Not-So-Casual Observations

When the words of others find resonance somewhere inside us - they tend to stick.

These words don't have to be accurate or true, they just have to find some kind of agreement with a belief we already hold, or be ones that we are willing to consider or accept.
For me, many of these little nuggets have come from teachers. They are usually short phrases - sometimes a challenge, sometimes a compliment, often a zinger.
Several of these were prescient - glimpses of what would ail me as my life went on. Others were lucid observations which, if heeded, could have saved me time and effort.

Math teacher, Mr. Jardim - "A bit too querulous."
This comment was written on my report card when I was fourteen, and sent me scurrying to the dictionary the moment I read it. "Given to complaining, peevish, grumbling". That stung because I didn't see myself as a grumbler. What I remember most about this though, is the satisfaction of finding the exact meaning of this word in the dictionary and composing a series of scathing rebuttals to his statement - none of which was delivered, of course.

English teacher, Mrs. Edinborough  - "You should write."
Mrs Edinborough has been one of the few people to 'get' me. Writing is what I have done most consistently throughout my life. It is one of the strongest threads of my self-identity.

Biochemistry teacher, Dr. Dyanand RajKumar - "Stop mumbling!"
Dr. RajKumar was my university biochemistry professor. I tend to speak quickly - and when I'm excited, I can speak a bit too quickly. It's something I've been mindful of for many years since his admonition.

I did my Bachelor of Science thesis under Dr. RajKumar - a study of the passion fruit, and the effect of stem angle on flowering and fruit production. I had my experiment set up at the field station and would make
lunchtime trips out there to check on my vines which I had trained on trellises at various angles from the vertical. The only thing I remember about this darned experiment was arriving at the station on a very hot day just in time to see a passion flower explode ( and I mean explode) open. It was worth all the trouble. I had a camera with me, and thus was born my love of botanical photography in general, and vines in particular.

Physics teacher, ( Ms. X ) - "Why aren't you going further with this?"
Physics was my pet subject. I got an almost perfect score on the finals but I did not take it further because at this point I already knew that I wanted to be a farmer. Though I took my advanced level studies in Chemistry, Geography and Biology, I have maintained a keen interest in the world of Physics.

Yoga Master Sky - "You don't trust yourself."
This statement made me very angry. I didn't understand what he meant, and I understood even less what it would take to address the problem.

Sister Mary Assumpta - "You're not putting yourself into it."
My aunt, Sr.Mary of the Assumption ( now deceased) was a Catholic Nun who used to be in charge of a small orphanage in Trinidad. The Home, as it was known, was home to twelve children from five families. The Home was funded partially by the government, but my aunt also lobbied local businesses and community members to donate food, clothing and supplies - especially at Christmas time. Her chief method of outreach was a letter writing campaign. And her chief letter writer was me.

My aunt wasn't the easiest person to get along with. Ordained people are not quite divine, it turns out. I remember the first year - the letter writing was not going very smoothly. I was sitting in her room at the foot of her bed, while she went over what she wanted to say. I was trying my best to capture it. The problem was, she didn't want me to capture what she was saying too accurately. She wanted me to transform it into something special. I wasn't in the mood, and she kept finding fault with my writing, finally exclaiming impatiently  "You're not putting yourself into it!"
I was infuriated at the time, but I now count this last take-down as one of the best pieces of advice I've ever received.  These words have come back to me at many moments sounding more and more like encouragement from inside than admonition from outside. They have become mine.

Pluck

We all think our lives are important. We live them like they are, like we are... and who can blame us? Every one is the only game in his own lonely town.

But when that game falls apart, when that game seems to be a losing proposition, when the fun has gone out of it - then what? What happens when everything we pile on - the trick hats and fake mustaches - can't change things, or make us feel masterful enough to whip them back into shape?

Then it's time for pluck. Pluck is bounce - the result of momentum gained by falling. Yes, by falling. Pluck presupposes nothing, except that we cannot fall forever, and that the bottom can propel us back up if we hit it right.

When pluck is engaged, self-importance vaporizes. The trick hats and fake mustaches are whipped off. We are falling after all, and everything that isn't nailed down goes flying.

But, even in the dismay and disarray of falling we must prepare for our moment of opportunity.
We will need to make contact, surrender to it, then allow ourselves to rebound from it - all in one go.
That means we don't flip out, flop out or cop out.

By the time other people see our pluck, it'll look like courage, and what's more - they'll be rooting for us.

Photo:  J. R. Eyerman

Managing Mayhem

One of Allstate's insurance commercials features the character Mayhem. Mayhem is an impish creature who wreaks Havoc, which happens somewhere on the fuzzy border of Malicious and Accidental. The premise of the ad is that Allstate can protect you, if not from Mayhem, at least from loss or deprivation resulting from its activity - wouldn't that be nice?

My husband does not believe in insurance and buys the minimum necessary to be legally compliant. I have always believed in insurance because loss has never been my strong suit. He rarely regrets, and moves on quickly.  Whereas I, ...you get the picture.

Tough stuff happens in life, much of it unpredictable, and irreversible. Death of course, is right up there, the example par excellence. But there are plenty of other instances where things go awry. Plenty.

I've heard Eckhart Tolle say that things are the way they are because they could not be otherwise. To really accept that, and be at peace with all of its ramifications --well I'm no Eckhart Tolle. When I try to imagine living in this way, I visualize walking through the rain with an umbrella up and an inscrutable Zen-like smile on my face. Maybe I could manage in a drizzle.

Photo: Chen Li (Winner, Travel open competition, Sony World Photo Awards 2014)

Getting the job done

Finishing things has never been our strong suit. I would say that unless things have a definite completion date beyond our control - such as an Ebay auction, a discount coupon or a pregnancy, we can find a way to drag them out. I say 'our' because I am not sure whether this is individual or group behavior.

A few years ago we decided that the retractable awning on the back patio needed to be changed.   
We started investigating the cost of a replacement, but then in 2010 (in the throes of sticker shock and the recession) rediscovered the virtues of the umbrella which came with the patio table. That was until the Bronx's first ever tornado touched down and lifted the umbrella into our neighbor's yard.

In September of 2010, we bought a pine cupboard from the Amish in Pennsylvania. This piece of furniture was intended to alleviate some of the clutter from our too-small kitchen which has spilled over into our dining room -which is itself functioning as a home office. After much debate we bought the item unfinished, since finishing it would cost an additional $180.00. It has been sitting in the home office ever since. There has been some progress - we bought some wood finish and a paintbrush.

 In November of 2011 we purchased two paintings in Trinidad. We took them off the wooden frames and rolled them into a tube for ease of transport. The tube is sitting somewhere in the house. These two items are in jeopardy of being forgotten forever. Why? Because we bought them on a whim on the last day of a short trip, rolled them into the tube and stood them up in a closet. They are out of sight, and except for me writing about them now -decidedly out of mind.

Perhaps the most hilarious procrastination of all was the case of my husband's eyeglasses.
He wears contact lenses and uses glasses when his eyes are irritated, or when his allergies flare up. One of the arms broke. No problem. He managed with one arm without complaint or comment.
Then the other arm broke...
Do you know those super long twist-ties that come with children's toys? The little plastic covered wire strips that connect the toy to the cardboard backing within the display box? My husband took two of those and created 'arms' for his glasses. The super long ends, he wound around ( and around, and around) his ears and pronounced it a fix, until he could get to the opticians for a replacement.The fix lasted about 2 years.

These little anecdotes are funny because they are about things which aren't very important. In truth - I don't like the low grade anxiety which accompanies procrastination related to important things, and perhaps that tells me that this not my preferred mode of operation. That is not to say that I don't delay doing important things, because I do.

Maybe our low-priority projects will languish indefinitely - our tolerance for inaction in those areas certainly seems boundless. Or, maybe I will find a way to rally the troops around these half-mast flags...if only they were.

No, this isn't flag raising with smooth resolute action toward glory at the top of the pole. It's more like skeet shooting: a hit or miss affair where brokenness is a sign of success, or at least, that you tried. Pull!

Winter Trees

Winter Trees

by William Carlos Williams

All the complicated details

of the attiring and

the disattiring are completed!

A liquid moon

moves gently among

the long branches.

Thus having prepared their buds

against a sure winter

the wise trees

stand sleeping in the cold.