Archive for the ‘inspiration’ Category

Eyes Wide Shut

Wednesday, November 10th, 2010

When my husbandís health problems escalated to where he needed intensive medical care, a friend suggested he contact the Veteransí Administration.

ìAs a U. S. Navy Vet,î he said, ìyou should be eligible for health related benefits.î

Eddie inquired, and indeed discovered that because of his military experience he qualified for a basically cost free health program. One that provided an array of medical services, which, because of his personal needs, turned out to be extensive.

On several occasions, Eddie had to undergo high tech diagnostic testing and treatment that led to specialized medications to operations. He also needed follow-up well-care visits and numerous, lengthy hospital stays. Along with these services he encountered countless skilled and compassionate doctors, nurses, specialists and a highly trained general staffóevery one unique and unforgettable.

In addition, he made and cultivated friendships with other servicemen with their own physical difficulties, some of which seemed far worse then his; at least to me.

During the first few visits to the V.A. Hospital, I must admit to being overwhelmed, embarrassed and frightened at the sights I encountered. It was here, my eyes were opened and I became exposed to the effects of war on both men and women of all ages in a way I had never could have anticipated or imagined.

Now I thought I was as patriotic as the next person was. Didnít I sing the patriotic songs and praise the vets for their efforts? Didnít I send donations to the appropriate organizations and attend local parades to honor our soldiers? Didnít I hang my flag out to acknowledge them on Veterans Day and Memorial Day and wear handmade trinkets to show my support?

Yet nothing prepared me for the experience of being in the company of so many who had gone through so much.

I felt humbled by my lack of real world knowledge and the obvious ignorance I held about the veteranís who served our country. I questioned what those of us, and I believe that statistic is high, are not truly aware of what they experience for our benefit.

History ìteachesî us about cause, effect and outcome of war. Television and specialized websites show us the weaponry, destruction, and fatal statistics. News media personalities and politicians analyze the pros and cons of war.

Yet what we donít see, hear or learn much about is the human experience of those who actually do the fighting, how soldiers are affected, how the aftermath changes their lives.

Old-timers from World War ll and Korea, my contemporaries from Vietnam and the youngsters from the Gulf War at the Denver, CO and Cheyenne, WY V.A. Hospitals opened my eyes to a different world; one I never realized existed is such a significant abundance.

The dramatic impact of wheel chair bound vets; single-limb and multiple-limb amputees and long-term bedridden patients whose ailments are not obvious struck an unsuspecting emotional response. I never knewÖ

And those who lost lifeís luster and wander in search of themselves their dreams and the life they once knew, jolted my sense of appreciation for life. I never really knewÖ

Most of these Vets were not ranked as heroes. They were instead regarded as victims of a tragedy during war maneuvers.

Becoming part of this world showed me exactly how little I actually knew of the consequences of war and the sacrifices others gave and suffered for a freedom I took for granted. Itís then I realized how much I didnít understand the far-reaching effects on, not only them, but upon their families and friends. Itís then I realized that despite how their ailments came about, they were, indeed, all heroes who served our country because they believed their efforts would impact the worldÖmake it better place in which we could all live.

I'm thankful for my husbandís care, having my eyes opened, being filled with a profound gratitude for every vetís service to our country. I also have a deeper respect and sense of the meaning of veteran, patriotism, freedom and making the world a better place in which to liveÖone day, one action, one person at a time.

Great Migrations

Saturday, November 6th, 2010

Check this out! Whenever I think I can't get through hard times, or things don't make sense around me, I remember these amazing animals. And they do these incredible journeys, full of drama and purpose,† every day of every year. Life does makes sense -- at some cosmic level, there is amazing purpose and design and always, incredible adventures.

It is all right here for us to remember and believe.

Tune in Sunday night, but you can check out the preview here.

Choosing to Be a Crone

Sunday, October 17th, 2010

What is a crone? What traits does she possess?

First, I would like to make clear that not all old women are Crones. Becoming a Crone is a conscious choice. It involves a declaration of intent and a positive way of thinking. Of course, we will all continue to age as long as we stay alive, but it is up to each of us to choose the role we will play in this final stage. Will you choose to be a Crone or will you choose to just be an old lady?

What are we committing to if we agree to be crones?

Crones are authentic. We have reached a stage in life where we can truly be ourselves. So what if I have some gray hairs? So what if I have some wrinkles? So what if I have gained a few pounds? So what if I donít fit the prototype of the young woman promoted everywhere I look. I am still me. I have value. I am a vibrant, living, beautiful part of the human race.

Crones accept this final phase of life with joy and anticipation. We accept that although our souls are immortal, no one lives on this plane of existence forever. We have other places to go ñ other realms to explore.

†I love a story that I read in a forwarded internet message some years ago. Seems people were surprised when they viewed the body of an active parishioner during her funeral service. As they looked into the coffin they spotted a fork in her right hand. Perplexed they asked the minister why this was so. He replied that this lady had attended numerous pot luck dinners at the church over the years. She told him that as the dinner plates were removed from the tables, someone would always shout, ìKeep your fork, the best is yet to come!î She had thus asked to be buried with fork in hand.

Crones welcome the mysteries of life. We believe in the magic of existence. Crones know that not everything has an explanation. Some things just are. We trust our insight and intuition in daily living.

Crones are grateful for all of the experiences of our lives. We are thankful for the advantages of our many years, while recognizing that old age is not all strawberries and cream. We have experienced the joys of life, but we have also experienced grief, some of us in great measure. All of us have lost people that are important to us. Many of us have outlived our parents, some have outlived our husbands, some have suffered the tragedy of outliving a child, and all of us have lost friends and mentors. We are sometimes tempted to give in to feeling lonely, even depressed. But Ö

Crones live in the present. For some of us, it is a temptation to live in the past ñ to revel in former accomplishments and happier relationships. And sometimes I get caught in that trap myself. My husband died 13 years ago and not a day goes by that I do not think of him. But when I start getting nostalgic, I endeavor to remember the words of Eckhart Tolle. In The Power of Now, he tells us that dwelling in the past always brings regret ñ thinking about good times that no longer exist evokes feelings of sadness and discontent. Regretting mistakes that cannot be changed results in guilt and frustration. On the other hand, thinking constantly about what the future may hold takes us into a state of worry or consternation. Tolle admonishes to live in the present. All is well in this moment. Celebrate the temporary. †Enjoy the now.

Crones have compassion. We care for others and resist passing judgment on them, realizing that each person is following his or her own path through life. It is not up to us to criticize anotherís journey. We just need to to offer support and encouragement.

Crones live in love. Crones know that the beginning of all love is self-love. We remember the words of Jesus, ìLove your neighbor as you love yourself.î He was telling us that we must first have self love before we can truly express love for others.

We are women. We have within us all of the experiences of life and these experiences have made us who we are. We are survivors. We are strong. We offer a sisterhood of support. †

Life is a journey and we are on the home stretch. Letís cheer each other on.

This Life/Work Balance Thing

Sunday, September 26th, 2010

This balancing thing escapes me.† I think I am doing better at keeping track of what's what and then I go drop something.† I got two books on time management from the library and revamped my daily schedule ... but I still feel like a circus performer trying to keep plates spinning on sticks.† I run from one wobbling plate to another, giving each the amount of energy to keep it spinning.

Balancing Life in Your War Zones: A guide to Physical, Mental, and Spriitual Health

LeAnn Thieman's book makes me think and her personal story never fails to wow me.

So this month seemed like the perfect time to re-read Balancing Life in your War Zone: A guide to Physical, Mental, and Spritual Health by LeAnn Thieman.† Since it was published in 2008 I think I've read it cover to cover twice and skimmed through it several times.

Each time I glean something that seems appropriate for what I am experiencing at that time.† Like a devotional or collection of essays, there is always a tidbit that soothes my weariness or jazzes my bones. 🙂

Good reads are worth re-reading!
Anyone want to share a favorite book that stands up to reading again and again?

The Loveland Corn Roast Parade is coming

Friday, August 27th, 2010

Parades. The first parade I remember well was on the Fourth of July and I was a participant. My older sister helped my little sister and me decorate our tricycles with red, white, and blue crepe paper. We affixed tiny American flags all over our bikes and pedaled the parade route through out tiny downtown to welcome Alaska as a state.

Then we saw Music Man performed live by my older brother's high school.

I was hooked.

Tomorrow I'll be in a parade, too. This time the theme is corn Ö for the Loveland's annual Corn Roast Festival Parade. I look forward to the smiling faces, the music and camaraderie, and all that goes with a hometown festival.

Watch for Loveland 365 ñ we will be a sandwich-boarded group marching and singing. It is good to celebrate living in a community and being a part of something whose sum equals more than the individual parts.

For info on Loveland's Corn Roast Festival, visit the Loveland Chamber of Commerce website.

What Color is Joy?

Monday, August 16th, 2010

Opening a brand new box of crayons ranks right up there on my joy scale. As a kid, I might not have been ready for school to†begin in August, but I was always ready for the fresh start and unlimited possibilities contained in the rainbow of perfect points in my new box of crayons each year.

My daughter starts her junior year of high school tomorrow. My son leaves for his sophomore year of college the day after that. Maybe they donít need Crayolas anymore, but I do.

I have a new box of 24 sitting on my desk right now. More than the basic eight, but not so many as to be overwhelmed with the choices. Blue green, apricot, cerulean, carnation pink, yellow-green, green-yellow. Now all I need is a coloring book.

Return to Handwriting Analysis

Friday, July 16th, 2010

by Phyllis Kennemer

When my friend Lynda contacted me about giving some lectures on handwriting for some groups in libraries, my first impulse was to say ìNo.î My years as an active handwriting analyst were far behind me and I had tossed all of my materials when I moved from my house to my apartment about three years ago.

Then I talked to Lynda on the telephone and she quoted a generous honorarium, plus mileage, for the lectures. I reconsidered. How hard could it be to reconstruct something I had worked with so intimately for more than ten years. Of course those ten years were from about 1968 to 1981!

First, I needed to get some materials to review. I went online and discovered a website for the International Graphoanalysis Society. Since I had signed up as a lifetime member in 1969, I thought I would be able to acquire what I needed relatively easily. Not so fast! The new owner would not communicate with me via his website and hung up on me when I telephoned him. I found a used set of materials on Amazon.com and told Lynda I would do the lectures.

I prepared my talk on the letter ìtî. This letter represents the writerís goals and accomplishments and the letter is made in a variety of ways. I begin each session with writing a paragraph containing lots of ìtísî on the board and ask participants to copy it in a style of writing that is comfortable for them. Then they can analyze their own writing as we continue.

My first lecture was for a teenage audience. This was a new and interesting experience. The teenagers wrote the paragraph on their papers and promptly turned the papers over so no wandering eyes would discover anything about them. They sat almost expressionless throughout the session and I was afraid I was boring them, but when I finished each one had personal questions for me. They had taken it all in!

The next two lectures were given for adult audiences. They were attentive and interactive ñ asking many questions as we went along. A common question began with ìDoes this mean anything?î The answer is always ìYesî. Every stroke placed on a surface means something.

When I reflected on my return to handwriting analysis, I was glad I had reacquainted myself with something of significance in my life. And I was glad that I had once again come to the realization that, ìYes. Everything we do, write, or say does have meaning.î

This Land is Your Land! This Land is My Land!

Monday, June 28th, 2010

Independence Day, a.k.a. the Fourth of July, is the ultimate holiday event celebrated throughout America. This day is marked by those who honor the history, government and traditions of the United States. There are many different patriotic displays where citizens of all ages pay homage to our nation.

People wear red, white and blue hats, shirts and other clothing, decorate their homes, public places and everything else with streamers, balloons, ribbons and other ornaments. They proudly fly the American flag. All this enthusiasm is to commemorate our historic evolution and encourage our progress for the future.

In the mornings, people of all ages gather along Main Street, USA across our country to view local parades, cheer on the marchers and salute the American flag.

During the afternoons many attend carnivals, fairs and baseball games. Some go on picnics, have backyard barbeques and grill their favorite foods. Others gather at a pool, lake or oceanfront to splish ën splash trying to keep cool in the hot afternoon sun while they await the traditional finale of the day.

When evening arrives, the parks, fairgrounds, town squares and waterside facilities fill with families who gather to watch the sky light up with colorful fireworks.

They attend concerts and listen to patriotic songs like† ìthe Star Spangled Bannerî, ìGod Bless Americaî, †"America the Beautiful", "My Country, 'Tis of Thee", "This Land Is Your Land", "Stars and Stripes Forever", and, regionally, "Yankee Doodle" in northeastern states and "Dixie" in southern states.

Some military bases give a one-gun-salute for each state in the United States, called a ìsalute to the union,î on Independence Day at noon.

If you've never been to our nation's capital, I strongly recommend you take a trip to Washington D.C..† Regardless of your political affiliation, I guarantee the experience will impress you. Indeed this land is your land and this land is my land. This home of the free and the brave (with all its faults) deserves a celebration.

How will you celebrate July 4th this year?

Winter Retreat

Tuesday, June 22nd, 2010

Winter Retreat

††††††††††† The warm crackling heat from the furnace wraps its arms around me like an old fur coat.

††††††††††† I snuggle between the kitchen table on a chair and prepare to eat breakfast.

††††††††††† The aroma of cinnamon and apples, along with the toasty smell of coffee, works its way up into my nostrils.

††††††††††† I turn the corners of my mouth up into a grin, pull my sweatshirt closer to my body and prepare my cereal with butter; sugar and heavy cream, then embrace the enticing morning feast with a gulp of coffee, while reaping the fine rewards that a cold morning can offer.

Memento

Tuesday, April 6th, 2010

I am working on a memoir. It is quite a process to write a storyÖ.about yourself.

A couple weeks ago I sat in a memoir workshop. The instructor asked us to pull out a memento we had with us and write down why it had special meaning. MementoÖ. an object given or kept as a reminder in memory of somebody or something.

I looked through my purse; shuffled through old receipts, my wallet, sunglasses, and cell phone. At first glance, I didnít carry a thing in memory of somebody or something There was nothing special in my big, black, bag. So, I kept quiet and listened to what others had to say.

ìI have one,î said the man behind me, ìI have a tattoo on each arm to remind me of my quadruple bypass surgery. My left arm has a heart with a band aid on. My right has the names of my grandchildren. They are the people who got me through this surgery.î

Well, I certainly donít have a memento like that.

The woman down the aisle stood up. ìI have my i-phone which has a GPS. The last map on it was a run up Horsetooth I did three days ago. Iím training for a half-marathon. This winter has been the first time Iíve felt strong enough to run since my chemotherapy. The half-marathon is in three weeks and I think Iíll be able to do it.î

Story after story was told; heartbreaking, yet strong stories, stories of the human spirit.

I opened my purse again and found an old syringe used for Samanthaís medicine. I pulled out the ëtoolí used to open oxygen tanks for Samantha. This tool doubles as a key chain. Ironically, it was wrapped around my Childrenís Hospital badge.

Are these mementos? Are these keepsakes? Is the scar from my c-section just as much a keepsake as my great-grandmothers quilt? They all tell a story of who I amÖ.MY life.

I watched the people around me pull out items and create stories; the tiny threads of their experiences and I thought that being a writer, being able to capture life within a plastic syringe, is pretty darn cool.