Life

Here Comes the Sun

/ still a dreamer / 18 Comments

I read an article the other day – It’s title was Happiness in Hard Times. As might be suggested, it spoke about the importance of trying to maintain some degree of happiness when we are really struggling, as so many of us are in the pandemic. One of the positive points made was that we humans are actually wired for happiness. A researcher studying the genetics of joy has actually located, so far, 304 “happy genes” on our DNA.

It has been found that happiness can create and sustain emotional resilience in difficult times, and that the reverse is true as well. Finding positive meaning in circumstances can also help generate happiness. The article went on to provide concrete ways to navigate our current crisis (as well as any others); one of them is listening to music.

Which brings me to the point that had such an impact on me. Doctors and nurses in hospitals when interviewed all shared the tremendous pressure they were under during the pandemic. A pulmonologist at Lenox Hill Hospital in New York City described the relentless work in the critical care areas as a war zone. But Lenox Hill decided to do something about it. Every time a COVID-19 patient was released from the hospital or could breathe well enough to come off a ventilator, the hospital played Here Comes the Sun over the loudspeaker.

One nurse tearfully described hearing that song 20 times in one day, and every time she heard it, she felt a little better … it helped her know that all they were doing was actually making a difference.

It may be a challenge at times, but I think if we can find just one bright spot in each day, and either hold it close to our hearts, or share it with another, we’ll make a difference in these challenging times – and enjoy being what we seem wired to be – happy. Hey … here comes the sun.

 

We Will Always Remember – 9/11

/ still a dreamer / 6 Comments

In memory of all those who lost their lives on 9/11 and in gratitude and in memory of all those who became heroes in a moment’s notice – fire fighters, rescue workers, canine search and rescue teams from all over the U.S., health workers, and the often unsung heroes – all those responsible for evacuating 500,000 people to safety in the Great Boatlift of 9/11, the largest boatlift in human history. You are not forgotten.

With the towers in flames and everyone running for their lives, it soon became clear that Manhattan was an island and that there weren’t many places to run. But that it’s an island also meant something else. There were boats. This is such an amazing film, made 10 years after 9/11 by Eddie Rosenstein and narrated by Tom Hanks. When the call went out for help, hundreds of  tugboats, ferries, fishing boats, coast guard cutters, party boats and others sped to Manhattan to take as many people as they could for as many trips as they could make. People who could not refuse the call to help – who were honored to assist the thousands of people, standing desperate on the edge of Manhattan – became largely unsung heroes. This video sings their praises and so beautifully.  It’s nearly 12 minutes long but worth every second.

For those of you who follow me, you have seen this before, but I decided to post again for those new people who may stop by, and also, because this video restores my faith in the human race — in the potential for kindness and compassion from one everyday person to another. I hope you watch again.

Just All Over the Place

/ still a dreamer / 20 Comments

That pretty much says it. Despite the fact that I am still working – and very thankful for that – and am hardly in need of things to do in any area of my life, my focus is, well … intermittent would be a good word. Some days are pretty “normal”, but at times there is a sense of drift that never used to be in my life until the Coronavirus blew into town.

I know you are all experiencing this, too. I have yet to speak to anyone who isn’t dealing with some variation of this theme. As best I can tell, those of us who are creative have taken a truly palpable hit. I haven’t blogged in a month; I feel like I have little to say. Or perhaps I’ll just whine. So I started thinking in pictures. I went through the last few years of my photos and below you’ll find a little walk through my town, a little walk through summer. Hope this offers some cheer.

It was early spring, April 12th to be exact. The pandemic was in its serious upswing. I didn’t feel like walking that cloudy morning, but I did anyway. The streets were pretty empty. The flowering cherry trees were in bud, and I was cheered to see our flag, a colorful beacon on one of my neighbor’s porches. It was a comfort in a time that left us all unsteady on our feet.

Daffodils in bloom, the little entry area to the bridge freshly manicured and mulched, but still, it looked pretty bleak. A sunny sky would have helped. There were next to no cars on the road. Everyone was home, wondering what was next. And still, there was our flag, posted by my town, somehow a hopeful reminder – to my way of thinking – that we’d be OK.

My back porch last summer. It was the summer when I got all those amazing plants from Rice’s Market, pictured in a previous post – gorgeous coleus growing like crazy, stunning petunias and snapdragons. This part of the porch was quiet but pretty with pots of impatiens. This year? The porch has the furniture, but the plant market was closed, and I didn’t really have the energy/desire to pot plants anyway. There’s always next year, I thought. I am still surrounded by beautiful hostas, lilies, and hydrangea on the other side of the porch railings. I’m good.

Jazzy napping in a favorite sunny spot in the bedroom. The painted stool was one of quite a few hand-painted children’s items I’d made when living in Pattenburg a number of years earlier. My next door neighbor had converted what was once the town’s General Store into an antiques and collectibles shop, and she featured my pieces. I loved the painting and stenciling. Something I think about doing again, but …

It was a grey-ish day, but the cemetery at the Unitarian Universalist Church was tended so beautifully, it didn’t matter. It was very calm. Peaceful and pretty.

 

Another view of the Delaware River, separating New Jersey from Pennsylvania. I love this photo as much for the gleaming handrail of the bridge walkway as for the unusual cloud formation. When you live so close to a river, it’s hard not to take photos of it.

Did someone say Jersey tomatoes? New Jersey is The Garden State and this is tomato season! Those rich, red beauties put other tomatoes to shame, and make the best sandwiches anywhere. In reality, you don’t even need the cheese – just plain tomato sandwiches with a little mayo work, too. I literally just came back from a tomato run at Phillips Farms’ new farm stand with a bunch for the week.

Marilyn. Who can forget her? Here she is remembered in a retrospective of the works of Seward Johnson who founded and built the magnificent Grounds for Sculpture in Hamilton Township, NJ. His works are always on display, but friends and I made a special trip down for this exhibit which extended throughout the 42 acre grounds and inside galleries. Just do a search on this site for Grounds for Sculpture  (or start here) and you will be treated to both his works and those of many other wonderful sculptors. Johnson is known for his lifelike figures, especially those where he’s brought to life the famous paintings of the Impressionists.

 Hydrangea bushes are here and there all over the adjoining property, part of which surrounds my back porch. So lovely, here in pale green, slowly changing over the summer from snowy white to glowing rust.

The view at the end of my block. I am just 3 houses away from the Delaware whose many moods charm and inspire. This was from a previous summer, in her full green regalia. This summer, the area is overgrown, and the ability to access a nearer point as was possible in the past, is blocked; whether intentionally or not, I have no idea. So much has changed as of late.

Thank you all for visiting. For those whose blogs I visit regularly, forgive me if I have not stopped by in any sort of timely manner. I value what you add to my life and to life on the internet as well. I’ll get there. As I mentioned earlier, I am just all over the place, but you are in my mind and heart. Keep writing. Your words and images matter.

How We Remember the Past

/ still a dreamer / 16 Comments

Memory is a funny thing, isn’t it? It’s selective, exclusive, accurate, fictional, unreliable, illuminating, calming, and so much more. One of the ways we know how unreliable memory is is to have two people observe the same series of events and later ask that they recount them. To listen to some accounts, you would not think the people had witnessed the exact same events! If nothing else, memory is personal.

But the beauty of memories, I think, is their ability to bring peace, comfort, and happiness. The photo above, one of many likely sent around in a Power Point presentation (artists never recognized), is from a group of water-themed images. I am reasonably sure it’s Cape Cod or thereabouts. It’s had a special spot on my desktop for a couple weeks now even though I usually have a group set to change every hour.

Every time I look at it, I feel some deep sense of calm, and that calm comes from a memory. When I was a child, my parents sometimes took our family on driving vacations, that trusty AAA TripTik as our guide. Though I can’t remember how old I was at the time of this particular trip, I can remember the busy, narrow streets of Provincetown, bustling with locals and tourists alike. I can see the small, white clapboard shops and sparkling jars and bottles in every color of the rainbow, flags, kites, and … ice cream. I just remembered the ice cream.

And then there was the beach. What I remember so vividly is how totally different the Cape Cod beach was from the beaches where I grew up and frequented here in New Jersey.  The smell of the air, the texture of the sand, the look and feel and scent of the water as it rolled in — so much gentler than the crashing waves at the Jersey shore – the trees and greenery never found at any of the local beaches I’d ever been to. The fact that I have such consistently positive memories of Cape Cod tells me something else. All of us must have been happy.

So this image is going to rest a while longer on my desktop. More importantly, it is my new go-to peaceful place to visit when work gets too hectic, people unreasonable, when stress cranks up a bit. In our memories, there is always a place of calm and respite. This is mine. Feel free to come with.

Fretting My Way into the 21st Century

/ still a dreamer / 18 Comments

It was inevitable. No matter how well products manufactured 30 or 40 years ago were made, sooner or later, they’re going to bite the dust.

So I bid a very fond farewell to my longtime, faithful AT&T cordless phone. It has seen me through more life events than I care to relate. And yes, of course it looks like an “old lady” phone, but if you can believe it, the battery in the handset has only needed to be replaced once in the approximately 35 years I’ve had it. You just don’t throw a phone like that in the trash, and that’s why I’ve kept it, homely as it might be, for all these years.

This phone and another upstairs which is plugged directly into the wall have been my landline, something I have known my entire life. When power went out in Superstorm Sandy, I still had phone service because the upstairs phone didn’t require electricity to run. It was a great security blanket, despite my having a little flip phone on a second line forever. But lately, the cordless has occasionally been staticky, dropped a call here and there, and the antenna is holding on by a thread. Not to mention the ridiculous price I was paying my carrier for the privilege of having a landline.

Time to join the 21st Century, like it or not. I am changing carriers and saving an amazing amount of money each year going forward — transferring my existing flip phone to a new model as my backup (in case the other needs to go to Apple for some reason), switching the landline to an iPhone; and going completely wireless. (Let me just say here … oy.)

Kicking and screaming? Not so much as fretting and panicking, and I’m not enjoying it at all. Since I am Mac based, I assumed this would be a breeze, but it’s not just the fact that I have to learn two new phones in a very short period of time. It’s that I’m giving up the security I’ve known all my life with a landline. I honestly never thought this would affect me the way it has. I’m almost embarrassed because this kind of stuff doesn’t usually rattle me. (And yes, that we are locked down in a global pandemic may be in play, too.)

Everyone assures me that I’ll have this all down in no time (probably true); that many, many people are completely wireless nowadays (I’m aware); and that once I am used to it, I’ll love it (undoubtedly true). But logic is rarely the best diffuser of anxiety.

In my experience, the only way to deal with this is to keep on moving through it, fretting and all, because curling up in a ball or going back to how it’s been are not options. I comfort myself each morning during periods of change by reading a particular section of this book by Deepak Chopra in the “Law of Least Effort” chapter, which reminds us that every tormentor or tyrant, each upsetting situation, is in our lives at this moment because it’s exactly what we need to evolve, and is the opportunity to create something new and beautiful. I do believe that’s true, and it’s what I’m holding on to.

So if I accidentally disconnect your call or inadvertently send you a partial text, please bear with me; I’m overcoming the loss of a security blanket. And I promise I’ll never be one of those people in the supermarket who cannot stop gabbing on their phone for two seconds. I’ll still be me, just looking a whole lot more 21st Century.