Close Your Eyes and Jump

When I was a little girl being brave meant being willing to jump into a big hole without knowing what was at the bottom, or riding a two wheeler with my hands in the air and my feet on the handle bars; in short, I ran with a crowd who confused bravery with stupidity. I am a grown-up now, or at least it says so on my tax return, and I realize that being brave has nothing to do with deliberately putting oneself in danger. It isn't about proving to the people around me that I am willing to risk my life for the right of passage. Being brave is well more than walking up to the house where the lady with too many cats lives and ringing the bell. Being brave is choosing to do the right thing when no one does it with you. It is standing for the truth when lies are so much more comfortable. It is saying no when yes will bring you accolades, and saying yes when no will keep your name out of the fray. Being brave is telling the people you love that you screwed up and you're sorry, or that they screwed up but you love them anyway. It is knowing that you are not always there to make friends, sometimes you are there to make a difference, even if it makes enemies. In short being brave is living like you matter. Because you do.

Go for the Gold

Finally one of those leaves swirling, clouds hanging, get out the sweaters, make the soup, put on socks with your shoes, the mums are blooming, kind of fall days. It is time to gather the pumpkins and gourds, stack them in baskets and settle them on the hearth. Cinnamon is the spice of the day with nutmeg following close behind. Boots are appropriate for walks through the streets ankle deep in fallen foliage with gloves in your pocket and a scarf wrapped twice, that your Aunt Ida made when she was on her cruise to Mexico. Don't miss a whisper of this day, for it is fleeting, soon to be swept up in the frigid grasp of the impending winter. But for now it is coffee on the deck with a blanket over your knees while a snapping log is consumed in the heat of a smoky fire. It is fall and there is the sensation of coziness in the air. Throw an extra quilt on the posturepedic and grab the thickest book you can find. Autumn is upon us and we are celebrating.

Stay the Moment

Driving through the mountains at night where the only illumination is the car's headlights and a waning moon, with Bach's Prelude in D minor the only companion for miles, gives one time to think, to consider the hours and days that have passed and what they have wrought. Though the world would appear to be spiraling out of control I have to say that in my small corner of the world there is much to embrace with satisfaction and a modicum of joy. Time is fleeting and we must take the opportunities to enrich the lives of those around us when they come, despite our own concerns. Somehow when we have given to others, our own lack, our personal fears and foibles, fade into the breathtaking sensation of knowing that on this particular day we have made a difference, we have helped someone know that they matter. It is the investment in the lives of the people we call friends or strangers, that we receive the return we are missing in the business of everyday, and we come away prosperous, even rich in ways that cannot be recorded in ledgers or bankbooks, but will forever be noted in our hearts.

Magpie Amongst the Produce

The words that are most on the tip of my tongue these days are, “can you go any faster?” It is a paranoia I have, thinking that the person checking my groceries has deliberately set a pace that will make me want to reach across the conveyor and slap her. I wonder where these people come from. These people who always have enough time to take their time, and are oblivious to the perspiration building on the brows of those around them. It seems that when my time is at its most fleeting I end up in the line with the checker who wants to know my recipe for whatever it is I'm making that night. “Looks like you're making Fettuccine Alfredo. What do you put in yours?” she asks as she passes the butter, the Parmesan, the heavy cream and the cream cheese over her scanner. They should mark the check out isles, not with number of items, but personality types. I would always go to the Type A line where they understand that I am not here to share recipes. I am here to gather ingredients to cook a meal for my family in time to get the dishes cleaned up this side of MIDNIGHT! I want the grocery store that has a call ahead line, where you just shout out what you're making that night so that when you pull up to the store, the groceries are all waiting curbside, next to a person ready to put them in your trunk. Then I want the call ahead husband line where you just shout out that you've been to the grocery store preparing him to greet you at the door, take the grocery bags from your arms and hand you the open bottle of Valium.

Can I Help Whoever’s Next?

I fear we are slipping to the dangerous side of angry. I have been in the Post Office twice in the past week and both times I witnessed a confrontation between angry mailing patrons and a postal worker. Both times were men; red-faced, cursing, stomping out of the room men. Note to self: when you’re going for the big, offensive exit , wear something other than sneakers. They just don’t have the impact on the tile floor. I have to wonder what goes on in a person’s life that allows them to spend so much energy on mailing a letter. Seriously, you’re walking into a building and leaving a piece of mail, be it a package or a letter, it is still just mail. Granted, the people behind the counter are not gushing with joy at seeing you, but they’ve learned that even the kindest of mail patrons will turn on them if they happen to run out of the Albert Einstein stamps. I watched a woman today trying to stuff a pair of shoes into one of those flat mailing envelopes that will go to the moon and back for less than $5. They were rather large shoes, like maybe a man’s size 13 and she was huffing and spitting, doing all she could to make them fit into the thin cardboard receptacle. I could see her blood pressure rising as the seconds ticked by and I made a decision. I’ll mail my stuff tomorrow.

Privilege

Crest the hill on I-70 at just about the Genesee exit and you will find yourself staring at a phenomenon without equal as layer after layer of mountain range comes into view, purple and ethereal, a majestic expression of the miracle of creation. Now go back and crest the hill again with Mozart’s 40th Symphony filling your car, a furious cacophony of notes and instruments flooding the airwaves and your soul with the brilliance of a man near the end of his life – a majestic expression of the miracle of creation. Mozart, in conjunction with mountains may take more breath away than the average human can embrace. So much fearfully perfect energy wrapped into a single moment can’t be explained in words so must be appreciated without comment. So be silent in the midst of the screaming beauty, the unfathomable riches, and try to remember to breathe.

Are We There Yet?

I have come to the realization that adults are nothing more than over-sized children, and just like children, should never be dealt with in large groups. Get a group of creative people together, add a bit of food and drink and just see how much you accomplish. You will be left with a room of toddlers, all talking at the same time, and waving their forks in the air to make their point. When they realize they are not being heard they will talk louder, some might even stand on their chairs, and a few will resort to throwing things in order to get the group’s attention. Given enough time, many of these people will forget why they got together in the first place and will begin entertaining themselves by making faces at each other, and laughing without restraint. If you took away the beer and added a sandbox, you’d have a scene from the local daycare - same amount of hair and teeth, hopefully less tears and in the end everyone will need to stop at the bathroom before going down for a nice nap.