‘Boring women have immaculate homes.’

Tags

housework, New Year

It was a slogan that my mother proudly carried on a keychain, and a favorite of hers.

As this might suggest, she kept house only as necessary, i.e., when – GASP! – there were people coming over!!

Yes, the dishes were routinely done, and by hand – she often joked, ‘My dishwasher is six feet tall and has a beard’ – and the ashtrays and cat boxes were dumped and dealt with as needed, but I rarely saw her with a duster in her hand. The toilets and tubs were scrubbed ‘when they got bad’. And she certainly didn’t do windows. Old newspapers got stacked up, often for weeks or even months at a time; recycling was scattered about and put off until Dad could get to the dump on a Saturday morning.

But at the prospect of visiting company, she would become even more a bundle of nerves than she already was, hurrying around the house to catch up with the mountain of tasks that had been accumulating, vacuuming this and wiping down that, and thinking out loud the entire time.

There was one time of year when this routine, such as it was, would coalesce, and that was leading up to New Year’s.

I don’t recall anymore if it was a Scottish/British thing, or just a Mom’s family thing, but she didn’t partake in the spring cleaning tradition that so many others observe in this culture. She was instead taught by her mother that it’s bad luck to not have your housework done by New Year’s Day. So, I have lots of memories of my mother the week after Christmas, doing what was still called ‘the spring cleaning’ – windows/mopping/polishing/reorganization.

Of course, once I was old enough to carry an old rag and a bottle of Pledge, or tug a vacuum cleaner around the house, I helped out too – but my room stubbornly remained the cluttered mess that I enjoyed.

And this all had to be done by just before 7pm ET, which was when the phone on the kitchen wall would ring and my Granny on the other end would turn up the radio or TV in her living room in Scotland to transmit the midnight ringing of Big Ben over the phone line to my mom, who would stand motionless with the receiver to her ear, weeping the tears of homesickness.

This month marks 16 years since my mother’s passing, and also nearly 30 years since I moved out on my own to figure out what kind of housekeeper I would turn out to be (hint – I’m not boring).

Happy New Year, dusty or scrubbed as you are!

Coming and going.

Tags

change, meditation, mindfulness, New Year

On this morning after Christmas, I am contemplating this quote from Joseph Goldstein:

‘It’s impossible to count on things staying the same, staying the way we want them to stay—because everything is always becoming otherwise.‘

On the precipice of a new calendar year, this seems especially appropriate.

And he’s right – it’s impossible. And it’s also painful.

So much of my own suffering stems from my wanting things/moments/experiences to stay the same, to grasp at the pleasant, to push away the unpleasant, to capture beauty in a jar and hold onto it for dear life. And all of this is a guaranteed strategy for unhappiness and dissatisfaction.

Here are just a few things that came and went in my awareness this past week that some part of me hoped could last forever:

• this year’s Charlie Brown Christmas tour
• a flock of evening grosbeaks
• that gorgeous sunset on the solstice
• that bag of curry-flavored popcorn
• singing in three part harmony with few dear old friends

Of course, the flip side of all of that is a list of things that came and went that I was eager to put in the rear view mirror:

• an argument with a loved one
• a headache
• my worry about the winter storm
• my annoyance with an aggressive tailgater

Every day, every moment, I am reminded that everything that arises will pass away, including my reactions and responses to those phenomena. It is the nature of all things. It’s painful and it’s beautiful.

As the day to swap out our calendars draws near, I’m reminded also of that U2 lyric: ‘Nothing changes on New Year’s Day.’ In one sense, this is correct: a new calendar year is an invitation to reflect on the past year, to plan for the new one, to resolve to change habits. In another sense, it’s not correct – everything is changing all the time, and each day or hour or moment can be framed as the start of a new year, a new slate onto which I can write my life. I can write words of dissatisfaction and unhappiness. I can write words of gratitude and joy. I can write words that are simply observations of what is happening: I feel dissatisfied/unhappy/grateful/joyful.

However you’re feeling in this moment, I wish you a clear slate, colorful chalk, and a long and beautiful life in and about which to write.

(insert adjective here) New Year

Tags

Capitol riot, life, New Year

Remember when you felt really hopeful about 2021? Like, a week ago?

Holy moly.

I was at the dentist on Wednesday when the news of the events at the Capitol exploded into awareness. Thankfully, I was up and out of the chair and not being poked and prodded and scraped any longer. (Can you imagine learning about the attempted coup while a dentist is working on your teeth? I actually don’t mind going to the dentist – I really like my dentist – but wow, for a lot of people, that’s the stuff of nightmares!) Dr. C. has NPR playing throughout his office 24-7, and a discussion about vaccine rollout in the state of Maine was cut short with an abrupt sentence from NPR headquarters in Washington, something about ‘the Vice President is safe’. He and I both froze in our tracks as he was handing me my next-time appointment card.

I got out to the car and called Shawn. ‘What’s going on?’ My heart started to race.

After a brief exchange, trying to make sense of things, we hung up and I turned on the radio for my drive home. As I drove along roads that I hadn’t seen in months – the bright, beautiful, frozen landscape of Western Maine in early January – the horror of what was happening in D.C. was sinking in, and I couldn’t stop shaking or crying.

I couldn’t wait to get home, and see and hug my best friend.

Wednesdays are live-stream days for us, so the question bubbled up: Do we go on with the show? Will it seem tone-deaf to start up Facebook Live and sing songs like ‘Pennies From Heaven’?

We did go on with the show. We would have picked up our instruments and played anyway, even if there was no stream scheduled that day. So, why not do it, and share it, and see what happens? We started with a rendition of Horace Silver’s ‘Peace’, and the hour unfolded from there. And we put our hearts into every note, every word, and the folks who tuned in thanked us for it, for giving them a respite from the shock and sadness of the moment.

Using the turning of the year as a pivot point for one’s outlook and plans is a time-honored tradition. There is this sense that we can shape the New Year into anything we want. ‘Happy’? Sure. ‘Peaceful’? That sounds good too. ‘Joyful’? I’m all for it. When we look more deeply into this tradition, this exercise of renewal, we can see that every day, every hour, every moment is the start of a new year, the start of another chance to set things right.

I am no pundit. I just want to live in a world where people don’t believe that they have to resort to violence – ANY kind of violence – to be heard and understood. I don’t want to write anyone off. I want to listen and learn and understand and have compassion and empathy. Boy, is that tough when you don’t agree. But I’m here, and I’m trying. Holy hell, am I trying.

2021’s cape.

Tags

attention, mindfulness, New Year

IT’S A BIRD!

IT’S A PLANE!

IT’S….. 2021!

And the new page on my calendar is looking at me shrugging its shoulders, like, ‘Huh? You see a cape on this?’

I get it. There is a ubiquitous feeling of excitement and relief to see the numbers ‘2020’ in the rear view mirror (unless, of course, you’re hoping for a perfect next eye exam).

And I share the hope and excitement! I have a list as long as my arm of stuff that I hope to accomplish in the New Year, though I wouldn’t call the things on this list ‘resolutions’ so much as I would describe them in terms I borrow from my friend Kate: ‘striving for approximations.’

‘2021’ isn’t a benevolent superhero that will save us from the evil villain ‘2020.’ It’s a number on a page on the calendar—which of course is a slice of paper made from the fiber of a once-living tree combined with the muscle and know-how to create a stand-still time-keeping device. And, you know, my calendar is just a boring day planner. No pretty pictures. Maybe I should get a nice wall calendar, with mountains or puppies or something…

See how distracted my mind gets? I bet yours does that, too.

And that’s just it. I think what matters is attention. What am I paying attention to—to some far off moment when everything will be better, and to the hopes and expectations I’m pinning to that moment? Or am I paying attention to what’s happening right here, right now, in this moment—the only moment I can be sure of?

And when I *do* pay attention to the here and now, sometimes all I’ve got is, ‘I’m exhausted.’ And of course! Who isn’t exhausted right now? Last year kicked our asses. And there is still some ass-kicking in store for us. This year, next year. Today, tomorrow, every day.

What matters, moment to moment, is how we can manage our attention—to remember what is happening now, to stay connected to what cultivates gratitude and celebration in our lives, and to go easy on ourselves when we stumble. Even superheroes trip on their own capes sometimes.