What if?

We all followed this advice, garnerned from a post on the bookcrossing.com forum:

Be offended by no one unless they are blatantly telling you that they wish to offend, in which case YOU can choose to be offended if you wish or not.

Bumper Stickers We Know and Love

Hello, everyone! I am back from my trip to the beach. I had a great time. Well, actually I was on a detox and fasting kind of diet that gave me headaches and made me grumpy, but the company was good and the beach was beautiful.

Anyhow, this is a short entry to encourage responses. I thought since many of us have been out and about on summer trips, and those who haven't have probably been driving somewhere or other also, I would post something to encourage comments from blog members and to encourage those who aren't members yet to email me at mrsconway@gmail.com for an invitation so that you can comment, too.

This is prompted by a bumper sticker I saw today that I really liked. It said merely, "Possibilities exist." Of course, I thought right away of the Heart of Leadership class, and then not too long after that, I thought of the bumper sticker, "Miracles happen." I decided that maybe "Possibilities exist" was someone's response to "Miracles happen." Possibilities seem like a roadway to miracles, and maybe during those times when it seems hard to believe in miracles, we can at least stretch as far as possibilities?

Any other thought provoking or funny or otherwise interesting bumper stickers out there lately?

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.

Am I Secretly a Southern Girl at Heart?

Warning! This post has very little discernably to do with Madrona School. But I figure this is my blog, so I get to post what I want. I also figure that since I haven't yet convinced anyone else to post anything, I most DEFINITELY get to post whatever I want. And I hope it's entertaining for at least someone out there.

Ahhhh, well, the short answer is....

Yes, definitely some percentage. Y'all should know that mah daddy's from Texas, so that makes me half-Southern -- who knew?!

The long answer is....

My dad is from Texas, my mom is from New Jersey, they met and got married in Alaska, and I was born in L.A., so I am just one of many modern-day American nomads, really. But this Southern stuff is in my blood somewhere, try as I may have in the past to deny it.

For example, I grew up with my dad listening to all sorts of country music. I think we had every Willie Nelson album, including all the ones where he partners up with everybody else in the known country universe. In fact, the first big-name concert I can remember going to was when I took my dad to a Willie Nelson concert at the county fairgrounds for Father's Day when I was ten or so. And Johnny Cash, if he counts as country, anyway, he was part of my dad's collection as well. So of course I tried to separate myself from this country music thing, and refused to listen to it ever, if I had the option not to. Then I got married. And the thing about this is, I lived with my husband for five years before we got married. Did he listen to any country music during this time? NO! Then we get married, and all of a sudden I start finding country music all over the house and car. And all I can think is, "It's true! I really have married my own father!!!" And that goes without mentioning the line dancing or the black Lucchese cowboy boots. Or the watching sports on television thing, which he had previously maintained he wasn't party to. (I know that's not an exclusively Southern thing, but it sure is a "my dad" thing.) Jim is from Michigan, so he has no excuse that I can think of, either, for the boots or the line dancing or the country music. I was misled!

But here's the truly astonishing confession regarding country music. Whenever I am flipping around radio stations and unconsciously think, "Oh, that sounds like real music!" it turns out that I am hearing some of the interesting banjo or fiddle or something in a country tune. As soon as I hear any sort of twang in a voice, though, I'm on to the next station.

Lately, Jim has been leaving Dwight Yoakam cd's in the Jeep. And by "leaving in the Jeep," I mean, leaving in the cd player. I admit to being lured in to listening, partly so I don't have to figure out where he stashed the cover. And Dwight's remake of "Understand Your Man" brings me back to sitting in the diningroom of my childhood home (the one we built, which no longer exists, having burned to the ground), listening to Johnny Cash on the stereo. I love that song, despite being newly awake to the non-feminist aspects of the lyrics. I was also delighted to find, as I circled the airport earlier this summer to pick up my dad from a trip to Texas (of course!), the words Dwight sereneded me with were so very apropos: "Stop the world and let me off; I'm tired of going round and round!"

So perhaps I am coming 'round to the whole country music aspect of my Southern heritage. Something else that marks me not only as coming from Texan stock, but in particular East Texas, is a certain domino game. This is a game I love to play, although I rarely get the chance. I've only ever met one other person, not a family member, who had heard of this game that I learned on my grandfather's knee, and he was from East Texas, too. I think maybe some folks from that part of really really east Texas called Lousiana might know it, too. It's called "42," and it resembles a domino version of bridge, more or less, but not as complicated. It's a four-person partner game with bidding, tricks and the like. Anyone want to start a new gaming trend on Bainbridge, just let me know!

Another thing I was reminded of today when talking to my father, who was celebrating his birthday, is a certain turn of phrase which has caused much confusion in the early years of my parents' marriage and almost lost me even tonight. It's the phrase "I don't care about that." Seems innocuous, right? I would wager that almost everyone reading this post would understand that to mean something along the lines of "It doesn't matter to me." In my dad's language, however, this means the same thing as "I don't care for that," in other words, "I am completely opposed to that." Just imagine my mom asking my dad's opinion about something, being told he didn't care about it, and her going ahead and doing whatever it was. She, of course, thought he was neutral on this issue, and the decision was entirely up to her, and he would think that she had asked his opinion and then completely ignored it. I don't know how long it took them to get this particular communication glitch solved. Tonight my dad told me my mom didn't care about something, and I had to stop and remind myself that what he really meant by that was she was dead set against it!

Anyway, one more thing that got me thinking about my Southern self was a new dvd of Jim's we watched tonight, called "Down from the Mountain," which is a concert documentary of the music from the movie "Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?" I recommend both, especially if you enjoy bluegrass music. "Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?" is a retelling of the Odyssey set in the depression era in the South, featuring George Clooney and Holly Hunt and directed by the Coen brothers. While not my most favorite movie ever, I think it's worth watching. It's a little off-the-wall, and it's fun to trace the classical elements through the unlikely setting, similar to the experience of the Jane Austen fanatic (uh, that would be me) observing the story of "Emma" seen through the lives of Valley Girls in "Clueless."

But it's a moment in "Down from the Mountain" that brings me to a small gem of relevance to the Heart of Leadership course. Gillian Welch describes a moment when she lived in a communal house in Santa Cruz, California (a setting I am incidentally quite familiar with, as I grew up right near Santa Cruz, myself.) She describes how she was in the middle of cleaning the bathroom, and one of her housemates put on this certain Bluegrass record. As soon as she heard it, she came out of the bathroom and had to find the album jacket immediately. She just HAD to see it. And it seems to me that she dates her connection with Bluegrass, a major part of her life, with the experience of that moment. And my experience in hearing and seeing her relate the story of that moment was that I was thrilled. Really and truly thrilled. While I can hardly imagine having the response she had to hearing that album, I am thrilled to hear the story of a moment of connection with one of her life's purposes. I wonder if there's really anything more exciting than that? I realize that I don't just want to have those moments for myself, but I want to hear about those moments for other people. Those are the most interesting stories I can imagine right now!

I still don't like okra.

That's it for my pondering and rambling for tonight. I'll be leaving for a week tomorrow, so wannabe new members of the blog will have to wait for invites until I am back -- feel free to email requests, though, and I'll send them out as soon as I return. We'll depend on the handful of other members we currently have to post any new content between now and then -- so post early and post often!

THE GOOD NEWS

by Vietnamese Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh

I asked Amba to send this to me so I could share it with my class parents in a meeting this year. As it's not in our course book, I thought you all might like to read it again, too. Thanks, Amba!

The good news

they do not print.

The good news

we do print.

We have a special edition every moment,

and we need you to read it.

The good news is that you are alive,

that the linden tree is still there,

standing firm in the harsh winter.

The good news is that you have wonderful eyes

to touch the blue sky.

The good news is that your child is there before you,

and your arms are available:

hugging is possible.

They only print what is wrong.

Look at each of our special editions.

We always offer the things that are not wrong.

We want you to benefit from them

and help protect them.

The dandelion is there by the sidewalk,

smiling its wondrous smile,

singing the song of eternity.

Listen. You have ears that can hear it.

Bow your head.

Listen to it.

Leave behind the world of sorrow,

of preoccupation,

and get free.

The latest good news

is that you can do it.

Longing for Contribution

I have been having so much fun working on this blog since last night, and I am so excited that Charlie joined and Susan requested an invitation! What I really long for now is for more people to join, and for those who join to contribute with posts of their own and to comment on other people's posts. So please email me for an invitation and post early and often!

Thanks!

Jennifer

Two Frost Poems

Here are two of my favorite poems:

Dust of Snow

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

A Mood Apart

Once down on my knees to growing plants
I prodded the earth with a lazy tool
In time with a medley of sotto chants;
But becoming aware of some boys from school
Who had stopped outside the fence to spy,
I stopped my song and almost heart,
For any eye is an evil eye
That looks in onto a mood apart.

- Robert Frost

Jennifer C on the last day of school, 2005, saying goodbye to Oceana 

The Girl Story

I wrote this in college, when I was seventeen. It was HUGELY important to me when I wrote it. It was one of those moments of inspiration, when you know you are onto something important, something that matters...

Upon a time, there was a girl. She was young, and later she got big. As she grew big, she learned. As she learned, she changed. But in each instant of her life, she was always the same person, and were you to see her little, then later, big, you would see that she was the same person. Or maybe you wouldn't see that. Maybe you wouldn't remember her as she was little, and you would never connect the two people, the little and the big, as actually being the same person. But she always knew who she was. And when she thought of herself, she thought of herself as the self she was, but also as the self (the many selves) she had been. And also the possible selves yet to come, for because she had not yet been one of them, they were all possibilities, and so she was all of them. All of them were one, and as she grew older, they became a stronger, more unique and defined self. But when she had been young, she had still been herself. She was always herself, and she always knew who she was.

Or she thought she knew. She had always been the same person, but her perceptions of herself had sometimes been quite different. Sometimes she was the agile, graceful one. Sometimes she was the smart, bright one, full of promise. Sometimes she was the fat one, the clumsy incompetent one.

Sometimes she was the stupid one, the lazy one, the beautiful one, the charming one, the shy one. One one one one one one one. The word, repeated over and over, made it just a set of three letters, just a sound that didn't mean anything. Whatever she was, however she perceived herself, she was always only one. Every person is only one, a great aloneness within the world.

This aloneness was a great and terrible thing, all at once exquisitely beautiful and a painful torture. It was the greatest privilege to be able to live as an individual, to have her own thoughts, to be herself, her own individual being. And it was the greatest solitude to be searching for someone to share this great self with. For behind the deep alone, there was the quiet certainty that she was great, that she would find someone. Sometimes the certainty was too quiet, and she didn't hear it anymore, and she longed for that someone, HERE and NOW. And then she would sleep, and she would awake with the joy that she was herself, and it was morning.

Or she would walk, in the brisk, chill air, feeling vibrantly happy, and forget the need. Or she would see someone, and he would fill her with pleasure, even by telling her of his sorrows. Any of the simple things that make you happy would make her happy, and she fell in love with herself over and over.

I think if I were to tell you she lived in 2000 BC, you would believe me. And I think if I were to tell you that she lived in a little hut in the middle of the forest with her mean old grandmother, and she went to the well each morning for two pails of water, you would believe that. If I told you she lived in a slum in Miami, you would believe. On a spacestation. In ancient Egypt. In Victorian England. You would believe she could live anywhere. Or I believe it. I believe she could be a man. Would it matter? This description fits many, and yet they are all different. And some don't fit the description at all. But I think most of them lived happily ever after.

Inspired by the Heart of Leadership Class at Madrona School...

....I thought, wouldn't it be neat to start a blog to share our new successes, stands, miracles, inspiring quotes, poetry, buddy news and so on.....and then today, I met with Kerry in our first buddy meeting. She told me how much she and Mike had enjoyed the movie "Sahara," which I had recommended to them. So then I asked if she had seen "Defending Your Life," which Alyse mentioned on the last day of the class, and she hadn't, so that became my new recommendation. Then she said I should start a website or something, and I said, "We-elll...."

Being as I was toying with the idea of this blog anyway, I thought it wouldn't hurt to add movie recommendations into the mix, either. So I recommend "Defending Your Life," with Albert Brooks and Meryl Streep, as a whimsical look at the afterlife and what it might be like to review your life once it's over. I don't want to say much more about it, except that I haven't ever talked about it with anyone who didn't like it, and it certainly has some overtones of cosmic truth to me. Plus, it's light and entertaining.

Thanks to Kerry for giving me the push to do this! All our classmates and teachers are welcome to post here, just let me know and I will send you an invitation. Any other members of the Madrona School community are welcome as well, in the spirit of inclusion, fun, and self-development for all!