Get Over Yourself

Everything that happens to you

Isn’t always all about you.

You may weep or scream or stamp in anger—

But don’t expect the world to take on your self-aggrandizing cause.

Get over yourself.

Sometimes it is YOU that is wrong,

Not the world around you.

Often you are making a huge deal over nothing of importance,

Expecting everyone around you to pick up your flag and march to your drummer—

Get over yourself.

Did you ever think it might be YOU that is the problem?

Did you ever think that you, yes, even YOU, might possibly be wrong?

The world will spin along just fine whether you like it or not—

Because you are simply another grain of sand on the beach.

Get over yourself.

Climb off your high horse and admit you might be out of line.

Get down here with the rest of us imperfect people

And rest your head on our shoulders.

You’re just having a bad moment or day or week or year, but still—

Get over yourself!

(Dear much-appreciated readers: this is directed solely at myself about getting over a major hissy fit. I did actually get over myself.)

We Are Bashert

I recently read this; “‘bashert’ is Yiddish for ‘meant to be together.'” Doesn’t that just say it all? When you are with someone you love and care for, whether it is for 10 years or 60 years, you get that ‘meant to be’ rightness of it all. And when that other person leaves your life through death, the feeling of bashert is still strong. The connection is still there.

Bashert’ resonated with me. It gave a name to what I have been feeling since my mother died on December 16 last year. Although I miss the sound of her voice and the sight of her smile, I know with my whole soul that she is still with me. She is free from the pain of the cancer that claimed her, free from worry, free from fear; she is free in all ways. In that freedom she can check in on my dad and me, and all those whom she loved.

The feeling of ‘meant to be together’ transcends death. Of course, there is grief. It’s not that you ever get over grief, you just learn how to live with it. It’s a lot like losing an arm or a leg; you are not the same any longer, but you can still survive well. The fact that we and those who have gone on are now in different planes of existence does not mean that we cannot still feel that never-ending love.

Just that simple word, ‘bashert,’ has already brought me peace and comfort. Going on the supposition that we choose our parents before we are born; we choose those who will help us evolve into the people we want/need to be. My mother used to tell me about her own growing up. She was the last of five children; a “surprise” her mother was not happy about. Her mother adored her sons, but wasn’t at all happy about having this one last girl.

But, as Mom said, although her childhood was hard and sometimes unhappy, she declared that it made her the strong person she became. She felt she had chosen people who would make sure that she would be strong and independent, and boy–was she!

There are deep mysteries we are not given to know while on earth, but my own belief is that we are in “school” during our time on earth. Here is where we learn how to use the gifts and talents we were given. Here is where we meet those who will be significant in our lives. Here is where we learn who we are and why we are here. Here is where we learn ‘bashert.’

I have referenced this before, but it bears repeating again:

“*Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar:

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come.”

*From William Wordsworth’s “Ode — Intimations of Immortality for Recollections of Early Childhood”

Raising Good Radishes and Adults

When you have a garden, you know that you can’t plant a row of radish seeds one day, then harvest full-grown radishes the next day. It takes time, sun, water, fertilizer and weeding to coax them into their delicious crunchy fullness.

Now, kids are not radishes, but similar rules apply. Put them in the right circumstances, with all the help they need to become healthy and responsible adults, and they are on their way to being self-sufficient and productive members of society. As wonderful and amazing as they are as babies, toddlers, school-age kids, teens and young adults, the end-game is to grow adults.

Back in the dinosaurish ’50s when I came along, these are some of the many things my parents taught me:

  • how to make a bed
  • how to keep myself clean
  • how to care for my teeth
  • how to care for my hair
  • how to fold and/or hang up my clothes
  • how to wash and dry dishes
  • how to wash woolens so that they did not shrink or stretch
  • how to cook
  • how to bake
  • how to change a tire
  • how to use a jacknife without cutting myself
  • how to set a campfire and how to put it out
  • how to vacuum
  • how to keep my skin clean and moisturized
  • how to apply makeup without overdoing it
  • how to clean up my room
  • how to ride a bike
  • how to pick up after myself
  • how to be a working part of the family
  • how to stay out of trouble

That last one was the hardest for me. It seemed to me at the time that I was in trouble at least once every week. Our family had rules of behavior, with consequences for going over the line. One of the big rules was that I was never to leave the house without letting my mom or dad know where I was going and when I’d be back. One summer evening as my mom was running a bath for me, I decided to slip out of the house. I had a vague idea I would pay for this later on, but the freedom of walking around the neighborhood alone was just too intoxicating to pass up.

My dad came looking for me, found me, took me firmly by the hand, and walked me home. On the way he asked me if I had remembered the house rule; I did, but flouted it anyway. He asked me if I knew how worried he and Mom were when they found me missing; I hadn’t thought of their feelings at all. Filled with remorse, I realized the enormity of what I had done.

I don’t even remember the punishment for my brief walk that evening, but I do remember the comfort of boundaries. I knew, as I always did, that my parents loved and cared for me, and that I had terrified them that evening. Of course, there were many times when I flounced into my room, angry about not being able to do this or that….even then there was a small and grateful relief in knowing that I was loved and cared for; at those times I even understood why there were rules in the first place.

I have never been a parent; isn’t it something how people who have never raised a child have all these ideas on how to do it? All I know is that my parents strove to be teachers and mentors to me, not necessarily my best friends. (That came later on.) Being raised the way I was, I have a deep and abiding admiration of how my parents made sure that I was able to live on my own and be responsible for all aspects of my life.

I am very glad to have grown up to be a pretty good radish.


What’s Up With This?!

It appears that the Crankee Yankee and I have upset someone’s applecart here in our little town. Having never been in trouble with the law in my life, I am a bit shocked by what is happening to us now. Here’s the story.

We live on a small, somewhat narrow street (24′ wide; often a squeeze to have two cars pass each other) with no sidewalks. We live near the curve of the street, and, despite a “25 MPH” sign on the street, people zoom right through, and often do not stop at the stop sign. Our seniors, school kids, bike riders, walkers and skateboarders are more than a little nervous about being on our street because of this. We have two indoor/outdoor cats who like to cross the street to the green space on the other side of the road, and we have had some near misses with them. So we usually have to be outside to watch out for them.

We have lived on this street since 2007, and the Crankee Yankee’s family has lived at this address since 1960. We have been renovating and repairing the house since 2007. The Crankee Yankee is a retired carpenter, concrete construction superintendent and former building inspector for the town of Londonderry. He does all the work on our house himself, and, as we are on a fixed income, we pay cash upfront. We wish that we had the resources do everything at once, but we are doing the best we can with what we have.

We have been parking his truck and my SUV on the street so that the Crankee Yankee can use the driveway as his work area. We are trying to sell our older Toyota T-100, and have it parked on one side of the driveway. Having our two vehicles parked on the street by our house has actually helped in slowing traffic down. Soon after this, we had two separate police visits about this (no doubt responding to a complaint), and both smiled and said, “I see that you are trying to slow traffic down.”

The Crankee Yankee said that yes, besides giving him room to work in the driveway it did indeed slow things down. The officers had told him to ‘keep up the good work.’

Soon after that, it became an issue with a capital I; it seems that someone with some pull in the town has complained and we were then told to get the vehicles off the street. We explained the situation to the police chief, and he appeared to understand. We agreed that, after the Crankee Yankee’s work was done for the day, we would park one of the vehicles beside the T-100, leaving the smaller car on the street, parked close to the curb.

That seemed to work for a while. Then evidently the police received more complaints, and we received more visits.  The latest one ended with the news that the town is going to put up a “No Parking” sign right in front of our house. We can park a vehicle behind the sign, but since we will have to park one car beside the T-100, it means that the Crankee Yankee will not be able to work in the driveway. Since our garage is under construction, all his equipment he uses each day; table saw, tools, wheel barrows, concrete blocks, bags of cement, rakes, ladders, etc. take up a good part of the driveway.

Our eight raised bed gardens in front of our house means that he can’t work there, so he will have to work on the side of the street by the No Parking sign, and hope that he doesn’t get sideswiped by a passing car. We have also been told that we must now remove everything from our driveway (except cars of course), and get rid of the T-100 we have been trying to sell.

At this point I have feel we have some kind of target on our backs. We keep on asking why this has suddenly become a problem and why can’t we know who we are upsetting? We are getting no answers, and I wonder if the next step will be villagers with torches trying to run us out of town, a la old Frankenstein movies.

We have addressed the speeding and traffic volume concerns at a recent Board of Selectmen meeting, with the result that they will meet again next month. I have written a letter to the editor of our local newspaper to explain our situation; it will be published this week. I have no idea if it will do any good, but I am hopeful.

I fail to understand why, as decent people, good citizens and helpful neighbors, we seem to be singled out. As far as we know, we are not breaking any laws or violating any town ordinances. Neither I or the Crankee Yankee have ever been in trouble with the law, destroyed any property, hurt anyone, passed a bad check, stolen anything, sold drugs to children, or supported ISIS. I wonder most of all why we are not allowed to know who is applying pressure on the powers that be. We can’t seem to get a clear answer.

I’m sorry that this isn’t my usual type of post; no funny stuff, thought-provoking comments, poetry or haiku, or upbeat ‘ain’t life grand’ post, but this situation is weighing heavily on my mind and I have temporarily lost my ability to “rise above.”

If this can happen to people like us, what’s next?



Being Happy With What You Have

Do you ever wonder what you would do if you suddenly came into an insane amount of money? If so, do you ever dream of what you would do with it all? During many of our porch-sitting sessions, the Crankee Yankee and I have talked over our drinks about this very subject. We always seem to go first to family, friends and neighbors; what we could do to help them with whatever it is they might need. Then we talk about anonymous endowments and gifts we would love to set up and how much fun that would be. No one would ever know, and we would be cackling about it forever.

If you are around my age (or ‘vintage’ as I like to call it), you will remember a show called “The Millionaire.” The premise of the series was that a millionaire anonymously and randomly would gift total strangers with a million dollar check. It starred Marvin Miller, who played the handsome stranger, Michael Anthony, who showed up at the door and handed the person their check. The show ran from 1955 to 1960, and the running joke at that time was ‘so, has Michael Anthony knocked on your door yet?’

No doubt, having an unexpected windfall could be a lot of fun. However, focusing on what we don’t have can make people pretty sour, too. You can get into a state of mind where you focus on the ‘don’t have’ instead of appreciating the ‘do have.’

Think about this: being happy with what you have means freedom and happiness. I read somewhere that common worries can be turned around with the right thinking, such as:

  • “Oh no! There are crumbs on the floor!” you were able to eat that day.
  • “The roof is leaking again!” you have a roof over your head.
  • “My shoes are wearing out!” you have shoes on your feet.
  • “The bed has been unmade all day!” you have a bed to sleep in.
  • “The water pressure in the shower is horrible!” you have means to keep clean.
  • “The car is filthy!” you have transportation.
  • “My job doesn’t pay enough.” but you have a job.

…and so on. Remember that lovely old song by Irving Berlin, “Count Your Blessings?” The lyrics go like this:

“When I’m worried and I can’t sleep
I count my blessing instead of sheep
And I fall asleep, counting my blessings

When my bankroll is gettin’ small
I think of when I had none at all
And I fall asleep, counting my blessings

I think about a nursery
And I picture curly heads
And one by one I count them
As they slumber in their beds

If you’re worried and you can’t sleep
Just count your blessings instead of sheep
And you’ll fall asleep counting your blessings.

So if you’re worried and you can’t sleep
Just count your blessings instead of sheep
And you’ll fall asleep counting your blessings.”

That’s what I think of each day. I have had wonderful people in my life who have passed on their wisdom and knowledge to me. I currently have wonderful people in my life who bring me joy and happiness. I am married to the love of my life. I have dear, good friends who bring so much into my life. I have four cats to love and care for. Both the Crankee Yankee and I have been gifted with two wonderful vehicles (how’s that for unexpected wealth?) for which we are very grateful, we have a good house to live in, a thriving garden (anyone need lettuce, spinach or kale? We have TONS of it!), food to eat, clothes to wear, some bucks in our pockets and no credit card debt. Our health is relatively good, and we have a sense of humor about many things.

That said, I feel rich each day. With all that going for me, I don’t need to think about what I might not have. The Penn Dutch have a great saying that just says it all to me: “we grow too soon old, and too late smart.” I try to keep that in mind when little things bother me.

It’s taken me years, but I finally get it—I am happy for what I have.



The Strawberry Moon

Did anyone see the strawberry moon the night of June 20? It was pretty amazing.

Quoting from CNBC: “For one night, it was the Summer of Love all over again. Astronomically speaking. For the first time since June 1967, two astronomical phenomena occurred at the same time. Monday evening, a full “strawberry” moon shone in the night sky during the summer solstice — the longest day of the year. said a full moon on a summer solstice is a rare event, and another one is not likely to come around until June 21, 2062.

Why is it called a strawberry moon? The Old Farmer’s Almanac says the Algonquin tribe of indigenous Americans called the June full moon by that name because it occurred around the time the strawberries were being picked.

The moon reached its fullness Monday morning, and the actual evening solstice took place at 6:34 p.m. Eastern time.”

This is the second strawberry moon I have witnessed; I was there for the 1967 one, and for this latest one. When you stand on our back porch and look up, you can see the moon shining through the trees. While it didn’t exactly turn strawberry-pink, it became sort of an amber color, and was a beautiful sight.

There are a lot of myths about the moon and its effect on us; people do crazy things or they are unusually aggravated, and the list goes on and on. Well, think of this: if the moon affects the great waters of the world and we ourselves are what—50 – 75% water; then it stands to reason that we could be affected by the pull of the moon in some way.

Whatever pull the full moon may have, I find that it always makes me happy. There’s something about that big, beautiful golden coin rising majestically up in the heavens that is spell-binding. As a child, I used to wish on the full moon. On hot summer nights when I stayed overnight at my grandparents’ house, which faced Mirror Lake, I liked to watch the moon “walk” on the water. I would drift off to sleep with the sound of the frogs’ choir; ‘chug-a-RUM, chug-a-RUM,” and the tiny slap of waves on the sandy beach.

I would make up poems about it, too, loving that “oon” sound:

“Moon, June,

Big baboon!

Loon, tune,


Goon, spoon,

Big typhoon!

Boon, swoon,

Mad raccoon!

Dune, soon,

Dogs at noon!”

It was a wonderful way to fall asleep, with a poem in my head, the moon shining down, and dreams full of moons and tunes and frogs in June.

To all of you who may live long enough to see the next strawberry moon, due in June 2062, make a wish on it for me. I’ll be watching and smiling.





My Own Pensieve

Any Harry Potter nerd worth his or her wand will know exactly what a pensieve is and what it does. For those who have not read the books or seen the movies, here’s the explanation by none other than Professor Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witches and Wizardry:

It is called a Pensieve. I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind.

The pensieve is literally a stone bowl whose contents look like swirling misty waters. Dumbledore often pulled memories out of his head with his wand to temporarily store them in the pensieve to revisit at another time.

It’s a great idea. Often there  are so many things going on in my life that it’s hard to keep track of them all. I believe that writing helps me to compartmentalize thoughts and ideas, which is initially why I started this blog.

Although I am not terribly tech-savvy, I do appreciate some of the offshoots of technology, one of which the “web log,” or “blog” as we have come to know it. In this way, people can connect throughout the world and write about their lives, experiences, ideas, and more. Stories and poetry can be shared that enlighten, encourage discussion, foster understanding, touch others’ hearts—much like the stories once told around campfires centuries ago.

I find that, after writing something I feel has merit (or just something I want to share), it gives me some satisfaction that I have done something worthwhile in the day. I have posted personal experiences, some of my own poetry and stories, recipes, “how to” information, and so on.

I’ve nattered on about family and friends, and written tributes to people I love, to the cats I have loved and do love, to the sight, sounds and smells of the changing seasons, and so on. I have told old and new stories about my family and friends, and in sharing these things have met fellow writers who have enriched my life.

So, I guess in my way I have my own pensieve; my thoughts and ideas all go into my blog. While I don’t need a wand to pull those thoughts and ideas out of my head, I still get that “clearing” sensation in putting words into a post. There is magic in writing; often we can only process our thoughts and visions by writing them out. While my emotions may clog my voice, my writing speaks for me. If I can’t say it, I can write it.

Welcome to my pensieve; there is plenty of room in here for all things and everyone.