I WAS BORN THIS WAY: PART TWO

                                                                     

FIRST COMMUNION FOR THE CHATTERBOX!

     After taking on what appear to be the dominant qualities that shape me, Questioning and Opinionated, I am trying to figure out where to go with this.  My struggle is one of words.  I think looking for the precise words to accurately describe something is a big part of discovering what I really think.  A discussion of how expression helps me refine the thinking that forms my opinions is a topic I hope to tackle at some point, but that’s for another day.

                        

NOTICE WHAT I NAMED THE NEWSPAPER I CREATED TO RAISE MONEY FOR THE MISSIONS!

     For the sake of moving along quickly, let’s talk Talkative.  Clearly, talkative is an obvious adjunct of questioning and opinionated.  It’s hard to be bubbling over with questions and observations (which in my case eventually become opinions) and hold them to yourself. Math was the only class in school where my hand was not waving wildly when the teacher was asking questions.  I admit that I can be quite a talker and I’ve had to really practice trying not to talk so much. 

IN FRONT OF THE TROPHY CASE OUTSIDE THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE

       Most people who know me, maybe even those who have just observed me, would say I can be a chatterbox.  I am reminded of the Zen koan that goes something like, “If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around, does it still make a sound?”   I was the child that talked in class when I was bored – which reads “most of the time.”  I ‘m not sure if it was one teacher or more because I may have conflated the incidents, but I remember nuns who tried to silence me by moving my desk.  I was moved to the front of the class facing the other students, and apparently, I was still a distraction when facing the class so my desk was moved to be nose to wall with the blackboard.  I was also seated several feet behind the last student in a row and for at least part of the day, I was put in the cloakroom.  For anyone not familiar with that term it is a narrow area across the back of the classroom where students put their sweaters (uniform sweaters only so imagine the confusion when retrieving them) and lunches. The clearest memory of having a nun move my desk is the same nun (I called her Sister Mary in Part One) who yanked off my veil, and some hair, before dragging me into the girl’s bathroom to scrub any trace of lip-gloss off my mouth.  Toward the end of our year together she just permanently put my desk in the hall outside the classroom and gave me a packet of assignments to complete.  I guess being denied the wisdom she would impart to the class was punishing me, but I was relieved to be out of her crosshairs.   I actually benefited from this move because my desk was positioned near the door to the principal’s office and the principal started to talk to me as she passed by and several times invited me into her office.  In these talks, she reminded me that I only had a few weeks left in elementary school and she thought I would really enjoy more challenging work in high school.  She as much as said, “hang in there a little longer and this will be over and you’ll move on to something better.”

CLASS PICTURE IN FRONT OF THE AUDITORIUM STAGE

     I still talk to myself sometimes when I am working, and when I am working in the yard I talk to the animals, and I don’t mean just the dog, cats, chickens, ducks, and bunnies.  I greet the numerous lizards, birds, bees and butterflies as we cross paths, and have some not nice words for the squirrels that eat the fruit and vegetables that I am trying to let ripen!  I often talk to myself when I am writing, and of course there is the silent conversation of my thinking, in which I am trying to give words to what I really believe.  

                              

ONE OF MY WRITING COMPANIONS

       As with questioning and opinionated, talkative has some pretty obvious disadvantages.  I probably did not thank my mother enough for the many years she listened to me talk on about all things great and small, although I have tried to follow her lead and pay back her patience with my more “talky” children and grandchildren.  Along with an understanding and patient mother, I am grateful for the trait that compels me to share what I am thinking.  Whatever drawbacks there are to being someone who almost always speaks their mind; I think this compulsion to know what I really think and express it has been a gift to my marriage and family.  It can be messy at times but it has lead to deep and lasting communication and connection. 

       Although I accept the label of being a “talker” I  try to maintain an awareness of conversation as a two way street, or in the case of a group, a multi-lane highway.  I feel like I should wear a badge that says, “I don’t mean to interrupt.  I just randomly remember things and get really excited to share them.”   I have come a long way in this regard but once in awhile the floodgates open and a whole bunch of opinion spills out.  I apologize to those I may have annoyed or offended, but from my view toward the top of the staircase of my life, I would prefer reaching the end having shared myself too much, rather than too little.

I WAS BORN THIS WAY : PART ONE

                                       

FIRST GRADE : THE YEAR OF MY FIRST DEBATE WITH A NUN

                 Lately I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what makes me the way I am.  Some of my personality has definitely been refined by the way I was brought up, my parents, teachers, friends and for the last fifty-something years my husband and children.  I see how people and events have shaped me, and I must say, mostly for the better.  At some point I may actually investigate how certain people, places and events changed me, but for now my attention is focused on the qualities I was born with that remain core to my personality.  Usually I try to curb them, or at least marshal them in the most positive way.

       When I started to formulate a process for this I was standing next to the magnetic pad of paper on the refrigerator. The first word I wrote on the pad was Questioning.  Over the course of the next week or so as I pondered what my “default” settings were, I added Impulsive, Opinionated, Talkative, Stubborn and Bossy.  I think I stopped at this point because that list of qualities is pretty confrontational for me to consider.  I do have some softer qualities like Nurturing, Creative, Loving - but I think it is the strong ones that have done more to shape my life.

I decided to look at them one at a time so I started with the first one I remember and one that remains dominant in my life. I was one of those children who questioned everything and then when I got an answer I followed that with why.  I questioned everything and everyone and often challenged the answer with my opinion.  I was in first grade when the nun who taught religion called my mother because I would not accept the concept of unbaptized babies going to “limbo.”  I never accepted this teaching and still hold fast to my belief that a loving God would never do this to an innocent baby.  I guess it is no surprise that in the mid-sixties at one of those art/craft fairs with tie-dye draping and sawdust covered pathways I bought an enamel pin with the words “QUESTION AUTHORITY.”  This adds another dimension to my inquisitive nature but I’m not quite sure how to label it.  I wasn’t totally defiant but maybe more than passionate when I believed something to be true.  My mother never gave up urging me to be more diplomatic in my presentation but she never undercut my desire to seek and speak the truth as I saw it.

       When I think back on my school days I see how Questioning and Opinionated go together for me.  I was and am always questioning and assessing what I think of things.  In this regard, I am very much reminded of a young “me” by my grandson Owen.  For as long as he’s been verbal he has been interested in everything and has an opinion on everything.  And I mean everything!  He will offer his unsolicited observations even when you don’t know he is listening to an exchange.  The subject doesn’t matter.  The discussion can be about clothing choices, paint colors, plant selections, hairstyles – Owen has a suggestion.  I see myself in him, and I want family and friends to understand that I am usually trying to keep that opinion to myself.  Obviously, I’m not always successful!

                                  

ARTICULATE OWEN WITH HIS BIG SISTER QUINN

       I had only gotten to Questioning and Opinionated when my husband and I started watching a documentary series on Netflix called “The Keepers.”  I was hooked from the very beginning because these women were the product of a Catholic girl's high school.  This was not some fancy ivy covered posh school, but a local working-class school much like mine.  Their memories and observations about a favorite nun, their lives as it related to her and their attempt to solve her murder many years’ later, included discussions about how they reacted to authority during their high school years.  I began to be a little less self-conscious of my strong personality and realized that the upside for me had been that I stood my ground for myself and others. 

                              

THE YEAR I PLAYED THE VIRGIN MARY IN THE CHRISTMAS CANTATA

       Although she is probably long dead, I had a nun, let’s call her Sister Mary (that name was in some configuration for all of them.)  Sister Mary was just plain cruel.  Mostly mean with words, she could also whip you out of line by the back of your uniform if you were chewing gum, talking or any number of transgressions.  Since I stood up to her I was often a target and I’m sure it was her worst nightmare when the speech and drama teacher cast me as the Virgin Mary in the Christmas Cantata.  On the day of the performance, I tried to get away with a little lip gloss and right before Joseph and I were to enter the back of the auditorium on our way to Bethlehem she yanked me by my hair from behind and into the girls bath room where she used that powdered soap to scrub my mouth.  Of course, I was a bit shaken as we crossed Egypt to get to the stable on the stage, but my lips were certainly red.  I managed to remember all my lines and was maybe even more emotive in the “my soul doth magnify my Lord” speech.

       In “The Keepers” I watched the abuse survivors and their classmates who had known nothing about the abuse and its link to a murdered nun, fight for justice many years after the crimes.  I am in awe of their strength and determination.  They are all warriors and continue to fight the authorities in their local church, police department and legal system.  Standing up to authority, going against the powers that be when you encounter abuse or injustice is not easy.  It took some of these women years to divulge what they had gone through but now they will not be stopped.  I have not heard rumor of any abuse at my school and I certainly saw nothing to indicate it was going on when I was there.  What I saw in “The Keepers” and have heard from experts is that predators target the most vulnerable.  I think my questioning and opinionated tendencies made me an unlikely target and I thank God for those qualities.   My challenge remains to follow my mother’s advice and try to be more diplomatic and less of a steamroller!    

                               

SOME OF MY SENIOR CLASSMATES

MY EDITED LIFE: EXPOSING SOME WEEDS

       
                             

Hope no one went back here!

                                              
        I hosted a party last Sunday afternoon for a large neighborhood gathering.  I know the neighbors near me, but I’ve never met many of the people from other streets, and they would be seeing my house for the first time.  It is a very large historical house set back from the street so I know it’s a curiosity.  We are in a state of pretty constant repair and maintenance, especially in the yard.  Several weeks ago when I agreed to host the gathering it seemed like it would be no problem to have everything in tip-top shape.

Well, meanwhile, life happened.


                                

     First, I found out that this event coincided with my husband’s long planned backpacking trip.  I had no problem with him being gone on the day of the event but I didn’t calculate how much I would miss his heavy lifting in the days leading up to it.  I kept the inside of the house as my priority and I was confident about how it looked.  As the weekend neared it was obvious that I would never get some things tidied up in the yard.  Oh, and did I mention that we had just had a fence and wall re-built in the front yard and it wasn’t quite finished being painted and cleaned up?

                         

                    

       At some point, I decided on a kind of triage approach and I tried to camouflage some of the messy stuff by “artfully” stacking things, kind of clusters of garden tools and equipment instead of scattered.  When my daughter came by the day before the event she was surprised when she saw that there were weeds and plants running amok on the paths that flank the terrace where the bar was set up.  She said, “Mom, I can’t believe that you haven’t cleaned up your paths when you’re having an event?  That’s so unlike you.”  In the end, I just had to avert my eyes and let it be what it was going to be.

                                               

       The event went well and our neighborhood has started developing disaster preparation groups for each street.   Some met neighbors for the first time and many were able to spend time with people they usually just see backing out of their driveways.   It was a beautiful afternoon so after the meeting and eating, folks wandered in the yard and many gathered at the animal pen, which I had not even spruced up.  It is on the “driveway” side of the house with the tool shed and vegetable garden – also not in top shape. 

       
                                                       

       
          I have been cleaning up at a somewhat leisurely pace and thinking about how I edit what I present.  When it’s a party it takes a lot of work to make my house and yard look its best.  When it is on social media it is often just a choice of the angle I use when taking a photo, or which photo I choose.  When I am in the photo I always try to pick one that doesn’t highlight my flaws.  It’s the same with my house and yard.  I choose the angle without the weeds.  I think this is part of human nature, but it is easy to get caught up thinking that everyone else’s life is just a round of well-dressed parties, families, vacations, successes and smiling people.  There is a 12-Step saying that goes something like, “Don't compare your inside to someone else’s outside.”  I think this has been amplified by the controlled and edited life we share online.

                                   

Before the squirrels wiped out the flowers

                                   

       I am still going to choose the photos where my eyes aren’t shut and angle the flowers to hide the weeds, but I’m very happy that I was able to share my garden without frantically trying to get everything perfect.  I’m just sharing the weeds for a change.  


                             

After squirrels finished partying!

        

A CELEBRATION OF LIFE - YOU CHOOSE HOW TO LIVE YOUR LIFE

                                   

Flowers for a friend

     Sometimes in my day in and day out life I forget to live the things I know to be true.  I know from experience, often uncomfortable or painful, that I can choose how I react to things that come my way.  A difficulty can be made into a nightmare instead of a challenge, if load up with self-pity, anger or resentment.  Everything, from the most trivial to the most important is filtered through my reaction. When I am paying attention to my reactions I get regular lessons in this truth.

       Last month we got a phone call telling us about the death of an old friend.  This was an old friend who was actually several years younger than me who I hadn’t seen in at least twenty years.  It would be accurate to say “former” friend since some things had transpired in our friendship that made it uncomfortable for my husband and me to keep her in our lives. We didn’t even know that she had moved to another state several years ago.  We did, however, stay friends with her ex-husband and as a co-parent, he had stayed on cordial terms with her, so he invited us to her “Celebration of Life.”  We were scheduled to go out of town the night before the service so we had a legitimate excuse for missing it.  Truth be told, it would have been an easy out for something we had mixed feelings about attending.  In the end, our relationship with her ex and our desire to support her children in their loss won out.

       Our friend had shared some of the details about her sudden illness and death and what he and their children had done in the last week of her life. There were issues with some of the family members about things she had done in the past, but all of them decided to fly to be with her as she navigated her diagnosis.  I took note of the choices they made as this unfolded. By being there they had time to gather around her as a family and reconcile differences and offer forgiveness. There was even shared laughter because if there was one undeniable thing about her, she had a wicked sense of humor.  She faced a very grim end of day’s scenario and they were working on a family plan to be there for her when she died suddenly.  There was no indication when she had called from the hospital that her death was imminent.  Had any of her children held on to judgment about choices their mother had made and decided not to go immediately, they would have missed their last opportunity for reconciliation.  Each made a choice to go, each made a choice to forgive and each made a choice to express their love for her as a mother, in spite of past disappointments.

                

                                 

       What a perfect example of how your reaction to something has transformative power in your life.  You can’t change the past, and much of what happens in your life is not in your control.  What you can control is your reaction, and that is a game changer!  Daily life is an easier, happier place if you’re not carrying around the baggage of anger and resentment.  This ranges from dealing with how people drive, to perceived slights or insults, to bitterness toward a sibling, parent or ex-partner.  This doesn’t mean I never get annoyed, frustrated or angry, but it is a gift in my life that I can shift gears, let go and move on.  I’m glad that I had not been bitter toward someone who had been a close friend but had made some bad choices that affected me.  I am able to remember her for the good times, the trips we took together and the adventures we had.  I will remember how the wild free spirit that she was, had a downside, but oh, the upside was so much fun!