fountain Diet Coke. But what we eat and drink is not really the point.

My dear friend and I pinky swore in 2014 to be ourselves. It sounds so elementary.  In our many chats, the kind of chats BFFs are want to have, we realized that we both - way too often - found ourselves being who people wanted us to be or who others expected us to be rather than who we really were. So this past year, we decided we needed to practice being brave. And being brave meant being real. We asked ourselves the hard questions. We fought the power of willful ignorance. We were determined to be who we were created to be.

I don't believe anyone who chooses to do this work can do it alone. We do it in our own time and in our own way with consistent support and persistent prodding. In many ways, as adult friends, we can parent each other, sometimes doing the work of re-parenting, filling in the parts that somehow got missed or messed. Sometimes we do for each other what our parents started for us.

I heard this statistic. One-third of all Americans resolve on New Year's Eve to better themselves in some way. I would have guessed it was more than that.

The statistic goes on.  In this group of "Resolutionists," less than half actually make good on their resolutions, as measured by how many are still on target in six months. I would have guessed it was less than that.

Apparently the secret to being resolute for the long haul is to pick one goal and stick with it.  But how do you pick just one ?

I have been thinking about this all day and I think I have it. I think my friend is going to like this. We have been doing this, both in our own ways, throughout 2014. Here it is, my New Year's Resolution for 2015. It is adapted from the wonderful Ann Lamott:

One step, two steps, breathe, repeat.

Happy New Year!

Wishing everyone the courage, and the support, in 2015 to be who you were created to be.

And, when in doubt, breathe.

Poster by Kathy Sprinkle, Blisshearts.com

Some Days Are Gifts

This Christmas I received the best gift. In truth, I received it many times over. It is a gift that money cannot buy. It is something I am certain many people gave and received this past week, be they young or old, rich or poor, content or grieving. It was something given and received on Christmas Day even by those who do not celebrate Christmas. It is very possible that lives were touched and changed in the giving and receiving of this gift.

This gift is pretty amazing. It can calm the nervous system and decrease blood pressure. It can relax muscles and relieve tension. It can reduce stress and induce sleep.  Plus it is 100% organic and drug-free.

Have you guessed what it is yet? Well, there is more!

This gift can immediately dissipate loneliness and anger. It can instill feelings of safety and connectedness. It can energize. It can communicate love and care.

And it costs nothing. Nada. Free. What a gift!

Our family of three gathered with the extended Shuler family in St. Louis this Christmas. When we arrived, we exchanged this gift. When a new Shuler faction arrived, we exchanged once again. It had been a long time since several of us had been together and even longer since all of us were together. So it felt good to gift each other again and again throughout our stay. My daughter gave me this gift multiple times. Sometimes her gift-giving was so intense, it took my breathe away. When we left for our separate homes this weekend, we gave this gift to each other one last time. Some of us tearfully held on to the giving and receiving for a good long time.

Have you figured out what this fabulous, healthy, emotionally uplifting, wholesome, nontaxable gift can be?

It is a hug.

There was a public service announcement back in the 80's that asked, "Have you hugged your kid today?"  Excellent public reminder.

Wimp.com posted a Free Hug video this morning. The young man in the video shared hugs with the very young and the very old, with men and woman, with the business-suit clad and the workout clad. There were group hugs and solitary hugs. It is heartwarming and fun to watch.

Many of us have seen the viral photo of a Ferguson police sergeant and a 12-year-old hugging. The 12-year-old was holding a 'Free Hugs" sign. It is being referred to as "the hug shared around the world."

There is a line of products marketed under the phrase "consider yourself hugged." The phrase started when a young student went away to college. She always signed her letters home "consider yourself hugged." Her hug led to a whole line of blankets, pillows, and t-shirts to remind the recipients to do just that, consider themselves hugged.

Then there is this: {Hug} Or this: \(*.*)/  Cyberhugs, promises of hugs waiting.

Virginia Satir, a psychologist, calculated, "We need 4 hugs a day for survival. We need 8 hugs a day for maintenance. We need 12 hugs a day for growth."  How hard could it be to advance from mere survival to growth? As hard as giving and receiving 8 hugs, it would seem. Not so hard. Soft in fact.

It is easy to forget or at least minimize the powerful, life affirming benefits of a hug. Now that I have given this some thought, I hope to never take a good hug for granted. Nor do I hope to withhold a hug when the urge to hug strikes.

Tidings of comfort and joy to all! And, until we meet again,  \(*.*)/

Some Days Are Christmas

It's Christmas!  I am up before dawn, waiting for my family to stir, waiting for the light of day. I am unexpectedly excited, feeling like a child on Christmas morning!

I believe that several weeks ago, in anticipation of this day, I wrapped my feelings in a big box and covered the box with sparkles and a bright bow. Some days my not so Christmasy emotions would slip past that box lid. But in general, the holiday busyness and the traditional and ever expanding list-of-things-to-do helped keep those emotions under wrap.

There have been some beautiful moments. Like being in the audience for the Holiday Band Concert. One of the numbers was so moving, it brought me to tears. And taking our annual family Christmas picture. Always lots of laughter and general silliness with that tradition. And sitting in the glow of the Christmas tree lights with my husband.

I have so much for which I am grateful. And now, at this moment, I am savoring this early Christmas morning. Anticipating joy. Trusting that good is possible and achievavble. Having little need for absolutes. Content to be content. Feeling swaddled in love.

I am feeling HOPE. What a gift to awaken in hope. The best gift to come out of the box.

Wake up, everybody!

It's Christmas!

Some Days Are Windy

The word is out that it is going to be a windy Christmas. Unlike snow, wind does not make everything white and new. Also unlike snow, the wind has no shape or form. Nevertheless, we can feel its presence.  And, like snow, wind can be soft and gentle or strong and constant.

I recall a Christmas story about wind. It is a children's book, Rudey's Windy Christmas, by Helen Baugh. Rudey was one of Santa's lesser known reindeer. He ate too many sprouts on Christmas Eve.  Poor Rudey, he had an issue with wind. Pretty hilarious story.

Wind is also a metaphor for Spirit.  I do not consistently think of God when it snows but I almost always think of God when I feel or hear the wind. Wind on Christmas will be a good reminder of God's love and presence.

Thomas Merton wrote "No writing...can say anything that has already been said better by the wind in the pine trees."

I will be listening.