August 21, 2017

I had asked my family and friends not to have any celebrations on Monday, August 21, 2017.  Because everyone had listened to me and honored my request, I woke up that morning suddenly realizing that it was now completely up to me to make it a great day.  So to begin with, I decided to take myself out to breakfast.  I quickly got up and dressed and left my home.

As I drove to the local Taco Bell (okay, yes…I’m a fast food/diner kind of girl!), I was abruptly stopped by a traffic light on State Avenue.  As I waited for the light to change, a sudden movement to my right caught my attention.  I now focused on a large, chunky, young boy walking down the street.  The boy was about 13- or 14-years-old and dressed in blue jeans with a black t-shirt.  The long bangs of his black, curly hair brushed against the silver wire frames of his glasses.  A tattered, brown backpack was strapped across his broad shoulders.  I watched as the young teen pumped his right arm wildly into the air.  I couldn’t hear any music, but the punching of the boy’s fist and the quick banging of his head gave the impression that he was listening to rock or heavy metal music.  Oh, my gosh, I thought, this was one of the most amazing things I had ever seen!  This young boy was dancing down the sidewalk next to the busy avenue without any care of who was watching or what anyone might think!  I knew then that that kid had a lot more courage than I ever had.  And I prayed that someday I would be that free, too.

I carried the image of the boy in my mind as I parked my car and walked across the lot to the entrance of Taco Bell.  Suddenly, the glass door pushed open and a middle-aged man in a torn white t-shirt and glasses walked out.  His sparse dark strands of hair were tousled across the bald areas of his head as he stepped to the side and held the door open for me.  “Thank you,” I told him to which he quickly responded, “You’re welcome.”  Then he enthusiastically shouted, “God bless you!  God bless you!”  I stopped for a moment and smiled.  I don’t know who the man was or what special powers he may possess but I suddenly felt immensely blessed as I ate my breakfast and contemplated the rest of my day.

And the day just kept getting better.  I returned home to find that the neighbors across the street from our house were out in their front yard.  The three-year-old son was joyfully running around the lawn with his hands raised up in the air as his voice emitted loud shrieks.  The child would run up to his father and then spin around.  He would walk slowly away while screaming, “Monster!  Monster!”  That was the father’s cue to chase after the boy who ran around the yard in wild circles.  Finally, the man grabbed the child and threw him up in the air as both father and son giggled loudly.  Then, the boy was placed on the ground and the whole sequence would start all over again.  I covertly watched the neighbors play for a few minutes before climbing out of my car and walking inside the house.

I spent the majority of the afternoon cleaning my room and tossing away my old files of class notes, bank statements, and receipts.  Today, I felt a compelling need to clean out the old and anticipate the new.  I compulsively worked on this project until it suddenly became too dark to see what I was doing.  I didn’t turn on any lights.  Instead, I got up from my desk and walked into the living room.  I opened the front door and looked outside.  The sky was growing steadily darker and the streetlights all began to glow.  I stepped out onto the porch and looked at all of the neighbors who were standing in their front yards looking up at the sky with plastic and cardboard glasses strapped to their faces.  I didn’t look up.  I knew not to stare at the sun without protection.  I didn’t purchase any glasses and I hadn’t planned to participate in watching the moon cross in front of the sun.  I just wanted to experience the sudden darkness creeping over the Midwest and witness the changes it created in nature.

I just sat on the front porch in the dusk and listened to the crickets beginning to chirp at the early night, even though it was only 1:08 pm on Monday afternoon.  A solid peace overcame me as I contemplated my fascination with the dark heavens.  Some of my best memories are the moments of seeing shooting or falling stars.  I always felt a solid thrill race through me at this phenomenon.  I have seen many shooting stars over the years and they have never failed to elicit an unusual excitement within me.  It’s the unexpectedness of the heavens suddenly moving and displaying an immense, living essence that thrills me.

And that’s how I wanted to experience the solar eclipse of August 21, 2017.  I didn’t want to pay for glasses and “plan” to watch.  I wanted the eclipse to ease over me, taking me by surprise as it engulfed me in its unusual occurrence.  I wanted the eclipse to unexpectedly thrill me as if I had just seen a thousand shooting stars.

So, now, I sat in the darkness while taking deep breaths and contemplating the universe.

And then, something unusual happened.  After sitting in the darkness for a few minutes, there was a sudden snap as if a switch had been flicked and light suddenly began to shoot through the black afternoon.  The darkness had been gradual but the light seemed quick.

It made me think of the days when I would sink into a deep depression, an emotion that had the power to weigh me down and pull me under.  The feeling would come over me slowly until I felt trapped and could not find a way back out.  And then, when least expected, hope suddenly surges through me and immediately pushes me back to life in one swift breathless movement.  That’s what the eclipse was like for me.

I sat for a few more minutes as sunlight continued to chase away the night before I finally got up from the front porch and walked back inside the house.  And not a moment too soon.  Suddenly, with the eclipse passed, thunder echoed through the sky and a hard rain fell to the ground.  As lightning sliced the gray clouds, I walked back to my room with our three small dogs running along behind me.  The dogs made me laugh as they tripped over each other as they raced into my room and under the bed.  They pushed and shoved at each other as they battled for safety from the clashing storm.  I snuggled and played with the dogs for a while before shooing them back out of the room.  Only Starburst refused to leave.  She made me feel unconditionally loved as she cuddled up on my lap as I worked at the computer for the rest of the afternoon.

Later that day, dinner consisted of Chinese food and cake with my brother, Tony, and sister-in-law, Mary, when they came home for work.  As we easily talked and laughed together, I couldn’t help contemplating what a great day this had been.  And I realized then that as I get older I didn’t need big celebrations or expensive presents or huge crowds of people around me.  I just need peaceful moments, times that enhance my spirit and enliven my soul.  Without a doubt, this day, Monday, August 21, 2017, was one of the best birthdays I have ever had.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Beholder

I tend to agree with the majority of people that Lady Gaga’s Halftime Show during Superbowl 51 on February 5, 2017, was outstanding.  Her dancing was unshakable, and her voice was robust even as she ran and flipped around the stage.  The woman had endless energy and performed at a peak level without hitting pause for one second of her thirteen-minute performance.

I knew that there was going to be a lot of arguments about her presentation afterwards just simply because so many people love to hate.  Some people immediately began to criticize her performance.  Other people praised her.  Many people debated what type of political message she was trying to send or if she even sent one at all.  I had expected to read all of these various comments, and I imagine that Lady Gaga probably did, too.

But there were some comments that actually took me by surprise.  I was shocked that there were people who were body-shaming this lovely woman.  (But then again….why should I be surprised?)  There were many uncalled-for comments about her facial features and her body shape.  I can’t help but wonder why that even mattered.  What does her face and body have to do with her amazing talent?  And when can we stop judging people by how they look and appreciate the amazing gifts they share with us?  Why do we keep taking everything down to the lowest common denominator?

Okay, maybe I am just being overly sensitive to the matter.  Like most people, I have had unusual comments made to me about my appearance, too.   The strangest comment happened several years ago when I first started teaching massage and bodywork at a school in Nashville, Tennessee.  During a break between classes one day, I walked into the front office to speak with the director, Karen, about upcoming classes and events.  I stepped through the open door of her office and found an older man sitting in a chair in front of her desk.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I stated.  “I didn’t realize you were busy.”

“Oh, Jamie, it’s fine, come in,” the director answered.  Then she nodded towards the man who was sitting in her office and said, “This is John.  John, tell Jamie what you do for a living?”

John pulled his large form a little straighter in his chair and said, “I’m a mortician.”

“Oh,” I answered with a nod of my head, “that’s…that’s really…nice.”  Nice?  Seriously, I actually said that being a mortician is nice.  But I didn’t know what to say.  I was at a loss for words because I wasn’t sure why the director had prompted John to reveal this information to me.

Then John suddenly said, “Yes, I’ve been a mortician for over thirty years and I’ve been watching you.”

At John’s confession to stalking, I shuddered for a moment and choked out, “Really?”

“Yes,” the mortician answered, “I keep looking at you with your long, slender neck and thinking, wow, she would be easy to embalm!”

I stared at the man in surprise as Karen and John both laughed.  Then, I smiled nervously, nodded my head, and slowly backed out of the office.  I ran down the hallway to my classroom, stepped inside, and locked the door.  The whole disturbing situation caused a lot of random ideas to rush through my head.

Man, how is this even fair?  Many women are told they are beautiful.  I am told I would be easy to embalm!  But, maybe I shouldn’t have let the situation upset me.  Maybe I should have pursued a relationship with John.  Here’s a man who would probably appreciate my unusually cold hands and my pure white skin.

It was interesting, though, that instead of being mad at John’s rude words, I was ashamed of myself for not being beautiful.  I cursed myself for having a long scrawny neck, poor circulation, and skin that never tans.  Several years later, now, I wonder why I blamed myself for John’s comments and the laughter of the mortician and school director.

That reminds me of the day my friend, Stacy, told me that she was serving a customer at work.  Suddenly, the man looked at her and commented, “You know, you are way too young to have hands that look that old.”

I was horrified and outraged when Stacy told me about this.  “He actually said that to you?!  How could he say that?!”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Stacy responded.  “Look at my hands.  They are all dry and scaly.  He was right.”

I remember staring at Becky in surprise while wondering, even then, at what point all of these rude comments had become acceptable.  The comments are bad enough but when did we buy into a standard of beauty that ignores the divinity of our spirits?  It’s really sad, but true.  We lose our true sense of beauty when we become adults.

Some of the best compliments I have ever received in my life have come from children.  For example, one day, I had dyed my hair a bright red and put in extension.  The comments I received from adults were not positive.  I heard people murmuring, “God, that’s such a brassy color.”  “I would never go that red.”  “What was she thinking?”

But suddenly there was my co-worker’s 6-year-old daughter dancing around me and screaming excitedly, “Momma, Momma, look…she has Little Mermaid hair!  She has Little Mermaid hair!”  I never worried again what other people thought about my red hair.  And it’s been some shade of red ever since!

And I will never forget a situation that happened when I was in Malaysia.  I had been backpacking around Malaysia for two weeks.  One afternoon, after walking several miles, I climbed onto one of the town buses.  I lugged my backpack over to one of the tattered, stained, green vinyl benches and sat down wearily.  As the bus began to make its slow, rickety progress down the potholed street, I suddenly felt something swat at the back of my head.  I put my hand up and brushed it over my hair.  A few seconds later, it happened again.  Again, I brushed my hair back.  When I felt something pull my hair for the third time, I turned around in my seat to find a beautiful, 2-year-old little girl sitting on her mother’s lap.  Now, as I looked at the child, she reached her hand out to me again, picked up a strand of my hair, and tangled it up in her small fingers while she repeatedly murmured, “OOOOHHHH!  OOOOHHH!”  I smiled at the girl’s mother and suddenly realized that the majority of people in Malaysia are dark-haired and dark-eyed.  And there I was with my green eyes and long reddish blond hair.  It was unusual for this child to see something so different.  But instead of being afraid, instead of shying away, the girl found beauty within our differences.

And it used to be those differences that embarrassed me.  As I was growing up, I tended to focus on my physical flaws and could very easily turn a tiny pimple, scar, vein, or bulge into a major trauma.

It’s too bad we lose our true sense of splendor as we grow older.  Is it conditioning, hormones, cynicism, beauty blindness, or just pure insanity?  There has to be some reason people look for ugliness.  There has to be some reason people think it is their right to humiliate and criticize others just for their appearance.

Or maybe, it just comes down to a choice.

I am choosing to know beauty, to see beauty.  I am choosing to be a BEHOLDER.  And I am choosing to say positive things to other people.  I don’t know of any other way to live.

So, yes, Lady Gaga was talented and beautiful and amazing last night….

But then again, aren’t we all?!

 

Marilyn

I’m going to reveal a secret. I think it’s time I confessed. Whenever I am alone at home, in the car, or at work, I am constantly singing. I can’t seem to stop. Lately, I have found myself bursting out in song even when I am at the grocery store. I will stand right in the frozen foods section and belt out a few verses of “Heat Wave.” My voice, however, quickly dissolves into a heavy sigh or raging cough whenever someone approaches. I don’t sing around other people. I don’t want anyone to tell me that I am off-key or out of tune. I already know my voice is weak and pitchy. But that doesn’t stop me when I am alone. I still continue to sing using my hairbrush or television remote as a microphone. It’s a childhood activity I have never outgrown.

So I continue to sing and scribble down lyrics on napkins or in my class notes. I have been writing songs since I was six-years-old. In high school, I would sit in the back of the room scribbling silly love songs in my notebook instead of paying attention to my history lesson. I had dreams of being a singer/songwriter back then. Unfortunately, the dreams are recurring. By all rights, I should be Shania Twain or Taylor Swift. I can close my eyes and see a complete picture of myself on stage dramatically singing my songs to a large cheering crowd.

In reality, though, when the dream ends, I’m not on stage. Instead, I am usually in the audience. I love to go to concerts. It is the only thing I splurge on. I will go without new clothes and shop for groceries at the 99 Cent Store just to have the extra money I need to buy a concert ticket.

Last Saturday night, November 1, I had a ticket to see Reba McEntire at Fantasy Springs Casino in Indio, California. I have never seen Reba before and was excited for the show. I arrived at the venue early that night so I decided to go to the bowling alley snack bar and get a cup of coffee. Not being a gambler, I decided to just relax and read until the doors of the theater were open.

I sat at a small round table and alternately stuck my nose in my coffee cup and my paperback book. Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me say, “Where is the trash can? Is that the trash can?”

I looked up and saw an elderly woman standing behind me. She was slightly hunched over and she shuffled across the floor in a slow awkward tilted gait. The woman was wearing white pants and a blue striped shirt that was covered by a white cardigan. A little white hat that looked like a sailor’s cap turned inside out sat on top of her gray curly hair and drooped down around her large black framed glasses. I smiled at her for a moment and then pulled my chair closer to the table to make sure I was out of her way.

The woman thanked me and then dumped her trash in the metal can behind me. She turned slowly to go back to her table but then stopped and looked at me. She asked me if I was going to the concert that night. “Oh, yes, I’m really excited about this show,” I answered and the woman happily clapped her hands together.

“I’m going, too,” she told me. “I go see everybody. I don’t care if they’re white or black, gay, lesbian. It doesn’t matter. I just want to hear the music and see the shows. After every show I’ve ever seen I always thank God for blessing me so greatly. I got to witness the talents of so many great people and I always say thank you Jesus for blessing me so. I got to see Sammy Davis, Jr and Elvis Presley. I saw Librace four times! How lucky am I! I’m Marilyn.”

“Hi, Marilyn,” I told her as I reached out my hand. “My name is Jamie.”

“Oh, Jamie,” Marilyn stated as she grabbed my hand warmly. “How wonderful. We are going to witness a great talent together tonight. I’m 85-years-old and I’ve gotten to experience so much! God is so good!”

As I stared at Marilyn for a moment, I tried not to reveal my shock. This beautiful woman with this amazing spirit was 85? I know much younger people who don’t possess a fraction of her energy and enthusiasm. Marilyn was excited now and she couldn’t stop talking. I didn’t mind. I do the same thing when I am happy. So I put down my book and looked right at her as I listened to her voice that rattled, shook , and cracked as she continued on. “Yes, Barbara Walters turned 85 in September. I’m turning 85 in December. She retired. Why? I think I’m going to last longer than Barbara Walters. I’m so excited. I’m so lucky. What good fortune that I have seen so many shows and so much talent. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for creating all of the lovely talented people. Thank you for blessing me because I get to see all of the talent. I love to see these talented people. Black, white, gay, lesbian…I don’t care. I love them! And I’m so lucky. What a blessed life I have had to witness such amazing talent. Look how Jesus has blessed me! I’ve been in the audience at the best shows and witnessed the greatest talent.”
Marilyn’s great enthusiasm dimmed only once when she mentioned the government. Or as my friend Marilyn stated, “The fucking government…Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” She giggled as her small hands rose up to cover her mouth. I just laughed. I figure if someone is 85-years-old, he or she has earned the right to say anything. The light in Marilyn’s eyes returned as she continued to talk about all of the great shows she had seen.

A few minutes later, Marilyn’s friend arrived and they left the snack bar. I trailed them through the casino where Marilyn, who claimed to have stopped gambling four years ago, was walking around the slot machines cheering on the gamblers or offering them unsolicited advice. I felt brilliant in her presence and dazzled by her enthusiasm.

An hour later, I was sitting in the audience of the Fantasy Springs performance center listening to Reba’s amazing talent. And when the concert was over I thanked God for blessing me so. I walked by Marilyn and her friend on my way out. I leaned over and took her hand. “What did you think, Marilyn?” I asked her. “Did you have fun?”

“Oh, I used to be a schoolteacher,” Marilyn told me. “Reba gets an A plus plus plus. What an amazing gift she has. Thank you God. I have been so blessed.” I squeezed Marilyn’s hand then and left the theater after saying good night.

I walked out of the performance center with a prayer of my own. Thank you God for allowing me to witness so many amazing and beautiful spirits tonight. And thank you for the lesson I learned from my dear 85 year old friend, Marilyn. A gift is a talent we share with others; a blessing is the ability to appreciate those gifts. Thanks to Marilyn, I now know the difference. I may not be gifted like Shania or Taylor or Reba, but now I know God has continued to bless me endlessly.

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