Potato Potahto, Tomato Tomahto

When I think of the Thanksgiving holiday and its origin, I think of the Pilgrims and their harvest celebration. I’ve always sort of thought as the holiday as a reminder to think about the Pilgrims, their hardships and all they did to forge a life in a harsh wilderness. In today’s society, Thanksgiving has become many things: a holiday to gorge oneself with food, a holiday to watch football, a holiday that marks the beginning of the holiday season (and its shopping) – basically it’s a holiday, a day off from work and school. At our house, we always spend a few minutes before our meal going around the table and each saying what we are thankful for, but the overall idea of thankfulness has, I believe, taken a backseat to the Pilgrim images and today’s eating/football/shopping mentality. Even when I think about the reason for the holiday, I again go back to remembering the Pilgrims. Yesterday, my friend Rose sent an email saying, “We are certainly lucky to live in a country that dedicates a holiday every year solely to being thankful for all that we have and enjoy.” No reference to Pilgrims, food or football; just thankfulness (aka gratitude). So, today I am going to celebrate Gratitude Day. We’ll still do our Thanksgiving Day traditions: early morning Turkey Trot, hot croissants for breakfast afterwards, maybe some football on TV, traditional turkey dinner this evening and a mention before dinner of what we are each thankful for – and maybe this is just a matter of semantics: thanksgiving vs. gratitude, but the words evoke different emotions for me. So, today I’m not going to think in terms of Thanksgiving Day; I’m going to think in terms of Gratitude Day. I am going to go through the day truly thinking about all that I have to be grateful for. If you are here at my house, you probably won’t even know that I’m having my own special experience – except, perhaps, for the goofy little grin I’ll be wearing on my face. Happy Gratitude Day!

Midnight at the Oasis?

For the second night in a row, I rolled over, looked at the clock numbers projected on the ceiling and, AARRGH, it’s the middle of the night. Whenever I wake-up in the middle of the night with the feeling that it must be morning, only to find that it’s 1:00 a.m., 2:00 a.m. or, as was the case tonight, 12:15 a.m., I feel a helpless, irritated sigh rise within me. Sometimes I wake-up, look at the clock, roll over and go back to sleep; those times I’m not really awake – and I know it. Other times, like last night and tonight, I know as soon as I feel consciousness that I am really awake. I’ve tried simply staying in bed – that rarely works; it usually becomes a rock-n-roll tussle with the sheets. I’ve tried reading in bed – that disturbs my husband who rarely struggles with middle of the night consciousness. I found sleeping pills to be quite helpful – and gained 20 pounds while using them. I found a CD called zMusic that helped lull me back to sleep, but – husband, again. So, I usually just get up. I try not to do anything overly exerting or exciting; the idea is, after all, to try to get to the point of sleepiness again. I usually make myself a cup of decaf tea and then I either read or play computer games (Freecell is my favorite). Tonight, I had the song Midnight at the Oasis running through my head. Maybe I need to look at my house as an oasis to be enjoyed in the middle of the night. I looked up the lyrics – something about camels, sheiks and a cactus pointing the way – that starts to sound like a Salvadore Dali painting and isn’t what I need to get myself back to sleep. I’d blame this on the “M” word, but this has been a lifelong affliction for me; I’ve prowled the house while everyone else slept for as long as I can remember.

Actually, I sort of enjoy the quiet in the middle of the night. Even though I’d rather be snuggled into bed, fast asleep, I feel a sort of peacefulness at this hour. Maybe this is just my normal rhythm and the only reason it’s a problem is because the alarm clock that goes off too early when I’ve spent a couple of my sleeping hours not actually sleeping. I guess the day will come when it won’t be necessary to set an alarm clock, when it won’t really matter that I’ve been up in the middle of the night. Maybe that’s one of the ways that aging will feel comfortable to me; I’ll be able to accommodate my own rhythms rather than fighting them. Maybe I’ll just enjoy this time right now and turn the alarm clock off in the morning. Maybe this really is an oasis in my busy day.

Fake It 'Til You Feel It!

I’m not the originator of that phrase, but it certainly has been my mantra for the last two weeks. This fall has been amongst the most stressful times in my life; two weeks ago I found myself ground down to the point where I wasn’t feeling joy – and that’s not like me! I had begun my holiday preparations (I like to be organized so that I can enjoy the holiday season), but I was just moving through the process; I wasn’t feeling the spirit of the season. That’s when I decided to just fake it ‘til I felt it. I grabbed my red and green reusable shopping bags and I headed to the mall with a fake smile on my face. At home, I squeezed out some fake creative juices and began working on our Christmas cards. I planned and cooked dinners (real food, not fake) so that our family could sit down together in the evening and I faked it ‘til I felt it!

The stress isn’t gone and I have had moments, hours, half-days of slumping back into the hole without joy, but then I repeat my mantra (usually in my head so that people don’t look at me funny, but if I am with my husband I say it aloud because he is working on faking it, too) and I must say that faking joy feels better than no joy and the more I fake it, the more I feel it.

Early Morning Wake-up Call

I’ve taken a hiatus from writing; actually, I haven’t taken the hiatus, my brain just turned off and a hiatus happened. As in the past, this break in my writing indicates stress, sickness and a not-up-to-par frame of mind. I’ve been keeping a list of topics I want to write about, but the right side of my brain has been MIA – there haven’t been any creative juices flowing.

I woke up early this morning hoping that once I’d made the coffee, planted myself in my old lady chairs (click here to see my blog about my chairs) and turned on my laptop, I’d be able to force the reticent right side of my brain into action. Then, as I was making the coffee, my daughter’s dog started barking so I went to retrieve him from her room (if we leave him in there once he is awake, he uses the bedpost as his potty spot). That meant that I also had to take him outside to do his duty, even before finishing the coffee preparations – not exactly as I had planned. I put his leash on and out the front door we went into the dark morning. We had barely stepped off the front porch when I heard the hoot of an owl from the trees to my left and then, seconds later, I heard another hoot coming from nearby on the opposite side, near the street. Unlike the area to my left, the street side does not have any large trees to welcome an owl. So, as soon as Thurman (my daughter’s dog is named after Thurman Munson, the Yankee catcher and Team Captain who died in a plane crash in 1979; he was my husband’s favorite player – that’s one way to get Daddy to accept your dog) had finished his business, we walked toward the end of driveway. I was hoping to hear the owl again so that I could figure out where he was hiding. Just as we reached the corner of our house, there came another hoot. I looked up and perched on the peak of our roof, silhouetted against the night sky, was a huge owl! He turned his head and cocked it downward to get a look at me, he hooted several more times while I stood there mesmerized. I thought about trying to hoot back at him in the hopes of a conversation (I’ve been “talking” to squirrels since I was a little girl), but I was afraid that my owl-speak was not very accomplished. So, I just stood and watched this rooftop visitor, feeling privileged to have stumbled upon this early morning moment. And then, without warning, the owl puffed up his body, spread his wings and flew off toward the trees; then, just as quickly and quietly as he had flown away, my right brain woke up.

Once Upon A Time: A Real Life Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, in the city of Portland, there was a little girl named Sue who wanted to grow up to be a Royal Rosarian. All of her friends wanted to be Rose Festival Princesses, but Sue wanted to be a Royal Rosarian – and the Rosarians didn’t even allow women into their ranks at that time. Flash forward a couple of decades and, in the late 80’s, the Royal Rosarians changed their charter to allow women as members. Flash forward another decade and Sue, now all grown-up, becomes a member of the Royal Rosarians – seemingly a dream come true. But wait, the beauty of dreams is that they can be expanded and there is more to this story.

The Royal Rosarians are a civic organization founded in 1912. By mayoral proclamation, they are the official greeters and ambassadors for the city of Portland. Most Portlanders recognize them as the folks in the white suits who march alongside the bands and floats in the Rose Festival’s Grand Floral Parade. While they are, perhaps, most noticeable in that role, their activities actually run throughout the year and include not only greeting visiting dignitaries, but also taking Portland’s message of goodwill to cities and communities throughout the region and, in fact, around the world. The Royal Rosarians also provide other civic services – a few years ago they helped sponsor the Portland High School Band that marched in the Grand Floral Parade when the Portland area high schools had to eliminate their music programs because of budget cuts; last year they helped to provide over a thousand area school children with backpacks and school supplies to help these children have a good start to their school year. Royal Rosarians each foot the bill for their travel and other organizational expenses; this is an organization filled with pride, honor and civic responsibility.

Now, for the rest of Sue’s story. The Royal Rosarians are run by a council of members— some elected, some appointed; that council is lead by the Prime Minister. To become Prime Minister a person must work his or her way up through the ranks; this is not an easy position to attain. Saturday night my husband and I attended the Royal Rosarians’ Coronation Ceremony where our friend Sue was named the 2009-2010 Prime Minister for Portland’s Royal Rosarians – what was especially significant and special about this event is that Sue is the first woman to hold the position of Prime Minister. Almost 100 years after the formation of this organization and only twenty years after women were first admitted, Prime Minister Sue stood on the stage receiving the standing ovation and adoration of hundreds of friends, family and fellow Rosarians. Saturday evening, in the mythical realm of Rosaria, a fairy tale came true.

Donating

"Anonymous" made a comment asking about donating. You can follow the link in the post below to the ALS donation site. My understanding is that you can continue to donate through the end of the year. Thanks!

By the way, the picture below was taken just before the walk. I'm on the right; the other two are my daughter-in-law, Jessie and pseudo-son, David. They were great sports to come out and keep me company on the walk.

ALS

Last month, on August 30th, I wrote a blog titled It’s Been A Great Day! in which I mentioned that during the previous week a friend had been diagnosed with ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease. That friend is the mother of the little girl that I helped with four years ago while her older sister was undergoing cancer treatments. The mother’s diagnosis now, when the girls are just turning five and eight years old, has left all who know them devastated. This week I learned of two walks in the Portland area to support ALS research and assistance: there’s a walk today in downtown Vancouver and one tomorrow in downtown Portland. I will be walking in tomorrow’s event in Portland in honor of my friend. I don’t usually use this forum in this manner, but today I’d like to invite you to share this walk with me by supporting my fund raising efforts. Walking or donating a few dollars doesn’t seem like much, but at least it’s a positive action directed at a disease that is devastating, debilitating and fatal.

One last thought that has been brought home to me by my friend’s diagnosis: Live today!