And I mean every B-O-D-Y is different

And different in a far deeper manner than the obvious female/male way, too.   Stay with me.  My mind wanders here and there, and when something interests me, I follow, and my next step is to write about it.  Like today, I’m writing of breathing.  Yeah, in-haling and ex-haling.

Before you switch to some other place on the Web, take a moment to watch your breathing and you might notice that one nostril is more ‘open’ than the other.  In other words, one nostril is dominant, and long ago when I noticed this, I used lots of Vicks.

But I found that the nostrils weren’t clogged, for if you keep randomly checking, you’ll find that the other nostril is then the dominant one. That they switch.

Well, it’s a happening that was known to the ancient Yogis thousands of years ago, and while they knew nothing of right-brain, left-brain stuff, the idea is somewhat the same.  They weren’t so dumb even though they wore/wear odd clothing and live in caves and forests.

We breath equally with both nostrils only at certain times, and these times are always ones of danger, crisis,  great awareness, crucial moments of danger. Vital moments.

Birth time is one such time for both mother and child, and those primal screams come with both nostrils going at full steam. Of course if the mother is drugged into unconsciousness, who knows? I’m speaking of when we’re awake and aware.

And death, birth’s opposite, is the same. Both nostrils, and sometimes for a few days or hours before that vital last action and it was one of the ways the old Yogis knew of their coming Change and sent word out for their students and friends to gather.

Stay with me because the equal times get more interesting and not all with our Beginning and End.  Sexual climax comes with both nostrils equal, if you can remember to check.  If you see an accident coming, all your senses are suddenly alert and again, if you have time to check, you’re using both nostrils.  Equally.  We’re alert, awake, aware.  Both nostrils going at full steam.  Sudden, alarming noises, earthquakes, fires, you name the fright and you’ll find both nostril equally at work.

Such a simple (?) thing as turning over in the night causes the nostrils, wham, bang, to switch dominance and here the old Yogis weren’t sure, (like the chicken and the egg), which came first?  Do the nostrils switch and then we turn over, or do we turn over and then the nostrils switch. If you find out, you’re one smart person.

The Alternate Breathing techniques taught in various Meditation groups are exercises to help us become awake, and I don’t know how, but to become aware of our bodies (minds?) going from objective to subjective moods.  In some way we are subtly ‘different’ with these unasked-for changes.

If you’re easily amused, as I am, it’s fun to watch these breathing changes, because it can change within a few seconds, and then back again as your activities change back and forth. 

And then nothing to do with breathing, but there’s the simple action of crossing our arms over our chests.  Do it right now, and see which hand goes under the other arm and then try it make it the other way.  The one way is so natural we do not even think of it, and the other way is awkward and difficult.  Not natural or comfortable. 

Then try the universal action of ‘folding your hands’.  So simple, every school child is told to do so as the Teacher wants their undivided attention.  So as you do it, you find one way to do it is right and the other awkward and unnatural.  But if you note, people differ in how they do such an everyday thing. 

Also, when serious meditators use the Lotus Position with their feet placed over the thigh of the opposite leg, you’ll discover the same variance.  Train all you wish, but with one person, the right foot is on top and with others it’s the left. 

Every B-O-D-Y is different. And the old mediation mantra of ‘Watch Your Breathing’ has more meaning than we recognize, and is not just a way of keeping your attention to the moment.  Try these ‘oddities’: the changing of the dominant nostril, and, and also how you cross your arms and fold your hands.  There are many others, but there are also times I step back and do not try them out, but that’s my choice.

It’s a funny world, and I don’t mean a funny ha-ha, either, but funny peculiar.   Try these ‘foolish’ exercises  and see your own b-o-d-y from a different aspect.  And I’ll see you next week and be just ordinary Ethel. I think.

Life and People Are The Same

Here’s another welcome letter and pictures from my friend in Holland.  She points out that there is little difference in life and people wherever we live, and it’s good to be reminded.  The picture is of the house where she lived (with two other families) when she first married. It was built in 1597, long before the United States was even thought of, and Utah an unheard of wilderness.  There’s the difference between Utah and Holland. I changed a few of her phrases, but you’ll make out alright.

Dear Ethel,
 
First I must tell you that your articles are so real, I read them all, and try to translate it and send it to 9 school friends.   We are all 73 years and we find out that whether you live in Utah or in Holland, some things in life are the same.

Yes, some of your stories bring a little tear but also there are things that brings a big smile, the article about grey hair was one I laughed over.

See, I started out  really black but before I was 40 years I was completely grey, but, you must believe me, in one week I tried every color, brown, blond, red and on the end of that week Bert said, “Please, just stay grey and no other  colors only gray.  And, yes 6 of my schoolmates were gray very young and we like it all.

But they have also read your book “The Sunset of the Farmer” and they like it very much.  Your stories there, tell how we lived in that time, too.

Yes the very old town Vlaardingen (where she now lives) was split in two parts.  One part was all very small houses and there lived the Fishermen and their families, and the women would sell the fish in the City of Rotterdam. The mothers were alone, because the fathers were on the sea, and the children eat every day the same food:  fish. 

The other part of Vlaardingen was farmers.  They had big houses, but worked from half in the night till dark.  The women sell the milk, eggs, vegetables, and they make cheese.  Nobody was rich, but they lived in peace and when you was a child you walk more than a half hour to get to school. 

Yes,  some children had a fish odeur and the others you smelled of the cows, but that was all normal, and the only  difference between Utah and Holland was you had too much sun and we had too much water!

Then another thing you maybe already know is that two granddaughters of Maria (the link between us) are here for three weeks with our grandchildren in Ede.  Last Monday they were here and they where so impressed by the very old buildings here.

I’m sending  you a few photo’s, one photo from the harbour, and yes one where we are eating fish, and a photo for the first house where Bert and I lived from  1958 en 1959. It is the white house and we live there with two other families.  It was build in 1579, but we were so happy, we had a home and many youngsters don’t have that in that time. 

Yesterday they get to Paris for a week with our son and the children, and this morning I get a picture from breakfast on the terras of their appartment in Paris, I wish I was there!!!

Ethel keep writing and know that in Holland we read every thing of you, and yes… I am very proud that I can say that You are my soul sister! (Ethel says, “Me, too”)
 
Love, and please take care of yourself,
 
Bert and Corry

The Four (or seven) M’s

A few years ago I planned to write about the many Spiritual Belief Systems that have come and gone and made a list of the pathway taken by every religion that I knew of, no matter where, or when.

My list was:

• 1. The Man (Woman)  
• 2. The Message
• 3. The Movement
• 4. The Monument 

At the same time I was getting an eye examination by Dr. Bruce J. Parsons, at his Murray Vision Center.  Our conversation, as usual roved hither and yon, and with the Four Steps freshly on my mind, I casually brought them up.  Parsons listened, went on with his work, but within a moment laughed and told me I’d left out a quite vital “M”, namely Money, and the changes it brings with it.

It took little thought to realize how right he was, and in that moment, my Fourth Step became Money; and the gulf from the original pure, simple Message grew wider.

I had kept my list to Spiritual Systems only, but the good Doc noted that those same Steps ring true whether it’s a new Nation, Business, Politics,  Fraternal Club, Social group, or whatever.

The kind of group, he added, matters not, but the larger the group, the more money is involved; more money brings more rules and soon more rigid rules.

For some reason, I forgot my ideas of the Four M’s and they remained tucked away in my computer, but then, not too long ago, I was  watching TV where people were speaking of the coming Olympics and a former Gold Medalist was asked if the Games had changed much since he had participated almost a half-century before.

His answer, voice and entire demeanor changed so abruptly that I quickly was all attention.  “There’s no comparison,” he stated.  “Then the Games were a gathering of the world’s best athletes, competing, yes, but joyously reaching out to each other and we experienced that same bonding those ancient Greeks spoke about.  

“Today the Games are Big Business and all attempts to make them seem like the ancient Games is just a veneer for Advertising and Public Relations.  Pure hype and nothing else.

“It was ‘back then’ that Corporations realized what a money-making opportunity was right in front of them, and suddenly Big Business went to the Olympics hand-in-glove with the athletes and their equipment.

“Today, almost every competing Athlete is an ’employee’ under contract, has a manager, their careers planned and controlled by Experts.  No matter what their plans might once have  been, now their every move must be okayed by Management, and what Management says, is what they do.  Any deal with ‘buying and selling’ the athletes name, etc. goes through that office before the Athlete even hears about it.  

He continued, “A young man won a Gold Medal at the last Games, was overjoyed and told me that within a few short hours he had been offered many millions of dollars for his endorsement, and then as he waited for my congratulations, he grinned and laughingly asked how that compared to what I had earned.

“His eyes sparkled with Dollar Signs and it was evident his Gold Medal was great, but it had really been just the necessary stepping stone to reach those Dollars. Right then I knew that The Olympics were now “Olympics Incorporated.”

The MC then asked, “Do you think it will ever change back?”  The Veteran Gold Medal winner shrugged, “Nothing’s impossible, but it’s unlikely.  Oh, there’s constant complaining, but it’s hard to fight such huge amounts of money.”  He shook his head and went no further.

I shivered as they spoke because I knew I was hearing words that I had pondered over a few years back.  My thoughts had entirely about Belief Systems, not athletes, but I began considering, how, over and over again,  the misuse of Money’s Power has caused many beautiful Messages or Organizations, to become sterile Monuments.  Memories.

So, unearthing my original notes and with a more open mind and a few wise words  from Dr. Parsons, I made changes to my list, and now it is:

• 1. The Man (Woman)
• 2. The Message
• 3. The Movement
• 4. The Money and how it’s used
• 5. The Monument
• 6. The Museum Piece
• 7. The Memory

There have been many in the Spiritual realm who have rebelled, some more successfully than others, but to name a few, there are Martin Luther, Mary Baker Eddy, John Wesley, and Joseph Smith.

Not a one of these brave men/women had any reason to speak out until the original Message had been changed, sold, or otherwise twisted so far from its beginnings that a new voice was welcomed, and a surge to get back to the original Message began anew.  We should rejoice that Burning at the Stake had long been illegal.

People have left homes, families and countries to seek, and find again, that First Message, a purity that became lost when Money, used in a greedy manner, entered the arena.  Check it out for yourself.

It ‘s not easy, because money seems necessary for any organization, but unless kept under a tight leash, it can undermine and eventually destroy the very organization it was meant to sustain.

But Keep In Mind, It’s a Secret

At one time I was a member of a weekly Therapy Class, and on the first meeting we were given a copy of “Just For Today” (see below).  Its words were to be part of our ‘work’, and  beginning the next day we were to take Number One, and for that day, live what it asked us to do. The next day move to No. 2,  and go on day by day, until we reached the last one, and then go back and start over again.

The good doctor stressed however, the importance of not letting anyone know what we were doing. It had to be a secret, and not discussed at all, until we met the next week and then could talk back and forth all we wanted. 

It seemed so simple that I carelessly put it aside, but these years later, this is the part of those Classes that I remember most of all.  Yeah, they looked easy, but we found that doing them was ‘another story’. We also discovered that one could be easy for some, but difficult for others, and vise versa.  We all, as the weeks went by,  wondered at how those foolish rules could be so hard.

All this.  however, must be kept secret. Not a word spoken, not even if someone should comment on your ‘changed or unusual’ behavior. If you decide to try these ‘lessons’ for a day or two, remember you’ll be tempted to tell, but don’t.  Take one “Just for today” at a time, and when you get to the last one, start at the beginning again.

As you use them time after time they get more familiar; you find deeper meanings; the Rules begin to overlap and you discover that as you are ‘doing’, say, No. 6, that No. 2 is right there, with it.

1. Just for today I will be happy.  Abraham Lincoln said, “Most folks are just as happy as they make up their minds to be.”  For this one day, I make up my mind to be happy.

2. Just for today I will not try to tackle all of my problems, but only those relevant to this one day. I will not worry about what I must do next week, or next month or next year. Or even to-morrow.  I can do something for twelve hours that would appall me if I had to keep it up forever.

3. Just for today I will say ‘Thank You’ to three people who don’t expect it.  This could be a salesperson who smiles and calls you by name; a note to a long ago school teacher who helped you so much when you needed it; a smile and thanks to the cab driver. You’ll please and surprise people who don’t expect it. 

4. Just for today I will try to strengthen my mind.  I will study something new; or ask someone to talk about an intricate hobby of theirs; or read something that needs effort and concentration.

5. Just for today I will exercise my soul in three ways.  I will do someone a good turn and not get found out.  If anyone knows of it, it won’t count. And I will do at least two things, at home or office that I usually dodge and leave for someone else to do. 

6. Just for today I will be agreeable.  I will look as well as I can, dress neatly, shave or put on make-up, (depending on gender), talk courteously, find fault with nothing, and try not to regulate or change anybody.  Except myself.

7. Just for today I will have a schedule.  I may not follow it exactly, but I will  have it.  And by doing so, I will save myself from all sense of hurry or of any indecision of ‘what to do’.  

8. Just for today I will have a quiet half hour all to myself.  During that half hour, perhaps in prayer or meditation,  I will relax and try to get a better perspective on what and where my life is going.

9. Just for today I will be unafraid, especially not be afraid to enjoy what is beautiful and good, and today I will believe that as I give to the world, so the world will give back to me.

Be surprised to see what comfort those three words can bring into your life.  No one can take pain, trouble, worry, sadness, or confusion for a life time, But, just for one day?  Yeah, that’s a different story.

Might be worth a trial and the wonderful part of the whole thing is, that as it has to be a secret, no one will know that ‘just for a day’ you are trying something different.  No one, that is, but you.

Ok, ok, that’s what I say . . .

I’m a ‘hermit’, I told myself as I locked my doors, doffed my shoes, loosened my belt, turned off all phones, put my pets outside, and sank to my meditation cushion, happy in my isolation from all busy-ness of the outside world.

My every muscle relaxed.  My cushion fit the contour of my body, and I settled in for a long meditation. The day was mine and I was thankful for such bounty.

But as I reached for the Silence, a sliver of a thought entered my mind, reminding me of all the labor needed to give me ‘my’ cushion.  The hundreds who planted and cared for the cotton fields, harvested the bolls, by hand or machine, worked in mills to make the cloth and then those needed to design and make the cushion.  That still left those who worked to package and ship the cushions to stores to be sold, marketed, and finally there for me to buy.

The profusion of ideas from that one thought held me in an unyieldingly grip, and my mind continued to open and I saw that, ‘hermit’ or not, every morsel of food I eat is also the work of many hands, from tilling, planting, watering, weeding, harvesting and then to the market.  Others, certainly not a ‘hermit’ even such as I call myself, took that produce, whether grain, livestock, eggs, juice, or coffee, to process it into edible forms so that I could have my daily bread and my solitude.

I am a ‘Hermit’? I asked myself, and knew my meditation was shattered.  Though my body is isolated, I saw that the infrastructure needed to permit my eremitic life, requires many people to maintain. The Ravens which fed the Biblical hermits of centuries ago come nowhere near my door today.

I pondered over the multitude of people needed to simply activate the electrical On/Off switches throughout my home, and in my isolation, how carelessly I had accepted them. I thoughtlessly use my car with no thought of the long odyssey behind the gas and oil, as well as the roads, freeways and sidewalks I use.

My thoughts sped on and I saw how water ‘automatically’ comes to my kitchen, bath and garden with nary a thought of ‘how’, and was reminded of the many unseen hands that make it so, and also those who pick up my garbage or manage the wonderful underground systems of drainage and sewers.

Armies of non-hermits, toil in many horrible, mean, strict, and sometimes illegal places, for long hours, and low pay, to give me the freedom to choose my solitude.  What horrible price is often needed to sustain my ‘hermit’ life style, and I was suddenly confronted with the terrifying thought of, “What have I ever done to deserve such bounty?”

In a world entirely held together by Reciprocal Maintenance, I was faced with the sobering question of, “What am I doing to balance the toil and labor of others which I, so thoughtlessly, have used for support?”  And was startled to be aware of how my wayward mind had ‘taken over’ my meditation.

For even as I quelled in my shame, that sliver of thought opened again, and I knew that it wasn’t my wayward mind, but that some Hidden Power had tapped me on my shoulder to show me that no matter that we all walk different pathways, that God can be served in any pathway given us.

And, almost with a chiding smile, I was shown that the Meditation was not mine.  Mentally I have said “My meditation.  My life of solitude.  My home. My cushion.  My thoughts. My time.”  Everything said or thought, was mine, mine, mine, mine.  The smile gently showed me it was God’s meditation.  God’s life.  God’s time.  God’s cushion.  God’s relaxation.  And whether God’s time is spent in the ‘counting house’, a monastery Cell, prison cell, or loved home, matters naught, for, even as we strive to serve Him, it always was and always will be, Service to God. 

I was shown there is no difference, and then, as I sat on God’s cushion, God’s peace, and God’s meditation in God’s time, was given me, and  I knew that workers, on every or any pathway, relaxed and were blessed.  There is no difference, and I Thank God for showing me that nothing is mine.  It’s All God’s, and so am I.

“Fun” with water balloons . . .

Sometimes you wonder how your kids manage to survive to become adults.  And, at the same time, how do Mothers?

It was a nice summer day, and I was peacefully hanging my laundry on the clothes line.  John was off someplace with his own adventures, and my son Bill and his friend Steve were hanging around my back yard, not old enough to be off on their own.  I thought I was keeping track of them. 

They had some balloons and were filling them with water to see how big they could get before exploding.  Such a calm summer day.  Yeah.

All of a sudden I heard the squeal of brakes out on the Street and almost at the same time, those two kids came running around the east side of my home, passed me as if I weren’t there, disappeared over the hill and then west toward Eskelsons before I could even ask what happened? 

Obviously they hadn’t been hit by a car for their short little fat legs were going as fast as they could and it almost seemed funny as I recall, for those little legs could only go 12 or so inches at the most.  They couldn’t have been more than 6 or 7 years old.

I didn’t have time to even wonder what was going on, when a man followed right behind them and, Lordy, was he ever mad. I realized later than he had also been scared stiff, and could hardly wait to get his hands on those two kids.  But they were gone.  He’d have really given them a good beating if he had caught them, whether I was there or not there. 

“Where are those blank, blank kids????  Where are they????  Blank, blank %$#**&@ three foot long squash hit my windshield *)%%$#&!”   I was trying to find out what had happened, but with all the yelling, kids running and brakes screeching, Jake, my brother-in-law who lived next door up at Gram’s, heard it all and hurried down to see what was going on.

His calmness, (Jake was good that way) helped to calm the man down and Jake found out that the kids had thrown water-filled balloons at his car and one big one had hit and exploded on his windshield.  To tell the truth I can’t blame him for being scared, for at first he didn’t know what had hit him, and secondly, what could have happened as he had been blinded by the impact.  And then when he found out it had been just water, it made him angrier.  Really mad.  I couldn’t blame him either.

The kids were far from home by then, or at least hidden in some chicken coop or such.  There was no finding them, but Jake spoke calmly and made sure that the man and his car were un-damaged, gave him a chance to ‘blow off steam’, and then still calmly assured him that the kids would be punished, etc. etc.

Finally the man left, but Jake had taken his name, given him his, etc.  Lots of such stuff to give the man a chance to calm down and let him know some one was not only hearing him, but was going to take care of it all.  He left, but he was one mad man.  Going right to the police, he said.  Maybe he did, but we heard nothing more right then.

It was a couple of hours before Bill dared sneak home and Steve to his. They were two scared kids.  Jake talked to them and told them how dangerous it had been, and once Jake knew no one had been hurt, he wanted to laugh, too.  But he didn’t.

All’s well that ends well, and that day it did, but I still can see Bill’s short, kid legs churning away and over the hill faster than he ever had or ever did again.

And now, fifty plus  years later while writing these words, I asked Bill if he remembered that day, and he responded:  “I sure do remember.  I ran like hell over the hill and I hid out in Eskelson’s Mink Farm building.  Thank heavens Jake (his uncle, Fenton Crozier Bradford) was there to save the day, and cool everything off.  And later on, ‘Shine’ DeLand, the Murray Police Chief, came and chewed us out royally to let us see how dangerous it could have been if the man had lost control of his car and hit something else or another car.  Yeah, I remember it well.”

Mothers earn their gray hair, one kid at a time.

Ages old, but new as your next breath

Every one of us, know it or not, meditates, and the name we call it by matters not.  Dr. Arya was my Teacher and it proved to be so helpful at a certain time of stress, fear, and anxiety in my life, that I stayed with it and at times suggest it to others.  And they ask, “How do you do it?”

Now, there are thousands of ways, from one end of the world to the other,  and all of them, as far as I know, are  good, but here’s one method I’ve taught beginners, and have found that years later when they’re no longer beginners they still use it.

It starts with something we all do, every day. Each evening we arrive home and in do doing, we step from our job, school, recreation, or daily home chores, and in doing so, we close the door that stands between our outer world and our private, personal world.  We relax and feel the difference as we walk through our door, and it is good.

Our family shares the evening meal, then we putter in the garden, cut the lawn, whatever, but sooner or later it becomes dark and  we go inside, lock the outside doors, draw the blinds, and without any awareness, we’ve taken another step of ‘shutting out the world’ and our life becomes more personal, warm, and private.

As the evening passes, we tinker with our hobbies, raid the  frig, read, watch TV, listen to music, and it’s good, but again, we stretch, yawn and know it’s time for bed.  We casually turn Off the lights, glance around the living rooms and kitchen, to make sure that all appliances, and gadgets have been ‘put to rest’ and retire to the private rooms of our home. Without thinking our world has become smaller, more personal, and again, it is good.

There are hundreds of routines and habits people follow in this time slot.  Undressing, donning night togs, maybe bathing, or maybe that’s a morning rite, but we brush our teeth and a dozen or more moves with our bodies but eventually the bathroom lights are also Off and we are in our bedroom.  Our life, our entire ‘world’ is now enclosed by one room.

When in bed, maybe we read a page or two of a favorite book, turn to our partner for our own private moments, say words of prayer, but, again, eventually turn Off all lights, music or TV.  Fleetingly we might think of what our day has been and just as fleetingly of what our morrow will be, but this too passes, and our ‘world’ is still smaller.

And, if we pay attention, at this point, we see that all we’re really aware of is our Mind. It’s familiar territory, and our entire ‘world’ has now been reduced (enlarged?) to just You and Your Mind. We do it every night.    All else forgotten.

This is the moment, when wonderful thoughts, and oft times fleeting glimpses of faces or people come to us, and we’re filled with quiet peace. Be aware and hold that moment.  Don’t grab or it will be lost, but relax and experience that time of Oneness with true Wisdom, and give thanks.  Hold that fine line as long as you can, but eventually we drop into Sleep and . . . .  it’s morning.

And when we waken our Mind sometimes scrambles to catch that wonderful insight that was ours such a short time ago (certainly not hours ago) and sometimes it’s there for us to recall, and sometimes it’s gone. But either way, we Know that we Experienced or ‘heard’ something that was wonderfully right for us, our family and our life.

It’s so amazing that we hope to find that same place the next night, and soon it becomes a favorite place. A Meeting Place between our Teacher and Our own Self.

This routine can be done at any time or place of the day.  As the Bible says, ‘Just go to your room and close the door’.  Turn off the phone, put your pets outside, sit or lie down and close your eyes.  Then, in your mind, go through each of the above steps.  ‘See’ yourself shutting the doors, turning Off all connections to the ‘outside world’, erase all ‘outer’ thoughts from your Mind and let it be open for whatever You need.  Your Mind knows.

Meditation is ages old and is not secret. It’s just a process of shedding our outer world like layers of an onion,  until only the Mind, that inner Core remains . . . and lures us back again and again to experience  that most  Silent, Secret, Sacred,  place of YOU.  It’s called Meditation.

Love,  unlike flowers,  never dies

I must be a maverick for last weekend as I passed by a couple  cemeteries and saw  crowds going and coming with arms full of flowers, and graves covered with them,  I kept saying to myself, “Why?  Why?  Why?  Haven’t  they read their Bible?”

It isn’t because I didn’t and still do love those whose bodies are buried there, either, for few days go by without me thinking of them in some way.  Often my husband, for as I long have actually been able to see him sitting at the table, or reading in ‘his’ chair,  I now see him in his descendents, and dear Gram, because I use so many of her ‘things’.  Others less often, and oddly, though Uncle Vester was not  physically long with me, his influence and thoughts, deep,  good, and strong,  have remained.

Nope, it’s not lack of love, but after fighting traffic for several years, carrying wilting flowers, vases, etc. etc. etc. and in and out of different cemeteries, I began to think.  And when I think . . . I act upon my words, and I usually write about it, too.

If I believe what the Good Book, our Bible, as well as all other spiritual teachings I’ve delved into,  say, I must believe the words told to those who sought the body of Jesus, “Why look here?  He is not here.”

Our loved ones are not under the smooth green sod.  I just happen to believe there is a part of me that has nothing at all to do with the skin, bones and flesh I walk around in.  Those just happen to be the covering . . . the outer coat. .. which the Real Me uses.  And so, when we die, then the Real part of all of us is not buried. That Real part goes on into what James Barrie, of Peter Pan fame, called “The Great Experience.”

So, why, I asked myself, do I take flowers to where they are not?  Well, I finally decided it was probably to satisfy some need within me, or maybe , and this I settled upon, is just  because everyone else does.   And most of us hate to be too different.

My loved ones are not there.  Oh, I ‘m not wise enough to know where they are, although I know they’re often near by me. (But that’s another story)  I just happen to believe they’re not in those deep graves that I stood beside and watched bewilderedly as they were gently lowered.

My loved ones are not in some cemetery to receive flowers, and I’ve come to believe that, like Valentine’s day, Mother’s day, Christmas, et al, are just big    Sales pitches.

Our loved ones receive bouquets daily from my thoughts, for that is how I remember them.  Gram, who was a Mother to me, is a most happy remembering.  I have scattered her dishes and furniture among the family and it gives me joy to see them  used, and know the pleasure that would be hers to see family that she never lived to see, using them.

That, to me is worth dozens of roses left to wilt out on some slab of stone   that happens to bear her name.

And I remember AW.  Oh yes, I remember him, though he died far too young, and so has been so long gone.    We had our sad times, I know, I know.  But I also know that he loved me and that my sons came from him and that he loved them, too.  And my first thoughts when Grandchildren arrived and matured  and Great grandchildren came into the family, were how much he would have loved to experience all this with me.

No, my loved ones are not buried.  They are free.  Free in some marvelous way I can not yet realize, and so on Memorial Day weekends I make a point of doing something that I know all those people would have loved being a part of, and that they would rejoice with me, knowing that my life, too, goes on happily and that family genes are strong.

Now this may not be your way, but it’s mine.  And to me, the thoughts of remembrance that we send through the days of our lives are the real bouquets.  ‘Flowers’  that can not fade in the sun and or wilt no matter how many years have passed since I physically held them in my arms.  See? Love,  unlike flowers,  never dies.

And there was Sappho,  who lived on the Isle of Lesbo

Today, we’re daily bombarded with articles about same-sex marriage and other ‘different’ relationships.  So many, in fact, and coming from all directions, we might think homosexuality to be a fairly new phenomenon and probably the result of our free way of life with drugs, alcohol and such.  But how wrong such thinking is.

The Bible has many tales and references of male-male and female-female love, and the most famous one, perhaps, is that of the love between David and Jonathan, and in 2nd Samuel, 1:26, at Jonathan’s funeral, David publicly declares that he and Jonathan loved in a manner greater than from women.
 
There are many other Biblical notations on this facet of life, with Ruth and Naomi also well known, but more close to home, I tell of my own experiences with those of that large group.

The day Armstrong walked upon the moon, there was a young 9 or 10 year old lad in my home watching the TV with me, and I surmised (and later knew I was right) that he was Gay.  Years later, and then an adult, he sadly told me that as a child, he knew he was different, but couldn’t figure out what made him different, for he was sensitive enough to know he didn’t fit in with his brothers and their pals, or with his sister and her group.

He said, “Ethel, I cried so often at night because I was so alone, so isolated, that it was a tremendous relief, and to tell the truth, and also a welcome surprise to find that there were others exactly like me.  That I was not alone.” 

Gay and Lesbian people are all around us, if we just have the openness to see and accept.

Later on in my own life, there was a young man who had a Hair Salon and as he worked to make my hair all one color, he said, “I knew I was different, long before I knew what made me different.”  Which echoed almost the same words I had heard years before from that child in my kitchen. 

“My parents”, he continued, “were of no help at all when I cried and asked them “why?” but later,  when as an adult, I faced and questioned them, they both admitted they knew of my struggle. I suppose they hoped it would all go away.  How foolish they were, just like hoping the color of my eyes would change.

“It would have been a ‘life saver’ to me, and such a help if someone, anyone, would have told me what my ‘difference’ was, while I was still a youngster.  It would have saved me from many neurosis and deep personality problems to be coped with after they were so deeply and well ingrained with me.  How wonderful if help and understanding could be carefully given at the very beginning.

“See”, he reiterated, “we do not become homosexual, but are born as such, exactly the same as any child who is born with any other ‘difference’.  We need help in order to know and cope with the difference and the sooner the better for all concerned.

 “It was such an eye opener, surprise and consolation, to find I was not the only one, but was bitter for many a year, and although my parents loved me, there was no true understanding.  I forgive, but it’s such a common, almost routine relationship with parents and child, whether gay or lesbian, that most of us leave and escape from our childhood environment as soon as possible, to search and find understanding and solace with others who are also considered ‘different’. It was there that I received my first true education as to what kind of person I was and am.  Far too late for me to smoothly find a way to adapt and have a fulfilling life.”

But going back even further than the Bible was Sappho, an ancient poet who lived on the Isle of Lesbo, and wrote of love with both sexes and Lesbo, of course, became the root of the word Lesbian.

I also know of a two wonderful men who became very well known in both the academic and artistic life of western America.  They have most quietly been partners for decades and their fellow academics could not help but know, but  chose to silently ignore any ‘difference’ and center only upon their great intelligence and achievements.  The work and artistry created by this pair has been consistently quoted, referred to and exhibited in many ways and places. 

It’s wonderful proof that our world is not all of judging and crippling people.  There is much love and acceptance around us, once we dare ‘take off our blinders’ and bravely, and with open minds, look over the walls. 

Anyone who is seriously interested in the Biblical history of this phase of sexuality can turn to Google where the many references could take you days to explore, and many go far back before Biblical records. I make no claim on being an expert on this subject, except what has come into my life, but, I am on ‘first name’ basis with Google, and use it, just as most of us also do.

Read and heed . . .

Ever so often a woman rearranges the furniture. She can go six month or six years, perfectly satisfied, but all of a sudden the family finds it is pushing furniture around the rooms, and before the mood has passed the entire house is switched around and, depending on her mood, there isn’t one stick of furniture in the same place it was a few hours before.

It can be dangerous. Once there was a couple in my neighborhood, and as they’ve now moved out of the State, it’s safe to tell.  It was supposed to be a secret,  but his wife thought it so funny she told one person, and soon, it was such a good story, everyone  knew what happened, and the tale probably got better with each telling.

But the man came home quite late after a ‘business’ meeting and decided it’d be best to be quiet and not waken his wife. Probably a bit of libation at that ‘meeting’, but just the same, after a quick raid of the refrigerator, he  turned off all lights, doffed and hung his clothes on a hook in the bathroom, softly entered his bedroom and made a quick dive for his side of the bed.

And then all helly broke loose.  For some reason his head smacked into a chest of drawers and, in the ensuing melee, he thrashed his arms and legs into  tables, chairs and lamps which seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

Quite naturally, it scared his wife who jumped up screaming, switched on the lights and what do you know?  It was no robber, but her husband lying down on the floor trying to figure out whether he had the wrong house or if some of those drinks had been laced with dynamite.

It was neither one, it was just that his wife had changed the furniture.  His aim had been perfect for where the bed had been, but was miles off from where it was. Just draw the curtains on the next scene, but by all reports,  his wife won the match.

The desire to move furniture comes at strange moments and hit me about 2:00 a.m. one night.  The full moon shown like midday and I knew I was awake, with not a chance of dropping off to sleep.

So, as I glanced around the room I suddenly saw there was a different way to arrange the furniture, and it seemed so great, and being awake, I asked myself, Why not? and in a trice I was up and at it.

I closed the blinds, for after all, I was in my night shirt, and soon I was pushing and pulling away at chests of drawers, dressing table, lamps, chair and bed. 

Believe it or not, I did it, and it was such a good arrangement that I kept it that way for a long time.  But, anyway, by the time I finished, I was not only awake, but hungry.  So, I took off to the kitchen, prepared a meal, heard the  morning paper hit the porch, and so I took both breakfast and the paper back to bed with me. I looked around, admired my work, and then ate, sipped my coffee, and read the news.  But by then I was sleepy so I turned off the lights, tossed tray and papers to the floor and went to sleep.  I’d earned it.

Yeah, women . . .  all women . . . at some time want, no simply MUST  move the furniture, and any husband or handy male is just lucky if they don’t get caught up in the whole thing. But just the same, it’s best to let the family know what you’ve been up to.  The wrong timing can be pure ‘murder’, and the man who ‘accidentally’ hit his own bedroom, but at the wrong time,  was never allowed to forget the escapade, either.  In that respect he was glad when they moved to California.