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In Giving Thanks
“Gratitude can transform common days into thanksgivings, turn routine jobs into joy, and change ordinary opportunities into blessings.”
~William Arthur Ward
I believe in the practice of being grateful; the conscious act of summoning to the forefront of your mind, all that you are thankful for, especially the “little” things.
Admittedly, it’s a lot easier said than done.
Life can be incredibly difficult and harsh, unpredictable and unfair. It’s a challenge to keep smiling and stay positive. It only takes one thing not to go right and my focus can easily be polarized to the negative. Without thinking, I can quickly start pulling from a well of over-flowing faults, snowballing them to each other, one by one until — BAM! — before you know it, I have the belly of a giant snowman in the making.
It’s hard work to overcome and requires a conscious effort to get back to the other side of the polarization, the positive side. I find however that when I do and thankfully, I always do, there is one thing I can truly be certain of:
There is always something to be thankful for.
Be Thankful
Be thankful that you don’t already have everything you desire,
If you did, what would there be to look forward to?
Be thankful when you don’t know something
For it gives you the opportunity to learn.
Be thankful for the difficult times.
During those times you grow.
Be thankful for your limitations
Because they give you opportunities for improvement.
Be thankful for each new challenge
Because it will build your strength and character.
Be thankful for your mistakes
They will teach you valuable lessons.
Be thankful when you’re tired and weary
Because it means you’ve made a difference.
It is easy to be thankful for the good things.
A life of rich fulfillment comes to those who are
also thankful for the setbacks.
GRATITUDE can turn a negative into a positive.
Find a way to be thankful for your troubles
and they can become your blessings.
~ Unknown Author
Photo Credit #1 Google Images
Photo Credit #2 Google Images
Photo Credit #3 Google Images
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Worse Than The Worst
With great anticipation we awaited her arrival.
Finally, nightfall brought her furiously nipping at our doorsteps, howling to get in. Seventy miles north of New York City windows shook and lights flickered as 60-mile per hour winds swept through the development I live in. Street lights dimmed while competing sheets of rain pounded the pavement demanding to be heard.
Shortly after 11pm, there was a loud, sputtering, buzzing sound that ended in an explosion somewhere nearby.
Mom! my daughter shouted from her bedroom,
What was that?
Not long after, a second thunderous explosion brought with it the deafening sound of silence. The eerie quiet filled everything around us with darkness. The air was still. There was no light. For several hours we had no electricity. Two transformers in our neighborhood blew. But this was not surprising nor was it a hardship. We knew she was coming. We were warned. And warned and warned. We knew she was quite possibly the worst storm to hit the East Coast in nearly 100-years. We were warned. We had ample time to ready ourselves for the worst. And we did, the best we could because we knew.
Yet, we had no idea. How could we? How can you know what is worse than the worst?
Who could anticipate watching water pour into the Hoboken Path Station or having to close the New York Stock Exchange for two days in a row– unplanned? How could you fathom that thousands of laboratory mice and biological research materials would perish in New York University Hospital’s basement drowning years worth of scientific research when fail-safe generators engulfed by water refused to turn on? And how could you imagine an entire neighborhood of over 100 homes catching on fire or a roller coaster partially submerged in the ocean?
Could you even envision a storm-surge so powerful that it could wash a boat up onto train tracks from the Hudson River?
I couldn’t. Yet it happened in Ossining, New York.
Five days later, the rippling effects of Sandy’s brief presence are more than evident. On Friday the gas station that I pass on the way to work listed $3.93 per gallon for regular unleaded gas. At noon, the same station listed regular unleaded gas at $4.09 a gallon. When I left work at 3:30pm I had to drive 20-minutes north to find fuel and paid $4.23 per gallon for regular unleaded gas. In less than a day’s time, gas prices sky-rocketed and drivers raged as they weaved recklessly in and out of lanes in our commuter-community in a mad hunt to fill their tanks. All along the main strip of Route 9 from Fishkill to Poughkeepsie gas pumps were idle, sitting with yellow bags over their nozzles indicating a lack of fuel. Indeed, signs posted at station after station read: NO GAS! Those stations that still had some to sell sported lines and lines and lines of cars backing up traffic on the main thoroughfare adding to the frustration and panic that has begun to settle into the minds of this otherwise unscathed community 70-miles north of New York City.
Still, I’m unbelievably fortunate and grateful for this small inconvenience in comparison to friends just a few miles south where over 70% of the people who live in my hometown were without power all week. Many still are. Chaos reigns without working traffic lights. Police officers stand guard at gas stations as rationing takes effect. Looting has begun.
My heart and thoughts are with them as well as my neighbors in New York City, New Jersey, Long Island and Staten Island where Sandy lingered long enough to leave unimaginable destruction; worse than the worst. They are heavy on my mind.
I pray for the human spirit of kindness to prevail as we brace ourselves for the nor’easter lurking in this week’s forecast.
Be safe.
Photo Credits #1-3: Google Images/Hurricane Sandy
Photo Credit #4: Boat on Tracks/MTA
Photo Credit #5: Huff Post/Random Acts of Kindness
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My Boy is a Midget
In 1929, the owner of a new factory in Northeast Philadelphia enlisted the help of a young friend, Joseph J. Tomlin with a recurring problem. Over 100 of the factories’ ground-to-floor windows were shattered in one month’s time by teenagers hurling stones from a nearby vacant lot. Since other factories in the area were also being affected by the same type of vandalism, Tomlin, a sports enthusiast, recommended the building owners join together to fund an athletics program for the city’s youth. Although it wouldn’t be officially titled Pop Warner until the 1934 football season, that was indeed the beginnings of this long-standing organization.
Today Pop Warner is the largest and oldest non-profit, youth football organization in the world with over 400,000 participants ranging in age from 5 to 15. It is also the only youth organization with an academic requirement. The program is divided into four separate age/weight categories referred to as Jr. Pee Wee, Pee Wee, Jr. Midget and Midget.
My boy is a Midget.
His team, The HudsonValley Knights just won the Eastern Region Mid Hudson Conference. They are the League Champions and are now in the Regional Championship. They are undefeated and three games away from playing in the Pop Warner Super Bowl in Walt Disney World this December at the ESPN Wide World of Sports Complex.
For 83-years Pop Warner Football has been keeping its participants out of vacant lots, off the streets, off the couch, off the internet and on the playing fields. Over the years its basic philosophy that athletics and academics go hand-in-hand has remained the same, propelling its success. Kids are taught the value of dedication, hard work, practice and teamwork. They are given countless, hands-on opportunities to learn what it means to be responsible, have respect, integrity and loyalty.
These are the character traits of champions.
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Through The Looking Glass
I saw myself in the mirror the other day.
It wasn’t like I do each night before I go to bed when I wash my face and brush my teeth and go through the routine of doing what I do before I sleep. It wasn’t like each morning when I repeat the nightly routine, brush my hair and apply my makeup to ready myself for the day to come, as I stand in front of the mirror either. This moment was not like those at all. I hardly ever take the time, at those times, to really see myself.
This was unplanned. It was different.
Like a rabbit emerging from a dark hole, I was blinded by the light of my own reflection and found myself for first time in a lo
ng time, seeing myself, through this looking glass. It was an instant that gave me pause, compelling me to stop just long enough to really be present in the moment and look deep inside of who I am -today- after these last few tumultuous years of growth and change.
I didn’t look away. Instead, I contemplated the glimpse I caught and was content with what I saw. I could look myself in the eye and feel confident with the person I am and continue to strive to be; imperfect but honest, open-minded and willing to do whatever-it-takes to help myself and my kids continue to move in a forward direction.
In that moment also, stood the handsome young man who now has whiskers on his chin where sweet, velvet skin used to be when he was a boy. He doesn’t need me to tend to his bruise or tie his shoes anymore. He’s capable, focused and tenacious now and he makes me so proud I could burst. There too in my mind’s eye stood my beautiful little girl who has managed to outgrow me in shoe size, height and heart. Her endless compassion for others humbles me. Truly.
It gave me pause, this unexpected glimpse, that moment.
Time waits for no one. It has no patience, empathy or understanding. With great determination and complete indifference, it barrels its way through good days and bad, sorrows and laughter. It constantly transforms life as we know it, right before our very eyes; only we don’t always see it as it happens. We’re too busy and often blinded by the blur of our own living.
It’s important to climb out of our holes every once in a while, to take a step outside of ourselves, so we can see ourselves. It’s important to take a moment, pause and contemplate what we see.
What do you see when you stand before the looking glass?
Photo Credit #1 Through The Looking Glass ~ Google Images
Photo Credit #2 Emerging From The Rabbit Hole ~ Google Images
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The Other Side of Bullying
Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
~John Mayer
We have an awesome job as parents to guide our children. We often do that by example. Children watch what we do and say, all the time.
Bullying is no joke. When an adult labels a child a bully, they need to make sure they have all the facts. Other children are watching.
Sadly, most of us adults have experienced bullying in one form or another, at some point of our childhood or adolescence and fully understand the hurtful mark it can leave.
I never took a school bus as a kid. My Dad drove me until I was old enough to walk on my own. I went to catholic school. I wore a white blouse, red sweater, pleated skirt, navy knee-socks and a sturdy shoe, every day. No sneakers. Sneakers were for gym class, worn in the gym; only.
School was a long walk, about two miles from the apartment building I grew up in. I was ten or eleven when I remember clearly, two girls who followed me home daily. They were also from my school. One was in my class, the other was a year younger. The route I took included a shortcut through a wildly-overgrown, empty lot between two residential streets. The lot had a path that cut right through the streets but concealed its foot bearers. The girls kept a fair amount of distance from me until I entered the lot. Once I stepped onto the pathway, there was no turning back and as soon as I stepped onto the pathway the taunting from behind began. Each day for several days in a row they’d make hurtful remarks about how fat or ugly or stupid I was, all-the-while, using their own sturdy shoes to take turns kicking up my pleated skirt from behind. Kicking up my skirt high enough of course to reveal whatever underwear I was wearing that day.
I was embarrassed. I was humiliated. It was painful.
So painful, that on the on the fourth or fifth day of “the following”, I finally summoned up enough courage to turn and face my “tormentors”.
Everyone has their limit and sometimes you need to let people know when that limit has been reached.
It surprised me as much as them when I abruptly turned and told them to “Stop!
They laughed and continued. I warned them again and told them to “STOP!”
They didn’t.
Instinct and impulse stepped in.
There was a full-force push to the ground, a stunned look from both ends of the assault and ultimately, freedom. The younger girl ended up on the ground, crying but they never bothered me again.
The question is, who’s the bully here? Maybe to some it’s debatable. Not to me.
I know what bullying is.
I would never endorse violence but I don’t believe in allowing yourself to be taunted either. Sometimes you have to tell people to stop and when they don’t, when they keep pushing or poking or pulling at you and you give them fair-warning and they still don’t stop; you need to push or poke or pull at them back; even if you are bigger than they are.
That’s not bullying, that’s setting boundaries.
Moms and dads who fail to see (or ignore) the whole picture and mislabel this as bullying are doing their sons and daughters an injustice, not to mention, sending a dangerous message.
As parents we have an awesome responsibility to teach and guide our children.
So, Mother’s — be good to your daughters.Teach them not to push, or poke or pull at other kids because they might get pushed, or poked or pulled on– back –and that’s not bullying; that’s setting boundaries.
Photo Credit #1 Mother/Daughter Silhouette
Photo Credit #2 Sturdy Catholic School Uniform Shoe/Google Images
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What-Chya-Ma-Call-It
It’s official. I’m stumped!
Well, kind of. There’s actually a trillion things looming around in my head that are bursting to get out. The problem is, I just can’t seem to choose one thing. I guess you could say I have What-chya-ma-call-it; not quite writer’s-block but more like writer’s-overload; you know, What-chya-ma-call-it. Yep, that’s what I got. I’m not lacking in content as much as I’m lacking in focus and I can’t really tell if that’s on purpose or not. There are dozens of childhood stories still to be told but they require much more than an hour or two of writing. It would be an injustice to try to retell any one of them now, at the eleventh hour. There are those events and situations too, that I am trying to figure out how to put into words and there are the thoughts I am trying to come to terms with, those that teeter on the fence of whether to be put into words or not. There are things that are too personal for a post and things that are simply not interesting enough. So here I am. It’s well after my regular publishing hour. It’s late, late, late on a Saturday night and I’ve got What-chya-ma-call-it!
The fact that it’s after midnight and one of my smoke or carbon monoxide detectors (I’m not sure which it is) is consistently sounding off at 3-minute intervals, isn’t helping my concentration either. That’s right, since around 10pm this evening, a high-pitched chirping sound has been erupting from a small, round, white alarm affixed to the ceiling in my daughter’s bedroom, every-three-minutes. This unit is one of about a half-dozen attached to a home alarm system that I don’t understand. At all. It’s not as simple as swapping out a battery (I wish it was) and I can’t find the manual for it. At one point, after getting on a ladder and pushing a few buttons, the entire system begin to blare and the mono-toned voice of a mechanical woman came out of nowhere and began shouting the word, “FIRE!– FIRE! –FIRE!”, over and over again. Alarmed? Yes. I was.
How I managed to stop that, I have no idea. But I did and soon after the chirping began again.
It’s also summer time and my head is in enjoying the extra time I get to spend with my kids and not so much in formulating a composition with some kind of heart-felt meaning attached to it. That feels too heavy right now. Whatever it is, writer’s-block, writer’s-overload or What-chya-ma-call-it, I think I’m going to sit with the chaos in my head for a few days and wait for the stories to settle.
Besides, if I can’t figure out how to stop this chirping, I’m may end up either ripping this alarm-thing-y out of the ceiling, or pulling my hair out of my head, strand-by-strand, tonight.
There’s a black, a white and a red wire. No battery. Chirping.
Any thoughts?
What do you do when you get What-chya-ma-call-it?
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Moonrise, Mistakes & March of the Penguins!
Ever since I took my boy to see March of the Penguins, in 2005, he’s been “scarred” not to mention very skeptical of me when I say,
We’re going to the movies!
March of the Penguins, produced in part by the National Geographic Society is a French documentary film that depicts the yearly journey of the emperor penguins of Antarctica. It follows penguins of breeding age as they leave their natural habitat to participate in a courtship that will hopefully end in the hatching of an egg.
I was excited! My son was seven. My daughter had recently turned five. The three of us went to a matinee showing. Ten minutes after the movie began and both kids realized this was not a cartoon and there were no actors and no speaking parts, other than the soothing voice of Morgan Freeman’s narration, something extraordinary and completely unexpected happened.
She fell into a deep sleep and he began to cry.
It was one of those parenting moments that creeps up inside your head and blind-sides you, hitting you at the exact moment of no return.
What, was I thinking? And what was it again that made me think the 7-year old wearing the Spiderman suit would be interested in a documentary about penguins?
As I looked around the crowded theater, it struck me that not only was I the youngest adult (by about forty years)at this movie but there were no other children in the theater. Not one. Now, my daughter was sleeping and my son, with tear-filled eyes, was frantically begging mouthing the words:
I don’t like this! Please, I want to go home! Can we leave?
No, I thought in a panic! We can’t leave. Don’t you understand I’m caught between two generations and paralyzed here? Waking a nearly comatose toddler would be like calling in a storm, a very loud and disruptive, disastrous storm! It wouldn’t be fair to all these, well, elderly people that came to see the movie. I couldn’t carry her out either. At five, she was now too heavy for me.
We had to wait it out.
I spent the next 70-minutes dodging my son’s anger and avoiding his pleading glares, hoping my girl would awaken any minute, gently, quietly, happily, so we could sneak out without incident. She didn’t and he’s never forgiven me.
How could I have been so wrong? I thought for sure, he would love this movie.
He hated it.
He’s thirteen now & seven years later, history repeats itself — or some people never learn. I’m a repeat offender. Well, kind of.
This week I announced, “We’re going to the movies!”, the three of us, again, with my mom. He of course was skeptical and rightfully, so. Although, while he hadn’t heard of the movie, Moonrise Kingdom, in this case, it was the theater I was certain he would have a problem with and not-so-much the movie.
With a stellar cast of stars he actually knows and likes, including Bill Murray and Bruce Willis, it had to be good.
The Downing Film Center is a very cool, very small, non-profit theater in Newburgh, NY that shows about 50 independent and/or international films a year. The theater boasts 58 thickly, cushioned seats, most of which recline, all of which come with a pillow. It’s like being in a large living room. Even nicer, the tickets and snacks are affordable! With one showing a day during most week days and two showings of a single movie during the weekends, it’s advised you come at least 30-minutes early to get a real comfy chair. Seating, is first come, first served. Heading the warning, we arrived early and chose mid-center.
As the theater began to fill however, I couldn’t help but notice that the patrons were reminiscent of that day so many years ago. Apparently, so did my son.
Mom, this is “March of the Penguins” all over again!
He said with fear and anxiety in his eyes.
Once again, I found myself to be the youngest adult in the crowd, only this time it was by about thirty years and mine thankfully, were NOT the only children in the audience. There were two other kids there!
It turns out however, I was wrong — again.
It wasn’t the theater that the boy didn’t care for, in fact he later admitted,
It was cool.
No, it wasn’t the theater, it was the movie — again.
Come on mom. Boy, girl first crush = total chick flick!
Oh, well. He’s thirteen. At least he came! Besides, the girl stayed awake the whole time, this time. She loved the theater and the film and so did my mom and I!
Two thumbs up for Moonrise Kingdom — smartly written, humorous, off-beat and highly recommended. Go see it!
Have you seen any good movies lately?
Photo Credit #1 March of the Penguins
Photo Credit #2-5 ©2012 Karen Szczuka Teich & Takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
Photo Credit #6 Moonrise Kingdom
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Simply Joyful
School’s out and summer’s on!
When I sat down Saturday afternoon to collect my thoughts and start writing, I realized after having been away all week, I hadn’t given the content of this week’s post much thought. Oddly enough, I wasn’t panicked either. It also occurred to me that even though there is still so much going on around me and so much to do, there is nothing pressing, nothing special, nothing terrible and nothing wrong, to write about.
It’s kind of nice when that happens. It doesn’t happen often but when it does, it really is kind of nice. Fishing for something would be foolish. I truly appreciate being able to step off of life’s roller coaster every once in a while, for a while. Recharge. Regroup. Rejoice!
In searching my heart for what was tugging, I kept falling back to thoughts of this past week and smiling to myself.
Nothing brings more joy to my heart than seeing children happy.
Helping the 2-yr old fill up the water tank on the rescue jeep. Get ready to get wet!
And having a rather playful heart myself, I’m keen to the sound of mischievous giggles. When the laughter has an 11-year span in childhood and includes kids ages 2 to 13, conspiring in harmony, even better! Catching the moment on camera? Well, priceless!
This week was simple. It was joyful. It was Simply Joyful.
What brings joy to your heart?
Photo Credit #1 The Gift of Joy
Photo Credit #2 & #3 ©2012 Karen Szczuka Teich & Takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
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They Open at the Close
They open at the close.
Yes, this is stolen borrowed (in part) from the magical inscription found <Spoiler Alert> on the snitch that Harry Potter caught in his mouth at his very first Quidditch match in The Sorcerer’s Stone and is returned to Harry six years later in The Deathly Hollows and yes, it’s true, I am an overtly mildly obsessive, freaky Harry Potter fan and yes, last weekend I spent four fantastic days in Florida with the primary purpose of visiting The Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal’s Island of Adventure but NO, this is not a post about Harry Potter.
It’s about doors; the opening and closing of doors. And the inscription fits nicely.
Doors: They open at the close.
This is a crazy time of year when people are in constant motion, what with all the barbeques and pool parties; weddings and graduations as well as Stepping Up and Stepping Stones ceremonies to attend. I feel like all I’ve been doing over the past several weeks, is going in and out of doors and it got me thinking about all the many different types of doors we pass through in a lifetime.
There are doors that lead us to happy places and doors that don’t.
Doors we’re prepared to go through and doors we’re not.
Some doors are closed off temporarily and others are left ajar with the knowledge that it’s not quite time to close or open them fully. Something is still lingering. Something is left undone. You don’t have the strength or courage to close it or walk through it just yet and every once in a while a slight draft comes through reminding us that we need to get back to that door someday. Maybe.
Sometimes it can take years to pry-open a door but through patience, perseverance and determination, we manage to get through.
At other times, it takes only seconds or a few harsh words to close a door — forever.
Then there are swinging doors, the ones we rush through without thinking, only to get smacked in the butt by t
hem before we even reach the other side, reminding us, it might have been wiser to take it slower and proceed with caution.
Perhaps then, we wouldn’t have gotten hurt so badly.
There are doors too, that we walk through willingly with other people, doors we are guided through as we follow another in trust, doors we enter, arm-in-arm with the one we love.
And of course, there are those doors we’re meant to go through completely alone, even though we have no idea what lies beyond them and despite the fear of the unknown, we continue on, making it necessary to trust ourselves and all we know we can be.
In the end, there is The Door, the one that leads us to the other side – assuming there is one.
As long as we’re living however, I think one thing is for certain: there will always be another door and the most important thing to remember is not to shut yourself out – from living life that is.
Try to make the most of what you find behind each door before going through the next.
But keep moving forward and always reach for the next the door.
What kind of door are you passing through?
//
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Slip-Sliding Away!
I’ve lamented many times before in this space about the concerns I have, the effects all of our new-found technology is having on our youth. I worry about what our kids might be missing in the great outdoors when they’re all cooped up inside, flexing only their fingers in an up-down or side-to-side Wii motion. I worry that they are barely challenging their brains, while their little thumbs fly nimbly across the tiny keyboards of what used to be talking devices but are now mostly used to send text messages in an almost unrecognizable English language. I pine for my own childhood, remembering how much we did with so little, fearing our children are losing the know-how to “making fun”.
Will they even know what “eye to eye” means without thinking of Skype or “face to face” without thinking it is a reference to Facebook ten or even five years from now?
Because of my worries, I make a concerted effort to put my kids in situations and environments where they have to think for themselves and not let Google do it for them. To that end, my post is a little late this weekend as I’ve been busy watching my children have a great time in the great outdoors!
I suppose we could have fought the traffic and crowds and made our way to a Six Flags park only a few hundred miles away like so many other folks. After all, the forecast promised beautiful weather for us New Yorkers, this holiday weekend.
I chose to take them to our little patch of heaven Upstate, instead.
Six Flags eat your heart out! It turns out our 100% kid-made, Slip-n-Soapy-Slide provided hours and hours of wet fun-filled laughter, and entertainment and I am happy to report my worries have been replaced with faith. Faith in our kids. Great faith that kids will be kids during any era! Faith, that when removed from and relieved of, the technological pressures of text-ing, Facebook-ing and Skype-ing and left to their own devices, kids do in fact resort to using their imagination and creativity! Yes, I am happy to report it’s not gone at all.
It just lies in wait for an opportunity to burst onto the scene and show itself.
It was a wonderful Memorial Day Weekend filled with reading, puzzling, grilling and sliding! It was also a time to remember the great sacrifice of those men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice that makes such a great weekend possible.
How was your Memorial Day Weekend and what did you do?
Photo Credits #1-5 Karen Szczuka Teich & http://www.takingtheworldonwithasmile.com All Rights Reserved.
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A Box Full of Surprises!
“My mama always said life was like a box a chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get.” ~ Forrest Gump
Unless of course, you’re like me and you break off a little piece before you eat it so you can see what’s inside. Then you always know.
The famous quote from the Tom Hanks hit movie, Forrest Gump, of the early ’90s, never rang true for me. I couldn’t make it apply. I’m too particular about the chocolate I put in my mouth. I need to know!
Recently however, I read somewhere that life is like an endless box of Cracker Jacks. Now this I could buy into! It resonated with me. My nostalgic mind recalls the excitement I had as a child, reaching inside the colorful box with the sailor on the front, never knowing for sure what I was going to pull out of it next. It was full of sweet and not-so-sweet surprises! Once you delved inside, it was hard not to keep going back for more. You could find yourself face to face with sweetness, holding a sticky situation, a salty peanut or combination of all three. It’s your choice whether you try to sort out the handful of mixed ingredients, piece by piece or just take them all in one big mouthful, knowing, that you get what you get and you make the best of what you get. Sooner or later, you will pull out the prize. Satisfaction guaranteed, simply for finding it.
There’s not a whole lot of mundane in my life. Looking back in yearly increments especially, I’m always amazed at where I started; often with a very certain outcome in mind, only to end up in a place and among people I couldn’t have predicted if I tried. Always surprising. I’ve learned to go with the flow, as more often than not, I find I am exactly where I’m supposed to be and with whom I need to be. The idea of looking at life as a Cracker Jack box is very appealing. It’s comforting to know that beyond some of the not-so-sweet handfuls of mixed-up stuff, a special surprise patiently awaits being pulled from inside.
What’s your analogy for life?
Photo Credits #1/2 Google Images/Wikipedia
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OUR LIFE IN 3D
Please read my latest entry over at OUR LIFE IN 3D where this week, my friend Andy, invited me to Guest Post!
Click inside the quote above or on the link below and please, feel free to check out Andy’s site while visiting!
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Slipping Through My Fingers
This week my daughter turned eleven.
Last night she had her first ever, awake-over sleep-over party.
Slipping Through My Fingers
~ Björn Ulvaeus & Benny Andersson
Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning
waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile
I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness and I have to sit down for a while
the feeling that I’m losing her forever
and without really entering her world
I’m glad whenever I can share her laughter
that funny little girl
slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
the feeling in it
slipping through my fingers all the time
do I really see what’s in her mind
each time I think I’m close to knowing
she keeps on growing
slipping through my fingers all the time
sleep in our eyes, her and me at the breakfast table
barely awake I let precious time go by
then when she’s gone,
there’s that odd melancholy feeling
and a sense of guilt I can’t deny
what happened to the wonderful adventures
the places I had planned for us to go
well, some of that we did, but some we didn’t
and why, I just don’t know
slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
the feeling in it
slipping through my fingers all the time
do I really see what’s in her mind
each time I think I’m close to knowing
she keeps on growing
slipping through my fingers all the time
sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture
and save it from the funny tricks of time
Slipping through my fingers
Slipping through my fingers all the time.
Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning
waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile……………
Mama Mia!
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A Thousand Miles
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. — Chinese Proverb
Last week’s post sent me into my own kind of time and space continuum, reflecting on all that has occurred and changed in the span of one year; my job to a certain degree, my car, where I live and so much more, including how I approach things and what I find important to me now. Feeling like I’ve traveled a thousand miles since then, I’ve realized it’s true, it all began with a single step; literally putting one foot in front of the other and often they were baby-steps.
After taking so many steps, it became apparent that the road isn’t always a straight course. Sometimes, even a path with heart gets side-tracked by unexpected twists and turns. At times, it’s necessary to take drastic measures to get to where you need to be. But in doing so, you increase the possibility of opening the doors to where the power of your soul exits. There are no limits to what can be achieved when you tap into the power of your soul. You discover that with a little perseverance, that which once seemed insurmountable, is not. I’ve learned to Let Go, a lot.
I’ve also learned that anything is possible when you are true to yourself and your beliefs.
People have tremendous power to change their conditions.
~ Anonymous
Life truly is an adventure and every adventure begins with one single step, forward.
Photo Credit #1: Footsteps
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Impact
Two years ago this Spring, I stood in a courtroom and read to the judge, the Assistant D.A., the lawyers, the offender, his family and the rest of the court room, a statement outlying the immediate impact the offender’s actions had on our family. Standing by my side was the parole officer assigned to our case. That September, she started a Victim’s Impact Panel in the county I live in. Normally, such panels consist of victims of alcohol related crimes. This new panel is comprised of victims of felony crimes. Twice a year since then, a small group of speakers is assembled at our Police Station’s Community Center to share our stories; what happened and the impact of what happened on our lives. I’ve been asked to speak three out of the four times the panel’s been assembled so far.
What do you do there? Is the audience only criminals? Are the police there?
These are some of the questions my soon to be 11-year-old daughter started asking me last Tuesday when I told her I would be speaking on the Panel again and wouldn’t be able to pick her up from school Thursday.
Well, I said, I tell them what happened and how it affected our family and yes, the audience is just criminals. They’re convicted felons and armed officers are scattered throughout the room.
How come you didn’t go last time? She asked.
Because Brian was there. I said.
In our case, Brian Quain, was the offender. He’s the young man who’d been breaking into our house repeatedly for more than six months two winters ago. I wasn’t called to the panel last time because protocol says the victim should not speak if the offender is attending.
This is Brian Quain. Our neighbor. After 6-months of not knowing who was invading our privacy & our home, we installed a motion sensor camera that ultimately sent this image to my husband’s email while he was actually in our home.
Did Brian have to go last time?
Yes. I said. It’s mandatory; part of his sentence.
Can children go? She asked.
No.
Do the criminals get to speak at the panel?
No. They’re not allowed to speak at all. They can write a question for us on an index card, pass it over to an Officer and we can choose to answer or not answer it. When we’re all done speaking, we leave the room.
The audience members sit three to a table. There’s a questionnaire in front of them that they have to answer before they can leave. The Officers in the room collect them and bring them back to us.
Then what?
We go to a different room and talk. There’s a person there that helps us work through any hard parts and then we get to look at the questionnaires.
What kind of questions are on the questionnaire? She wanted to know.
Oh, things like, what crime did you commit? Are you paying restitution? Who was affected by your crime? What do you think the impact of your crime was on your victim? Which of the victim’s stories impacted you the most and why and if you had a chance to say something to your victim now, what would it be?
Many members of the audience are “impacted” by my story because of the effects this continuous home invasion had on my children. Apparently, most criminals don’t like it when other criminals mess with children.
Neither do I.
It’s been exactly a year since I spoke on the second panel. This time, I found myself less emotional overall and more thoughtful in my words. I’m less consumed with what happened and more focused on the impact.
I realize now, I have an opportunity to convey a message:
Your misguided, thoughtless, selfish actions have devastating effects on multiple lives. Grown men are left jobless, on medication and fighting insurance companies on a daily basis to cover medical expenses as a result of what you did. Young girls are constantly looking over their shoulders now and making plans to move out-of-state before your release from prison for fear of your return. Families who lived quietly and privately on your street are left with anger and confusion and are torn apart. You have compromised our ability to TRUST.
You DO NOT have the right to mess with people’s lives, especially children’s lives and most especially, MINE.
It-is-NOT-Okay.
And, if I can’t tell Brian Quain directly — (there’s a five-year Order of Protection against him for each member of my family while he’s on probation) I’ll tell others like him.
And I did.
When I told Brian’s dad he should see the images of his son burglarizing my home he said “Oh, no. I can’t” Really? My children saw them. They didn’t have a choice.
This time on the panel, as I told my story, I passed around theses pictures of our 21-year-old neighbor invading our home. These are the same pictures that were sent via email from the camera we had set up in our living room to my husband’s computer; the pictures my then eight-year-old daughter saw when the police were buzzing through our house the day Brian was arrested coming out of it. These are the pictures Brian’s dad just couldn’t look at when I told him he should see what his son looked like when he was creeping around our home, for months, uninvited.
So much has changed in our lives since and as a result of, what happened. I don’t hold Brian completely responsible for all that came afterwards. There’s no doubt however that the fracture of our family was in part, collateral damage. The harmony that once resided in our home was disrupted to say the least. The sense of safety we enjoyed there for nearly 17 years, obliterated.
“You can’t let an event in your life define who you are. It’s not what happens to you but what you do, when something happens, that becomes part of your character.”
These are my words. I keep them on my About page and often revisit them to remind myself of what I believe to be true; to help me to continue to move forward.
To keep moving forward.
Mom? Did Brian have to fill out one of those questionnaires? Hannah asked.
Yes, I said. I’m sure he did. They all have too.
She paused for a minute, slowly looked up at me and said,
Can you see his?
Heart stop.
Can I see his?
The possibility hadn’t occurred to me.
I don’t know.
Why don’t you ask the parole officer if you can? she said.
Heart stop –again. God, I love this child.
Brilliant.
Could I ask? Would I ask? Did I ask?
Yes. Yes, I did.
Before meeting for the panel, I called the parole officer and asked her if it would be possible for me to see Brian’s questionnaire.
Even though Brian Quain didn’t respect our privacy two years ago while he repeatedly ransacked our home, our bedrooms, our closets and drawers, I am going to respect his and not say what the parole officer’s response was or whether I did or didn’t get to read Brian’s questionnaire and find out who he thought was affected by his crime and how or what he would say to us if he had the chance, now.
Related posts: My Edward, Life’s Terms-Not Mine, Unsolicited Journey
Photo Credit #1: Hope
Photo Credit #3: Trust/Google Images
Photo Credit #2, 4 & #5 Karen Szczuka Teich & http://www.takingtheworldonwithasmile. Not to be reproduced or reused without express permission.
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Striving to live life on life's terms while taking the world on with a smile.
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