Grateful

It is 6 am on the day after Thanksgiving, 2015.  My eyes popped open and after realizing that I’m not passing my wake up/get up rule (if I wake up and I’m not sleeping again in 15 minutes—it’s time to get up), I reluctantly throw back the covers, get out of bed and shuffle to the kitchen.  Awaiting me is a delicious smelling pot of coffee left for me by my wonderful daughter.  She’s at work, but thought about her mom.  I am nothing without my morning coffee.

As I sipped the steaming hot cup of Joe, I thought about the wonderful Thanksgiving day we’d had.  We are in the process of building new traditions.  My daughter-in-law and 2 granddaughters came for dinner.  We ate, played board games, watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade and thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company. 

Before we ate, I said the Thanksgiving prayer.  My prayer was a thank you to the Creator for helping our family get through another holiday without Ted and Lateef—a thank you that we are all better this Thanksgiving than we were last Thanksgiving—a prayer that we continue to find the strength and grace to move forward—a prayer for the hungry, homeless and sad on this day and every day of the year—a prayer that each one of us find a way to help others because in doing so, we would continue the healing process.

My thoughts now move onto the day after Thanksgiving—today.  Many years ago,  when we lived in Northern California, Rashida and I would get up at “0 dark thirty” to join other moms (mostly moms) to stand in line at Mervyn’s for the chance to get a free Nerf football.  Yes, back in the late ‘80s, there were no deep discounts, maybe only one or two stores open on Thanksgiving day.  There was no chance that anyone would get trampled or killed at WalMart because not only was Walmart not in California yet, there were no sales at Kmart (the big discounter then) that would spawn a desperation so great that it could take someone’s life!  Back in those days in our neck of the woods, Thrifty was the only store open on Thanksgiving day aside from 7-11 type stores.  Normal folk were appalled at this and everyone would shake their head at the injustice of Thrifty’s employees having to leave their family to go to work.  All stores were open on the day after Thanksgiving but that day had not become "Black Friday" yet.  It was still "the day after Thanksgiving" and, sure, there were sales but nothing like today.  

So we were just a hundred or so, sleepy, tired moms who wanted to get into the holiday spirit by getting up at 4:30 in the morning and standing on line with their early morning coffee, talking and laughing with perfect strangers.  I loved that.  I’m harking back to a more simple time. I don’t love today’s version of the day after Thanksgiving--Black Friday!

Somehow I got the newspaper delivered to my porch yesterday.  I did not order it—Hmmm.  The picture attached to this post shows the size of the news (on the left) versus the size of the sales (on the right).  I’m not going to look at the sales because as far as I’m concerned, I have everything I need and I don’t need retailers to encourage me to need anything else.

I am blessed to have health, strength, the love and support of friends and family, a roof over my head, food to eat, and memories that put a smile on my face.  What else could I possibly need?

Happy holidays…

Why Happiness?

A good friend, like a daughter, asked me recently why I chose the 100 Days of Happy project to help with my grieving.  I had to dig deeply to answer her.  I have and I wanted to share that with you all and with her.

I have always been an optimist—sometimes called a Pollyana.  This eternal positive attitude occasionally got on people’s nerves and I could see why, but I  wasn’t able to change it.  It was ingrained in my DNA.

When I moved to New York in April 2014, I was pretty broken.  The effects of losing Ted and Lateef were evident.  Oh, I was making it.  I looked pretty good on the outside but the insides didn’t match at all.  I knew how I felt and I knew that I just had to feel better.  I could not be content with this empty, aching hole in my heart and constant churning in my stomach.  When I tried to breathe deeply, as I’d taught my students in yoga class, my breath caught in my chest.  When I tried to eat, food stuck in my throat and would not go down without major effort.  Nothing tasted good to me except ice cream, macaroni and cheese and French fries.  A recipe for disaster!

Grief counseling helped, reading books on grief and grieving helped, reading the Bible for inspiration helped, but I needed more.

So in early April, my daughter, my muse, took one look at me from her broken place and suggested that I might want to participate in this project called 100 Happy Days started by the 100HappyDays Foundation.  The premise was to take a picture each day of something that made you smile or feel happy. 

You know how someone suggests something to you and you know right away that “This is it?”  Well that’s what happened to me with this suggestion from my muse.  Rashida is truly my inspiration and knows me better than probably any family member except my sister.  She knows that I love projects and that once I get started on something, I really burrow in.  I trust her, so I started researching.

I immediately went to the 100HappyDays Foundation’s website for information.  There I found that 73% of the people who started this project would not finish it.  I, always up for a challenge, was intrigued.  I just knew that if I started it, I would finish it.  Any of my friends and family will tell you that the way to get me to do something would be to challenge me.  The challenge intrigued me but there was something more than that.  This foundation’s aim was to foster happiness in the world and I liked the sound of that. 

This was not an exercise just to be doing something.  I knew that if I immersed myself into this task, it could be life changing for me and, perhaps, for others who might need some inspiration.

The results were amazing.  I started looking outward instead of inward.  Where before each morning’s light would bring a wash of sadness and a reliving of the horrible one/two blow our family had just endured, the first thing I started thinking of was what my picture for the day would be.  A small shift, but epic because it brought hope to my day.  That’s not to say that sadness did not find me again that day, because it usually did.  The difference was that I started my day well and that was important.  It was easier to go back to happyduring the day if I started out that way.

Some days it was easier to find “happy” than others, but I always found something.  Some days I found more than one thing and had to choose which picture made me happiest!  I looked at the city, my environment, with very different eyes.  Instead of the noise, I looked for quiet beauty sometimes found in the façade of a beautiful old building, sometimes a garden in the middle of 2 blocks of concrete, sometimes a dog walker walking 10 dogs at once.  Instead of a big, dirty city, I looked for the beauty in a wall decorated with graffiti.  Instead of aggressive, fast walking, fast talking New Yorkers, I looked for some pictures of people beautifully or artistically dressed.  I saw love when I photographed a man and his wife holding hands—she all bent over with some kind of disease—he being her helpmate.  A street closed so that school children could play.  A sign looking for an owner of a wool hat left in a taxicab.  The opportunities were many.  If I wasn’t looking for “happy”, I might have walked past all of these scenes with unseeing eyes.  I might have missed my opportunity to really, really see the beauty in small things.  The yogis have a saying, “Be here now” or “Be in the present”, that is exactly what was happening to me.  I was really being a witness—being mindful of what was around me.  If, by any chance, I did not find a picture outside for the day (inclement weather, whatever) I would look for a quote on the internet that resonated with me and share that.  It had the same effect.

One happy day led to another.  One happy week led to another. I was starting to feel better, walk taller.  My breath was moving through my body better.  The good effects of this project on my life started piling up.  Like when I lost weight on Weight Watchers.  When I lost a pound, I felt better and wanted to keep going and so I did. 

Something else was beginning to happen.  My Facebook friends were starting to give me feedback.  Some were getting inspiration from my postings, some really liked the New York scenes, some just wanted to encourage me to continue.  When I got close to 100 days, some asked whether I would continue.  I wasn’t sure that I would but I thought hard about it.  On day 101, I walked into our beautiful Carl Schurz Park to walk along the East River.  As I walked down the winding path, my eyes fell upon a woman sitting on the grass looking out towards the river.  Her arm was draped around a big, beautiful Golden Retreiver.  The scene was so serene and I knew in an instant that that was my 101^st picture.  I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and took a couple of pictures.  Later that day I posted the picture with the comment that I would continue on to 365 happy days.

This morning I posted happy day picture #301.  I am closing in on my goal and will probably fill that void with something else, we’ll see what comes up.  Something always does.

This project has helped me so much.  Something seemingly so small made such a large difference to me and, hopefully, to others.  To be able to start my day with hope instead of dread.  To be able to look at the world with clear eyes, instead of eyes clouded by pain.  To be able to find joy in small things instead of soothing my emotional pain with food or things.  All of these things came slowly, but they did come and the effect of this project on me has been massive.

So, why did I choose happiness, Asali?  Because sadness was not enough.  Not nearly enough.

Has It Really Been A Great Year?

Facebook has an app that’s been making some folks crazy.   Even NPR is talking about it.  http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2014/12/27/373477274/facebook-finds-that-not-all-users-like-the-year-in-review-app

 Last night I was reading through some of the comments from folks who did not have such a great year.  Some of the comments were heartbreaking: some lost loved ones, some had life-threatening diagnoses, some got divorced, some lost jobs—for some it really wasn’t a year that they wanted to review.

Then there were the others:  some lost loved ones, some had life-threatening diagnoses, some got divorced, some lost jobs—for these Facebookers, the year wasn’t that great but it reflected what really happened, they accepted the year as it was and chose to move on to a, hopefully, better year.

I was discussing this with my daughter, Rashida, this morning—during our daily “cawfee talks” that I love so much.  She chose not to generate her year in review for obvious reasons.  I chose to generate mine with modifications.  I did not say, “It’s been a great year”.  For me, it’s been a challenge but I accept the year as it was—I have no choice.  I haven’t hidden from it on Facebook throughout this year, so, I’m not going to hide from it in reflection.  Actually looking at 2014 in review makes me happy that I even got through it—gives me hope for tomorrow—and makes me know, really know, that we are stronger than we think we are and that there is strength in prayer, love and community.

Earlier in the year when I questioned whether we should even love others if they would just be torn away from us, I thought about it and a quote came to me from Alfred Lord Tennyson.  "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."  What are we after all, if we can't experience love?  It helps us appreciate everything else in the world.

My prayer for you friends and family is that if you did not have a great 2014, that 2015 will be better.   If you had a great 2014, that 2015 will be at least as good--maybe even better and if not, that you find the strength to get through it.

Love, Light & Peace

Christmas Reflections

The wide-eyed wonder time of the year is upon us.  People are out bustling around, coming out of stores with shopping bags hanging from their arms.  Walking around with steaming cups of hot chocolate or coffee wrapped in mittened hands. Smiles abound, Christmas tree stands everywhere, Christmas music playing everywhere, even from my laptop.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus and I can feel the spirit of the season—even embrace it.  As we get closer to December 25^th, memories are flooding into my mind of Christmases past. 

I remember as a little girl money was very tight—some years worse than others.  I remember several Christmas eves my mother would send my brother up to get a free Christmas tree that the vendors no longer knew what to do with.  What a great time we had decorating those Christmas tree stragglers—some years we’d have a Charlie Brown tree, sometimes something better—whatever was left.  I remember my mother coming home some years with a brown paper bag filled with smokey chestnuts purchased from the corner vendor.  So I really understand the song Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire.  I remember being so excited that I wasn’t able to sleep.  The remedy, a little brandy in some egg nog.  My brother, sister and I standing in line to get our little taste treat of the season.  Everyone knew it would not make us go to sleep—we were just too excited,but boy did it taste good and warm our body.  I remember hearing my mother, brother-in-law and older sister bringing the toys in to put under the Christmas tree.  They’d had a little of that brandy in egg nog too, so they’d be laughing and shushing each other.  As soon as they’d left, and my mother finally put her head on her pillow, we’d call out “Has Santa Claus been here yet Mama, can we get up?”  “He hasn’t been here yet, children—I’ll wake you when he has” she’d call back, desperate for a few hours sleep.  Finally after a few more attempts, she’d let us get up—still dark out I can still hear our squeals over a bike, a new dress, a doll—whatever we could afford that year.  Oh, precious memories.

I remember trying to duplicate the wonder of my childhood Christmases for my children.  I remember the wonder in their eyes, the excited energy that emanated from their bodies, the joy when they got exactly the video game, or Lego set they’d wanted.  I remember how happy they were when I promised that Santa would be able to find us at Grandma’s house in New York and knew not to bring the gifts to California .  I remember a day care provider's tradition of having a birthday cake for Jesus so that the children would remember just who’s birthday we were celebrating.  Oh, precious memories.

I remember when Lateef had a family of his own, that he would dress up like Santa Claus.  I remember the call I got when Jade was 3 ½.  An excited little voice on the phone said “Grandma, guess what?  The black Santa Claus visited me and brought gifts.  Grandma, I wish Daddy could have been here to see.”  I said, “Wow, Jade, that’s great..You’ll just have to tell Daddy about it.”  I remember that Rashida always wanted stocking stuffers, even well after we no longer piled the Christmas tree up with gifts, even today….  I remember that Ted would hold out shopping until Christmas Eve, when he’d finally break down and go Christmas shopping for a last minute gift—I remember that Rashida always had to tell him what I’d like even though I’d been dropping hints for at least 2 months.  Oh, precious memories.

This Christmas season is different.  My mother, Ted and Lateef are not here, but I have my wonderful memories and they are heart warming—almost like they’re really here with me.  This Christmas we're building new traditions and keeping some of the old.  Rashida and I will go to visit the Christmas windows on Fifth Avenue on Christmas day.  That’s new.  I will cook an abbreviated Christmas dinner. That’s old.   We will see Alvin Ailey. That’s old. We will light candles for Ted, Lateef and my mother.  That’s new. We will give a little more to Salvation Army and the homeless.  That’s new. We will see, really see some of the sickness and sadness in the world and look for ways to help.  That is enhanced…

What will the holidays mean to you?  To me, they signify hope, joy and love and yes, Gerri, there is a Santa Claus—he is alive in all of us--no matter what.

Peace, love and the blessing of the holiday season to you all--today and every day.