Last night as I sat propped against a mountain of pillows reading my latest bedtime novel( a good one by the way-The Ten Year Nap), I reached for my nightly dab of  face cream, but my glance settled on a grainy black and white photo reprint my sister gave to me a while ago. In this 8x10 glossy, my grandparents are dancing the tarantula at someone’s fire hall wedding reception. People are cheering and clearing the floor for them as they parade down the center of the dance floor. Nonna in her ever present black dress ( I am sure this one is her Sunday best version) and sensible black shoes .She is smiling sweetly- something I seldom saw my very stern Grandma do. Grandpa, always a jolly happy go lucky kind guy, is waving his handkerchief strutting his stuff. In the background, everyone smiles and cheers, while raising their drinks in salute . It is a delightful piece of family history.

I smile and sigh ready to return to my reading, I gasp as my attention settles on the turn out of Grandpa’s knee and foot, the arch of his hips, the belted waistline, and the flow of his trousers. I turn up the lamp and take the photo in my hands. Placing the book over my Grandpa’s face  there is Dad! Removing the book, there again is Grandpa. I do this repeatedly seeing my Dad’s lower body and then my Grandpa’s body and then my older son too! The imprint of genetics is engrossing for quite some time.

My grandparents and my parents have left this earth. I am now on the crest of being one of the elders in my sensible shoes. Change is constant .The only thing to count on says a wise old aphorism. I look around at the many photos of recorded history placed around my bedroom- there are my once little boys smiling in the bathtub with washcloths perched on their heads, my  longtime college friend Elaine and I dressed as aging  angels, family and friends browned at the beach, my parents hugging their grandbabies,  my lovely niece hugging me tightly, my children’s framed handprints…..

I realize I am hugging the photo while I reminisce. I   look at  the photo one last time now seeing three generations simultaneously .As I blow off the dust and replace the photo to its place on my bedside table , I say a prayer of thanks for the gift of change,  this moment and  continuity  flowing  together.

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January into February is challenging in Pittsburgh ! The days are cold .Shades of gray define the daylight.  Signs of spring exist, but often so easily ignored. I slush through February wrapped in layers of wool.  I find myself longing for heat and sweat as I walk along the trail. I catch myself yearning for a chance to sit on my back porch early in the morning drinking coffee after my yoga practice.  Craving for what does not exist gets me nowhere. Yearning for the impossible is a wasteful perspective.

 Here is the truth of the matter. I live in Pittsburgh . It is the dead of winter. My hands and feet get cold on a long winter’s walk. The porch furniture is covered until spring. I drink coffee near my window after practicing yoga on my living room floor. Reality! Does it need to be so bleak?

No, it does not.  I can adjust the lens of harsh reality to pleasant reality. I think one of my 7th grade teachers suggested that to me as a much needed attitude adjustment.   I can choose to see the beauty of a brilliant red cardinal against the stark tree line from my window seat.  I can choose to enjoy watching the birds (and that determined squirrel too) at my feeder each morning.  I can choose to admire the hardy Canadian birds that choose  the warmth of Pittsburgh for their winter retreat. I can choose to relish the relief of slipping into warm slippers and wrapping my fingers around   a warm cup of tea after an invigorating long winter walk.

So enjoying life all comes down to attitude and choices. Someone quoted Dumbledorf (Dumbledorf is the quirky professor in the Harry Potter novels) to me yesterday. Dumbledorf profoundly stated, “It is our choices that shape our character.” I can wish away the opportunities of winter or I  can choose to live with my eyes wide open and breath from my head to my heart  and smile  at the peek of winter sunlight while happily  searching for my  long lost sunglasses in the bottom of my purse.  I can breathe deeply while admiring the clear winter night reflected by a dazzling full moon.  I don’t need to abandon my longings completely , but living  today with a smile on my face  in Pittsburgh makes much more sense!

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Babies! Can you resist the powdery freshness of a baby?  Not me!  My heart leaps and my face lights up when I cuddle one close .That leap and glow I feel is the baby recharging my batter with their fearless honesty.

 Children retain uncompromised honesty which is both charming and frustrating. Think of Dennis the Menace and you get the picture.  As a young mother instilling necessary social manners, I would often be challenged by my children’s honesty. If you can’t say anything nice just say nothing I would advise. Usually my words of wisdom would be countered with “Why Mommy?” And that would be followed by a talk about good manners. Politeness is acquired .It must be learned. Honesty is instinctual. Through the eyes of a child means without fear of reproach, without self doubt and without fear of losing one’s dignity all of which we learn to guard and protect.

This brings me to the fairy tale, The Emperor’s New Clothes.  The self righteous  king walked naked down the street as all of his loyal adult subjects clapped and cheered him along seeing his nakedness but fearing his reproach in acknowledging the deception of the wily tailor. It took a child to point and blatantly cry out without fear, “But he’s naked!”  Crash went the illusion! Boom! A lightning bolt of truth ignited the crowd to respond with appropriate gasps and the king, well he found humility.    

Maturity involves learning and adhering to social norms. Good manners do come with the inevitable compromises.  But is childlike innocence lost to necessary adaptation? NO it is just buried beneath the heart waiting to be found like a favorite pair of gloves under the car seat. You can ignite your childlike honesty in appropriate ways. Take up an activity that explores movement freely without reproach or self doubt such as martial arts, swimming, yoga, etc.  Start journal writing from the heart without worry of offending anyone with free and sometimes not polite expression. . Sing in the shower without self doubt. Play with a child and find your lighthearted giggles.  Come on, I double dog dare you!!!!

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Memories

My sister Kathy gave me a wonderful photo album of my very early years recently. Every chance I get, I sit and look at one of the photos closely to see what other details  from my childhood home I can see , smell and  feel.  It has reminded me that the senses are very strongly tied to memory.   For instance, I remember my 8^th Christmas because I received two red sweaters- my favorite color at that time.   I loved them both! The one my parents gave me was mohair and tied in a bow at the neck and the other from Aunt Eva was a cable knit cotton that lasted a long time.   I can remember my 10^th Easter because my Aunt Jan bought me a lilac silk scarf  ( my new favorite color) that I still wear .I have fond memories  of  Aunt Bette’s strawberry appliquéd curtains, my mother’s ivy tablecloth, Aunt Amy’s charming knick knacks,   the big maroon overstuffed living room upholstery of my youth and many dresses! 

I realize in a very non scientific way that I am tactual.  I avoid linen and fabric departments unless I have time and money to spare. I remember many an afternoon spent walking the fabric department of the  Stephen Richards store on Banksville Road with my mother touching and feeling .She  loved fabric and actually DID something with it- made wonderful dresses for me including my prom gowns and  wedding gown. I obviously inherited ½ of the gene- the love of fabric not the sewing skills to do much of anything with it!

Each of us has some very fine tuned tools to connect with our past, present and future. We each have the ability to reconnect with people and places no longer physically present in this physical world through sense awareness.  My mother within me walks the fabric aisles and linen departments still.   When I cover myself in relaxation with a blanket my mother bought for me, I reconnect with the comfort of being held close in her arms and protected.

 Pause and discover in yourself what senses awaken melancholy and delight for you. Spend ten minutes with yourself breathing quietly allowing your senses to warm you and comfort you.  Be present  in the timelessness of experience!

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Santosha 

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