Breathless

How many of you think about your breathing? I am sure for most of us, outside of yoga fanatics and athletes, breathing is something we take for granted. The inhale/exhale we do on a moment to moment basis is assumed.

I am very aware of my breathing. I grew up with two smokers and began the descent into tobacco usage full time in high school. I was so cool. I replaced my running and sport playing body with an almost adult smoking one. It was awesome. 

In my forties, I began to regularly get pneumonia. I had become a part time smoker for years then. A social smoker. We bought a little bar and my second hand smoke became very first hand and then my colds became pneumonia. At least once a year, I would feel an elephant on my chest and by the end, could tell my doctor which lung and location.

In a rare moment of clarity, I realized that the pneumonia and my smoking were related. I was able to envision the life I would have if I should continue smoking. The elephant crushing my lungs would not be just when sick, but would be an ever present feeling. For the one time in my life that I made the right decision, I stopped. I dedicated myself to improving my weakened lung function and managed to improve them through very hard work and a trainer that was relentless in her torture of me. 

I sit in a hospital watching my mom get winded from walking down a hallway. Some of that is from all the medicines to get her lungs to function. 

Flashbacks to when I was a child and I would beg her to quit smoking. Flashbacks to all the times she tried to quit but had an excuse to start up again. Flashbacks to when I knew she was smoking even after getting her diagnosis of copd. 

There is no safe cigarette. There is no smart way to smoke. There is definitely no way to safely smoke when your lungs are compromised. Even the smallest of virus will sideline a person with copd and when you add an irritant and poison like a cigarette to it, you are guaranteed trouble. When you add allergens to the other ones, you may end up spending days on end in a hospital and getting pumped with steroids and nebulizers and antibiotics and noise.

Don’t smoke. Quit now. 

If you don’t, you may find yourself in a hospital gown with an angry adult daughter reliving her childhood fears. 

Current mood

https://youtu.be/BIF_b4WIlCQ 

It’s No Wonder…

The adage says if you have nothing nice to say, then shut up. There is a reason for that. 

I was appalled last night when a friend posted the blog post by Curt Schilling, revealing the disgusting tweets he witnessed in response to his proud papa moment for his daughter. Apparently, spreading good news these days is an open invitation to the digital dregs to lift their diseased heads and literally piss all over the twitosphere. (See 38pitches.wordpress.com for details.)

Then, this morning, in pop news on GMA, Lara Spencer reported that the twitosphere was abuzz with ‘concerns’ over a scar on Faith Hill’s neck. For the record, she looked spectacular and gracefully represents a segment of Hollywood that I admire for their kindness and quiet generosity. Why, I wonder, was it necessary to call out the scar? Oh, I know, because it is the flaw in an otherwise lovely package. 

If you believe, as I do, that negative energy is the most destructive force in the universe, then you can understand how clinging to and perpetuating negativity creates a space where growth and innovative thinking cannot possibly thrive. 

I watch very closely the line of demarcation between those that are ‘haves’ and those that are ‘have nots,’ and I don’t mean financially. There is a direct correlation between how you view your world and how you navigate it. If you are the type to deliberately, and sometimes visciously attack another human, then you are very likely leading the kind of existence that is fraught with illness, financial instability and alienation. 

The saying that you get what you give is absolutely true of positive, uplifting energy. You want a positive charge in your life, then make it. You trolls who said criminally negative things to Gabby Schiling, shut up. If it was your daughter, you’d castrate the scumbag that did it. So, don’t BE that scumbag. 

For the rest of you who persist in seeing that the glass is empty, be happy you have a glass and fill the damn thing. 

And yes, it did not escape my attention that I am complaining in this piece. It’s for a good cause. 

Sheets

THIS was posted to the wrong blog, by accident. But now that it’s received comments, I’ll leave it for now. It was for a blogging challenge.

I started at the corner, because it had already lost its grip. The ridges and valleys spread out before me, arranged in waves shaped like David: long limbs, bent with the bliss of sleep. Just an hour before, he’d warmed the ridges and valleys, after he’d burned his touch onto my flesh.

And now, as I bent to pull away the sheet that still held his shape, I paused. At first, one knee, then another, stretching toward the place where his head had rested, gathering and wringing the white cotton, losing myself in the chypre fog.

My body called to him, as I wrapped myself in the sheet, and closed my eyes. It would only be a few more hours until he returned, and his force would again heat this now cooled room.

Ahhhhh Youth: An Open Letter to My 20-year-old Self

Ohhh, if I had the chance to do it all again, with the experience and perspective I have, now. It is the mantra of every forty-plus person I know. Every.last.one. It’s a cartoon bubble above the head of every person that makes it to middle age. Most of us are nearly opposites of the creatures we were at twenty. Psychologists, politicians and ad executives have long studied demographics because of the many advantages of understanding the differences. As I write this, I wonder if I’ll be able to write anything on the topic that could be considered new and fresh. Then, I think, Hell, I don’t care. It is because I have achieved a certain age-induced perspective that I don’t care.

Dear 20 Year Old Me:

Life is too freaking short for the drama. Really. Get.over.yourself. You cannot single-handedly cure the ills of the world simply because it’s on your to-do list. You have to actually DO something. But, for all that is holy, BE REASONABLE. Here are a few things that you should consider.

1) Your parents get a lot smarter as YOU get older. You see, they’ve already survived some of the crap that is still a few hundred hours into your future. You’re not going to agree with all of it, but you’ll find that there is truth…real, inarguable truth…in most of it. Some of it is going to be a product of their own neuroses. Learn to know the difference.

2) You don’t know anything about how the world really works. Everyone has a personal agenda, even if the agenda is genuine kindness. Everyone has a personal motivation for every action and reaction they have. Don’t ignore your instincts in reading people: both good and bad.

3) Remember that the other guy/girl may be having a day far worse than anything you could imagine. Sometimes, a smile and a kind word can fix it. You are not the only person with a crisis.

4) Politics are NOT black and white. For every nice thing you want to do for people, there has to be a way to pay for it.

5) Do not enable bad behavior and do not tolerate abuse of any kind. Anyone who would treat you badly at the beginning of a relationship will treat you far worse as you become complacent. Don’t let the line keep moving.

5) Religion is a human construct. Humans are deeply flawed creatures, perpetually searching for meaning greater than themselves. Faith is a power that all men share. It is that to which they give their faith that is often the problem. God has been used a weapon for more destruction than any other force in the universe. I often picture him weeping at the horrors humans perpetrate on one another and on the world. Have faith in beauty, love and genuine kindness. Note that I did not say goodness. “Good” is an ephemeral concept. One man’s sin is another man’s salvation. You need simply study world religions to understand that concept.

6) YOU are the only person that will always care for yourself. That’s right. YOU. Give yourself the value you should. Do not measure your value against the rest of the world. Be the example. It’s infectious. Don’t strive for the standard. Raise the standard.

7) Your organs WILL age. Biology will take care of that without any input from you. You can slow her progress by taking care of your body. You got one. Don’t squander it.

8) Never stop learning. The world is a big place. Absorb it. Assimilate it. It will all serve you well later when you need inspiration and perspective.

20-year-old self, fifty will be your age of enlightenment. You have 30 years to make mistakes, learn from them, improve yourself and your environment and if you’re very lucky, pour a little of yourself into the next generation. Don’t screw it up and don’t hurt anyone.

But I’ve seen it all in this small town…

I grew up in a county that mirrors the state of Rhode Island in both population and land mass. When I was a teenager, it was common to be separated from anyone you met, by just a couple degrees. Find out the section of town someone was from, and then figure out who you knew in common. It was a small city then.

I now live in a growing county of 50,000 people spread out over 229 square miles (Hillsborough County is over a thousand square to compare with 1.2 million people) that is the epitome of a small town. We have three high schools in the county but none of them were anywhere as large as the high schools I attended. This is not a place to live if you desire to escape your reputation.

My introduction to how provincial this area is was meeting someone and soon after being filled in on the very private business of another person and how everyone was related. I have never cared what scandals a person has done (according to a person in a store, taking down my address for delivery, my next door neighbor is a wild one with crazy parties and rumored assignations….I have lived next to this woman for almost 16 years, and she has had maybe five parties, and wild is not how I would describe them.) or who they may have slept with, but rather how they treat me or my children. That extends to their friends as well.

I am fortunate enough to be included in the gossip concerning kids my children mingle with and delight with how small minded those that divulge (the same people that castigate bullies) the juicy morsels they relay are. It’s all in the name of “open lines of communication” and “parents network” but I would call it more “my kid is not as bad as those ones” and “I don’t understand this, so I am going to gossip about it”. Oh, in case you didn’t pick up on it, I don’t feel fortunate about it. I feel dirty.

I came from a family that wasn’t perfect and I made a lot of mistakes. How I lived through my teens is a minor, no major, miracle. Not only odd I ingest almost any substance that came into view, but I drank like a 50 year old alcoholic and constantly placed myself in situations that a serial killer would have liked. At one time in high school, I had a different bar for every night of the week and since I had been going to them for years, they had no idea I was in my teens. I underestimated how angry a doorman would get when getting a valid ID after years of passing me through the doors.

The one saving grace in those years, and I truly believe the one thing that kept me from either jail, prison or the pole, was the time I spent with the families of the friends I chose. I craved normal and clean and rigid like all of them craved wildness. I dreamt of being them. Of having parents that weren’t fed up with our behavior because they were worn down. Luckily, I didn’t have some underground telephone system warning those few that I had in my life to show me what life could be like, so I wasn’t shunned or shut out.

No child can help what their parents do or are and to judge them because of that is so beneath my time or energy. The constant amazement of behaviors you don’t understand and psychological autopsy of children will not be tolerated any more by me. The only thing you breed in a fishbowl is a boring individual that will crumble when faced with the very real world that contains gays, blacks, Latins and sometimes gay, black Latinas.

The very best families can raise the absolute worst adults and closing your door to a kid you don’t understand, or worse yet, assigning evil to behavior that is normal for most kids (and yours aren’t little angels, but I’m not as vile as you to burst that bubble) instead of saying a prayer or wishing them growth, is odd. Get out and mingle with people not in your church a bit.

This Christmas….

It happened at the oddest time, and it happens every year, like clockwork, but this time was different.  I didn’t have the luxury of shedding the bottled up tears.  They will flow soon.

I made a run to Publix to get the freshest of everything to begin the feast preparation for my family.  I had my mental list because half the fun is forgetting most things and having to go up and down the same aisles so many times that the employees ask if I need help finding anything.  It happened in the very first section of the store, not good for people like me that tend to have a free flow of tears when emotions hit.  I don’t know how I made it through.

Christmas day shares a birthday with my oldest son and we have a tradition of Belgium waffles.  There will be several choices as to toppings and his favorite boysenberry syrup.  I approached the fruit because I can’t have just meats and cheeses for the mid day snack that we share while waiting for the turkey, I need to have a great vegetarian offering for the vegetarian youngest daughter, and that is where I spied the grapefruit.  Fresh Florida grapefruit.

Every year growing up, we had the same breakfast on Christmas morning.  My sweet, charming, funny Grandfather would make us runny scrambled eggs of which I have no doubt are considered better than actually cooked through, sausages and those darn grapefruits.  They were fresh harvested from the giant grapefruit tree in the front yard and if you were really lucky (mostly when you were under 15) or decidedly unlucky (15 and over, because you know you had plans with friends and that dirty tree was not part of your plans) you were called on to get the grapefruit.  I was not encouraged to climb the tree for some reason, but rather grab the low hangers.

My development can be traced to those grapefruit.  When I was young, I had to fight for the sugar amount that I wanted.  My grandmother would get semi-irate at the amount that I felt was necessary to negate the actual grapefruit flavor.  I don’t think there was enough sugar when I was a young teen.  When I was in my late teens and twenties, I started to like the taste and sugar was not as much an ingredient but rather a lesser ingredient.  I moved to the sugar free options for health reasons and now I am either sweetener free or stevia if necessary.  I like grapefruit.

There is something to be said of tradition and the knowledge that the safety of it are there.  I would give anything to go back to those days, just one Christmas, at almost any cost.  I would hug my Grandfather and not make fun of the eggs.  I would tell him that I am certain that those barbaric persons that eat them cooked hard are just not as civilized as we are.  I would help my Grandmother much more. The moments in the kitchen, just chatting while drying dishes are priceless to me.  I would hug my Uncle John and thank him for his steadiness that he showed growing up and tell him how much I admired him.  I would crack jokes with my Uncle Ken like we used to and tell him to never stop joking; he’s stopped joking, it’s sad. I would appreciate my mother more for her good qualities and stop berating any that I didn’t like.  I would play with my younger cousins and not act like I was too big for my britches.  I would thank my Aunt Kim for her example that she set, always a lady.  I would pray the day never ended.

As I cook the traditional items for my family, the things we co-opted from both my traditions and my husband’s traditions, I hope that my children will cherish the memories that we share and my grandchildren will hold dear the never changing, delicious traditions that we have together.

May you gather with family or friends or both and feel as much love as I do for mine.  May your Christmastime or Holiday be filled with warmth and meaning.  Bless all of you and yours.

Where are the Ice Buckets, Now?

I’m beating my head against a wall right now, trying to find a simple solution to a rather simple problem. I need to add a donate button to the Facebook mobile app because I don’t want users to have to take the extra time to log into Paypal and do it themselves. I was thinking that it’s matter of convenience. As I was reading through the pages and pages of options, none of which had the solution I require, I came across this comment on this topic in the Facebook “Help” section.

“Would love to know why as well. The majority of the people I know do almost everything on their mobile so it makes it very inconvenient for people to donate especially since people are lazy.”

Then I wondered, is that really how I felt?

Having worked for many years with non-profit organizations, I have an experienced perspective on exactly how much time a non-profit has to capture your attention. There are a few factors that contribute to the success of any campaign.

1. The need has to capture the individual’s heart.
2. For most people, the organization has to be a tax shelter.
3. Timing is everything. The organization has to remain ever present in the mind of the contributor.

In the last 6 months, I’ve watched how social media has helped provide scholarships for kids who lost parents to devastating illness[3], to get a friend back on his feet[4], and most recently, build a memorial fund in the name of a young woman who died far too young[5]. In the last example, it took only five days for roughly 1,200 people to “Like” and 13,000 to interact with the Facebook page. It’s a tiny fraction of the world’s population, but it’s a testament to how many people can come together because they care about the same thing.

But then, I began to wonder, why is it that charities and good causes don’t all get the attention they so richly deserve? It all boils down to the ego (the psychological ego), apparently.

The “ice bucket” challenge had two important things going for it.[1][2] shock value and guilt. I could (and have) begged people to “Like” my business page. In the four years that I’ve maintained the page, I still haven’t broken 1,000. I refuse to purchase likes, a ridiculous practice as far as I’m concerned. The major thing that is lacking for me is shock. I’m selling myself as a photographer. I certainly don’t want to do anything that is going to call into question my professionalism. Most importantly, my work is not a cause that warrants “awareness” in the minds of all humans.

In the thirty days or so that the ice bucket challenge occupied the world’s attention, a huge volume of donations made it to the ALS organizations. Not all of that money will make into the hands of the patients who need it, but perhaps enough will make it to the researchers trying to develop treatments. The most notable result is that more people understand the devastation of ALS. The thing that bothered me about the challenge is that toward the end, it became more about the performance than the actual awareness.

Now, I sit at my computer and I administrate a Facebook page started in honor of a twenty six year old woman whose loss is still a medical mystery. She had been, for months, at the mercy of physicians who could not put a name on her symptoms and basically classified them as psychosomatic. There is no awareness we can bring, other than to the woman herself, and therein lies the problem.

How does one raise awareness of something that has no name?

One quick, shocking idea got the attention of the entire globe for a few weeks. God forbid one is issued a challenge that goes unfulfilled. How gauche. How inconceivable that one would have no desire to give an entertaining, icy performance, but rather, quietly continue to support causes they’ve been dedicated to for years. I wonder, now that it has been months, how many can define ALS and do any of you who froze your biscuits for a good cause have any idea what has happened to the cause since?

In a few weeks, the shock of a young life lost will have turned to a manageable sadness, even for those closest to her. In a year, support for the fund for which we are currently pushing will have faded. So, for now, without the benefit of something as shocking as the ice bucket challenge, think about what is important to you. DO something to make a difference in someone’s life (even if it’s a furry someone). That is my “ice bucket” challenge to you. There are a number of ways you can do simple, painless things to improve someone else’s life. And, oh, by the way, I don’t need video to prove it. Here are just a few:

1) Drop an old coat at a shelter. It doesn’t have to be beautiful, it just has to be clean and warm.
2) Give to a local animal shelter. Doesn’t have to be money. It can be old towels, food, toys.
3) Give supplies to your kid’s school, in case there is a child who doesn’t have any.

If any of you have ideas, and want to comment here, please, I invite you. And if you want to donate to Lindsey’s fund, you can do so through PayPal. The fund name is Carmen’s Rescue at mt0815@charter.net. (You can learn more about Carmen’s at her website http://www.carmensrescues.com).

[1] http://www.businessweek.com/articles/2014-08-28/the-psychology-behind-what-makes-the-ice-bucket-challenge-work

[2] http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/do-the-right-thing/201408/6-reasons-everyones-taking-the-ice-bucket-challenge

[3] http://jasonackermanfoundation.org

[4] a personal gofundme campaign

[5] https://www.facebook.com/LindseyWinchestermemorial (you’ll have to be logged into Facebook for this link to work)

Black(out) Thursday

Depending on your perspective, either the greatest thing to hit consumerism happens tonight or you may be in mourning over the loss of one more day. I am speaking of the opening of store on Thanksgiving and I am in the latter category. This is a horrible trend.

Long ago, I was in retail and worked as a manager. What that meant was that in addition to be able to hold urine for six hours (retailers everywhere are nodding their heads) I looked forward to three days a year that I could guarantee family time. Christmas Day, Easter and Thanksgiving. I was barely present at Christmas after the long hours to get every last shoppers pennies, but I knew that I would have those days to soak in the missing time and try to make up for being absent.

I have participated in one Black Friday since leaving that arena and I hated every second of it. The crowds are filled with the people that are around society only once a year and they fill in their vans and terrorize normal people. You know the ones, they smoke at entrances, cut in obvious lines, and walk slowly, fourwide in the mall. They climb shelves to get to backstock and make a huge mess for shoppers and those employees alike. While working retail, I knew it was just one day….

Today, we have slipped down a notch in the politeness and evolutionary scale. We have declared war on the family. Make no mistake it’s war on yours too.

Remember back when Thanksgiving meant a time to gather with your family, eat and do things? For us, it meant playing football on a South Tampa street or climbing the grapefruit tree (just don’t get caught!). Watching the Lions get beaten while talking to a relative and catching up or just hanging in the kitchen with one, helping. I thank God I have those memories of just being, not being pushed by seemingly in-bred people that lack basic social skills.

Look around your home. How many tv’s do you have? Do you really need to get a new one for “hundreds less!!!”? Check our your sweaters and your kids sweaters. Are they lacking in the clothing department or could they go for a month without washing their clothes? Are your linens or appliances really in need of changing out to newer models?

I implore you to not participate in this day of needless buying. If you could hold out until tomorrow, I assure you will positively impact lives of those employees in great ways. If they don’t make money, they won’t do it next year. Think about all the moms that will be either kissed when their kid goes into work or will be kissing their kids and explaining how important their job is to the masses.

Much love this Thanksgiving and I wish you memories and warm familial embraces, whether they be blood family or chosen family.

———–namaste——

Unified Slamming Shut of Mouths, please….

I had no idea how many legal analysts that I am friends with until today.  There are so many of you that have dissected the evidence and come to your conclusions.  It surprises me that none of you are arguing before the Supreme Court.

Stop.  Just stop.  Please, stop.

We can have our opinions on how idiotic or righteous the violence, looting and property damage was last night, but telling those that feel the officer was in the wrong how they are wrong is not helpful…doesn’t build bridges…isn’t going to stop the violence and neither is more threats of violence and resistance to dialogue unless it’s your way going to sway those that disagree.

Let’s tone down our rhetoric quickly.  The people that are paid to speak have an agenda when making statements painting either side in any light right now.  We shouldn’t further their fan flaming by using those statements as indisputable fact.  They are entertainers, clowns, and in another time would be the fool or court jester.  They are there to agitate and get ratings.  Don’t get agitated.

No matter how you look at it, or who you blame for it, a terrible thing happened.  A young man is dead.  Another young man is a target.  A city is burning.  A nation is crying.  Let’s work towards healing.

Please join me in praying, meditating, sending white light or any other method of placing energy in to the cosmos and heavens, towards peace in Ferguson and across our nation.  We need to look towards a solution with more love and less condemnation.  We are a country with great compassion and unmatched energy to fix the broken…let’s fix this.

——————————-namaste———————————————

Tiny Voices

I discovered I could sing well by accident as a teenager. I didn’t come upon that conclusion by myself. Someone had to convince me and what followed for me was nothing short of cathartic. For the first time in my life, I stood on a stage, in front of a microphone, shaking so badly I thought my knees would give way. I took what is probably the most memorable breath of my life, and quietly began…

“It won’t be easy, you’ll think it strange,
When I try to explain how I feel…”

There are few words to describe the actualization that I had been heard by 1200 people at once, and my performance had brought many of them to tears. Heard. There was a kind of power in my voice that invoked strong emotion in others. That was thirty years ago. This morning, a friend posted Pentatonix’s “Mary did you know?” on Facebook. I thought to myself, while listening to each note, that even if you’re not Christian and don’t celebrate Christmas, you have to appreciate the fact that voices raised in perfect harmony can bring an audience together, causing them to all look up at once and in the same direction.

Harmony is powerful.

Today, I have witnessed a harmony of voices with no sound. Nineteen people, members (and now friends) of a professional group on Facebook, all watched our feed last night as one of our members far out of our reach watched his love take her last breaths. Each of us waited with hope that at any moment, she would rally. Through our fingers we experienced a gut-wrenching empathy. We prayed. We cried. All individually, but united in hope, without a single sound reaching our friend’s ears.

Today, we are united in our grief for him and he heard us. He heard all of our voices. We made sure that he did, because after all, we had nothing else to give. I had commented yesterday that nothing we had, nothing we knew served us as we watched our friend suffer over the only medium on which he could reach us all at once. We raised our voices the only way we could until some of us could physically get to him. He said last night, during the worst of it, that he had no idea how loved he was. He had heard us.

I have to be honest. Half the reason I wrote this piece is because I, along with the eighteen other members of this group, cannot easily process this particular loss. She was young, bright, giving and despite a long battle too complex to explain in this medium, hopeful and vibrant. Writing is a tool for exhaling, resolving. I cannot sing for her, as I have at many funeral services. But we, this eclectic group of friends from around the globe, raise our strange voices to our friend in love and in memory of her beauty. It seems a little thing, but I can tell you now after watching it happen over the last twenty four hours, that when nineteen little things harmonize in a single purpose, a very big message can be sent. I can also tell you that even if you don’t believe your tiny voice is important, let it be heard.

R.I.P Lindsey Winchester 8.29.88 – 11.23.14