A Whole New World...

This pandemic has changed us.

No matter what your stance on this thing may be, there's no denying that. Some are locking themselves in a bunker, hoarding bleach and toilet paper, some are staying home, venturing out only for necessities under cover of face masks and rubber gloves, some are stepping outside carefully for some sense of normalcy, while some are ignoring all precaution in defiance of all of those recommendations and thumbing their noses at all who choose the careful route. Whichever approach you choose, it's very clear that you are not alone.

We're one world. No matter how many borders or labels people wish to apply, none of it matters. Nature doesn't see walls or skin color. Religion and language does not apply here. HUMANITY is facing this. People are dying. People are separated. People are finding themselves taking inventory of their lives and evaluating and measuring importance of people and things that have previously occupied their time and energy.

I would like to believe that I already had a handle on those things. Previous challenges have tested that in my life so I feel like I may have had a head start in this but there certainly are no winners. My hope is that, on the other side of this (and there will be an end), we will ALL see the world through new lenses. We truly are all the same in this...simply human. May we step forward with healthy bodies, open hearts, and open minds and greet our brothers and sisters with warmth and respect.

OK, I get that I'm probably annoyingly pollyanna. That's fine. I'll wear that badge happily. The reality is that this situation has already forced us to do things differently. We're already adapting and shifting. Our creativity is shining. Our hearts are connecting. Ingenuity is blossoming and walls are coming down in spite of our hard-headed tendencies.

When schools across the country were forced to close their doors, dedicated educators found a way to keep engaging students. Lesson plans were quickly adapted to online learning. Video chats allow kids to directly address the teachers they know. Technology! A few weeks ago, I was complaining about the time my kids spent wrapped up in phones and apps and saying that technology was taking over their brains. Now, I'm embracing it.

Me! Embracing technology! Not only are my kids “going to school” through their computers, they're connecting in other ways, too. My 11 year old blackbelt is continuing her classes and workouts because the Master figured out how to hold classes via Zoom. My teenager can chat with her friends and stay connected. My husband has video chatted with a group of high school friends. Even I used video chat for a job interview and stuck my toe in the water with a video call with my own group of friends. Look at me! Leaping forward in to the 21^st century! Next, I think I'll try to get my far away family to try this thing out.

One solid truth in life is that change is inevitable. The way we deal with that is up to us. As with all things, there are good and bad elements. I choose to welcome the positive and shine my light on that so it can grow. I hope that others will do the same. In this darkness, we've already found light and seen beautiful things blossoming. 

Keep shining. It's a whole new world. Let's fill it with love and kindness.

Fear Itself...

Well, these are crazy times, aren't they? In my lifetime, I remember a series of events that had the human collective terrified. I guess it's a fairly natural reaction to fear the unknown but it's never been my first reaction. I remember angry lines for gas, fear over any number of newly encountered threats, blackouts, violence, and even disease. Fear just has never been in my arsenal of reactionary tools.

As the world is discovering the latest threat, I just keep hearing the voice of FDR saying “The only thing we have to fear...is fear itself!” I couldn't agree more. I don't say that to dismiss the serious issue at hand. Obviously, this latest health concern is a big deal. It's unknown and it's scary and we have a lot to learn. That's what I choose to do: learn. I do what I can to do my part, I practice good hygiene, take care in my interactions and care for those around me. That's all I am meant to do. To live, to love and to practice kindness along the way. I will not allow fear to enter my space.

I've written about this before and I say it all the time, There's not place in my world for fear. Not afraid.

I can't pretend to know what the greater Universal plan is for this latest concern but from where I sit right now, it seems that it may just be the incentive people need to stop for a minute. Look around. See what matters and let go of what doesn't. Look a stranger in the eyes as you pass them from a “safe” distance. Be thoughtful. Be kind. To borrow bumper sticker wisdom, Be The Change You Hope To See In The World.

We are resilient beings and we will get through this and be stronger on the other side of it. Hang on to the humanity and shake off the fear.

Honor Guard...

I've never been one of those people with a lot of close friends. I mean, I have a lot of acquaintances who all have a special place in my life, but I've always keep the number of those people in low single digits. Perhaps that's just a by-product of having a large family. I never had to look outside my front door for a sounding board, a buddy, a shoulder, or a voice of reason. At least that's what I've always thought.

A recent conversation with my mother made me take a closer look. She was talking about her own realization that she has friends. I mean, she has always had that small handful of people that have always been there, and that she trusted would always be there but never reached out for more. But, you know, she's a really nice, pretty interesting person and people are naturally drawn to her. She was sitting at a lunch table, with a group of people she's been meeting for lunch regularly for a couple of years and realized those people were her friends! What a revelation! They've been there for one another and helped one another, without fail. Wow.

That conversation – like so many conversations - led us to my grandmother. My mother's mother, Josephine. I never thought of my grandmother as having girlfriends. She was too serious, too busy, too Josephine to be bothered with such things! Sure, I knew that she had a regular group of ladies that she quilted with, who gathered in a church basement to cut and plan and stitch. Surely, there was friendly chatter, but I never saw it for what it was.

When my grandmother passed, I went with my aunt to that church basement to purchase quilts that she had so lovingly stitched. Imagine my surprise when I saw those quilting ladies, with tears in their eyes, and heard them talking about their dear friend Jo. Jo! They called my grandmother Jo! They were her friends!

At my grandmother's funeral, I was preoccupied with my squirmy 1 year old daughter and conversation with relatives so I missed a lot of details swirling around me. Apparently, when her casket was carried out of the church, my grandmother's friends – those quilting ladies – pulled out their needles and held them high, in an honor guard salute! I missed it, but I'm sure that Jo saw it all!

Thinking about all of this made me sit back and take inventory of my own circle. I thought I had a pretty good grasp of my world and the people in it. I'm friendly. I open my arms and my heart to a lot of people but probably have never given credit where credit is due. The people I have sorted and labeled as 'acquaintance' deserve more than that. I have friends – a lot of them!

Of course, this makes me look deeper. I know who my quilting ladies are. Our stitching doesn't happen in a church basement. It happens across many miles, for many years now. My husband has long referred to this crew as my “Imaginary Friends”. I know, without question, that they are 100% real. And, really, it's kind of his fault that I know them at all.

When he asked me to marry him, I realized I had no idea how to throw a wedding. I was never that little girl who had it all planned out. I cared that people I loved would be there and have a good time and I knew that fancy bridal magazines weren't going to tell me how to do that. So, I turned to the trusty internet to tell me what to do. I stumbled across a chat board with simple discussion among a group of women who were there for the same reason. We were all there for the same reason.

Because we weren't in the same room, there was no need to impress one another. Simple conversation about dresses and flowers and all that comes with weddings, led to regular conversations that revealed personalities and true selves. Like minds and hearts came together and a regular posse formed. We all cheered one another on, comforted and consoled when necessary and, sometimes called one another out when we were ridiculous. Basically, we formed real and true friendships.

After the weddings, we continued to talk. I flew to California to meet a couple of the ladies and we had a blast. So we planned a gathering of a larger group in New Orleans and we've continued to gather whenever and however we can since then. My Imaginary Friends have been there for me through it all...babies, funerals, challenges, victories, and the boring day-to-day. I think they'd say the same about me. For nearly 20 years, across the country, across the ocean, even, they are my posse and I know I can count on them and I am grateful to the world wide web for delivering them to me.

As time marches on, I can't help but wonder – what will our honor guard hold up? Keyboards? Computer mice? Cell phones? I don't know, but I am certain we will find a way and I know that our bond will live on through the ethers.

Little Red-Haired Boy...

I was sitting with a sister and a brother at my mother's kitchen table yesterday. The inevitable happened – as it always does when 2 or more Alberts are gathered – and we brought out the Remember Whens. This happens organically when we're talking about or seeing something that reminds us of something that happened once upon a time.

To the outsider, this probably seems like we're just telling the same story again and again but that's never the case. When your family is as large and as scattered as ours, there's always someone who was not present at the time of the event or someone who knows some details that the others don't. I never get tired of this. These are not re-runs or rehashed tales, they're always about perspective that changes the way we hear things.

One story always leads to the next. What began with discussion of the open door policy in our home – our front door was never locked and friends and neighbors always knew that they could come in whenever they needed safe haven. Boy, did they come! Countless numbers of unrelated teenage boys were sleeping in our house at any given time. Local authorities understood this and our house was often the first stop for questioning. People often asked my mother why she had such a welcome mat at her step. As she put it – she always knew where *her* children were and that we were safe.

Talking about this brought up the Mystery Dinner Guest. Dinner happened at the table, with the whole family, at the same time every evening. Because of our family's fluid and open nature, it was not unusual for a friend or two to be at the table with us. As I recall, my siblings' friends were always polite and grateful. Some of them even helped clean up after. So when there was a little red-haired boy at the table every single night for an entire week, no one thought twice about it. Everyone assumed he was someone else's friend. He was clean, well-mannered, and said thank you after he ate.

After a solid week of dining with us, he just wasn't there so we started asking. Everyone thought he was another person's friend. No one knew his name. No one knew where he lived or how he ended up at our house. We lived in a fairly small, close knit community back then. Every family knew the other families in the neighborhood. No one knew this kid and, as far as we know, he was never seen or heard from again. Because he was nice, I hope he liked my mother's meatloaf, I hope he left with a full heart as well as his full belly, and I hope he remembers that nice lady with her nice family, and that he opens his door and his arms to share that kindness to others. I suspect that he probably does.

Naturally, one story always leads to the next, and we talked about “That Night In Philadelphia” that also featured kindness from strangers. Circa 1987, my mother, sister and I had been in an accident that left my sister very badly injured. She was being cared for in another state and my mother flew to be with her for a couple of days. When she was returning from the airport, her car broke down and she was stranded on the side of the road. There were no cell phones at this time and there was no way her car was going to get her home. So, she walked down the highway to an exit ramp, found a payphone, and called me in the apartment we shared.

I had a car that was not in much better condition than hers, but I was just a teenage girl in a city I didn't know. I took down the instructions she gave to find her and headed out to retrieve my mother. It was dark, it was cold, and I could not find the place but I kept trying. I stopped at every open place I could find in this rough area and asked if anyone had seen my mother and verified directions as best I could. In one particular stop, a man began to approach me from the side and at the exact moment that I saw him, another older man came at him to chase him away from me and to tell me I needed to get out of there. Now, metaphysical me wonders whether that older man was actually there or if a guardian angel swooped in. I'll never know, but I'm grateful either way.

The search for my mother went on for hours. It ended for me, when I found a store with a friendly clerk and a couple of bikers who stood watch while I called the apartment and heard my mother answer the phone. She made it home! These kind souls led me back to the highway with directions and a hug.

When I arrived, I heard my mother's tale of her side of the events. When she left the car and finally found a payphone, she found that she couldn't easily get back to the car. While I was searching for her, she was searching the streets for safe entry back to the highway where she left her car. After a while, she was scared and frustrated enough that she climbed an embankment and was about to cross a guard rail when a city police officer stopped her, scolded her for what she was doing, listened to her story and drove her – in his police car – back home.

Through the kindness of strangers, we both made it safely and securely, back to each other. We hugged and cried and said good night because we knew that the next day was going to bring the drudgery of recovering the car, and dealing with the details of life to follow.

Our lives are filled with stories like this. Sometimes the events are funny, sometimes dangerous, sometimes just tedious and draining. But the common thread in every one is Kindness of Strangers. So, when my kids laugh at me because I smile at or talk to every stranger that crosses my path, I hope they see the greater lesson behind it...we're not strangers at all. We're brothers and sisters in humanity and it's our job to care and to help. It's really just that simple.

Whoever that little red-haired boy is, he has a place in my heart and is my brother.

I'll Wear Purple...

Most of us have heard the “When I Am Old” poem – or at least snippets of it – and understand it to be an anthem for breaking out of routine expectations and having fun. Entire groups of Red Hat Societies have formed to celebrate the idea. I think there's more to it than that.

I see it as an acknowledgment of our own true self. So many of us spend our lives toeing the line, doing what we think is expected of us or is “proper”. We're supposed to be a civilized society, so there should be rules about the way we behave, speak, carry ourselves, etc. While I've always considered myself to be a free-thinking, no boundaries kind of girl, I recognize that I've also been really good at blending in with my surroundings and doing what's expected of me.

That could be perceived as boring or conforming to avoid conflict. I don't think that's the case for me. I've always thought that keeping a low profile allowed me to just quietly be myself and do what I want without drawing attention that would spur questions. I've always been comfortable with that approach.  I'm realizing lately that maybe I've been holding myself back and missing out on some of the fun!

Recently, I was at a gathering , sitting with a group of mothers and grandmothers while our kids were having fun. I told them about an experience a few days prior. My girls and I were in a parking lot and I noticed a large crowd. They were gathered for a movie premier at the Indian theater. I dragged my kids over and crashed the party. Obviously, I didn't understand the language of the chants being shouted but I certainly know how to recognize a joyful celebration, so I joined in with cheers. When fireworks went off, I shot my fist in the air and yelled “Whooo!” with the crowd. This prompted my 11 year old to roll her eyes and scold me with a “Mooooom!” I didn't care. It was fun.

After telling that story, sitting with the ladies, watching kids have fun being kids, I jumped up to do a goofy dance with them. I realized in that moment that I don't need a Red Hat or a Purple Boa, because there are definitely some things coming unleashed on their own.

The simple act of shouting “Whooo!” in a group of strangers was sort of an unveiling. My mature self is kicking off her leash and having fun and if my kids are embarrassed by it, that's just a bonus. As I'm typing this, I'm reminded of one of the most important lessons my mother ever taught me: Sometimes, it's better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission. Right on, Mom!

I don't think I'll be giving up the mini-van for a Harley and I doubt I'll be skinny-dipping in the park fountain. Frankly, I've always been pretty candid, so anyone who has known me for awhile may not even notice, but I give myself permission to yell “Whooo!” on a whim and to bust out a boisterous laugh whenever I want. If I ever learn how, I might do the Funky Chicken in a crowded room.

I like purple. I wear it often. But when I am Old(er), I will just do and say whatever the heck I want and make no apologies. I may even crash your party. I'll beg forgiveness later.

From Boxes To Shelves...

Psychologists talk about “compartmentalizing” emotions or thoughts as a way of dealing with people or activities in their lives.

I've always been pretty good at that. It's not about denial. It's more about putting things away so there's defined space for everything – and everyone – in my life. I like things – and people – where they belong so people and situations have their own boxes.

Probably, that was always easy when I was young because I didn't stay in one place very long. The older and more settled, I get, I find my boxes have opened and spilled all over the place. My people and situations are interacting! It's a little unsettling when I find that a person I've known for years – who has long had their own box – has moved into the box of someone else from a different time and place in my life!

I think I'm starting to understand that I never actually had boxes. I probably have shelves. While there are definitely clear and separate places for every person and every experience in my life, perhaps it's totally okay – maybe even beneficial – to allow those spaces to interact with one another. They've probably been interacting all along and I just haven't been paying attention.

With many things in my life, I rely on the library to be my reference point. So maybe instead of seeing all of these people and experiences in boxes, they need to be on shelves – catalogued, referenced, and sorted by subject or title. Wouldn't that make it easier to face new questions or challenges as they arrive? So that's going to be my approach moving forward with each new situation. I'll have a person, a place, or an experience to give me the data I need to handle something similar.

That's the idea, anyway. If I'm being honest with myself, I'll likely reach for the favorite stories and characters, leave them sitting on the table in the middle of the room, and forget to look on the shelves I've compiled and organized. But at least I'll have a better idea about where to look.

And really, won't my life be better, easier – or at the very least, more entertaining – to allow all of the parts of me to work (and play) together? I often tell my kids that I know a little about a lot of things. I also know a lot of people who know a little about a lot of other things. Together, we can rule the world! At the very least, we can make a fun party.

The Butterfly Effect...

Leaving an office building the other day, I saw a beautiful blue butterfly on the crack of the sidewalk. I stopped, looking down to watch it while I considered whether or not to try to move it from the path of the heavy foot traffic.

At that time, a man was walking toward the building and saw me looking at the ground. He stopped and watched, noting that it didn't try to move away when we walked close to it. It didn't appear to be damaged – the wings were intact and were softly fluttering. After a moment, the man reached down and gently collected the butterfly on his fingertips and moved it to a nearby flowering bush.

We congratulated ourselves on our good deed and started to walk away. Just then, the butterfly rose from the safety of the bush and flew right back to the sidewalk, landing on the exact crack in the middle of the foot traffic where it started. We laughed, saying “I guess that's where he wanted to be” and walked away. What else could we do?

As I continued to my car and drove away, I wondered if he'd be okay. I hoped he'd fly to a safer spot to sun himself out of harm's way. Sitting in traffic, with time to ponder such things, I couldn't help but to think about all of the human rescues we attempt in life only to learn that the person wanted to be right there in the place that we can see is not safe or prudent.

When we see a situation from the outside and from a distance, it's easy to see how things could go wrong or end badly. But when you're the creature who thinks that taking a rest in the sunshine is a great idea, the possibility that things could go wrong is the farthest thing from your mind.

When I returned to the building, I naturally scanned the sidewalk and there was no sign of the beautiful blue butterfly. There was no evidence that he'd been hurt so I suppose he flew away when he was ready to do so. I don't understand why he lingered, but I have to assume that his reasons were clear and important to him.

I wonder how many times we assign ourselves the role of rescuer without considering whether a person – or butterfly, for that matter – is right where they want to be? Whether they realize possible dangers or not, there's a very real possibility that they choose to be where they are for a reason. Maybe it's not obvious from a logical standpoint and we may never understand it but sometimes we have to walk away, wishing them well and hope for the best.

Looking back at my own life, I can see plenty of times on the sidewalk crack while others tried to move me to safety and I went right back. In most of those moments, I knew why I was there and what I was waiting for. On the other side of it, I can see that, to people looking on, it wasn't obvious why I put myself in that position but I knew why I was there and did what I meant to do there.

Moving forward, I'm not going to pretend I won't move a butterfly or try to protect people from what I feel may be dangerous, but I do I hope that I'll try to tread lightly in my interference and take a beat to think about my perception versus their reality. I'll consider this my own version the Butterfly Effect, I guess. Thinking about that butterfly definitely affected my point of view.