Great Wisdom & Humor
“Just trust yourself. Then you will know how to live.” Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
“You see, wire telegraph is a kind of a very, very long cat. You pull his tail in
Labels: Einstein, Goethe, humor, quotations, wisdom
“Just trust yourself. Then you will know how to live.” Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
“You see, wire telegraph is a kind of a very, very long cat. You pull his tail in
Labels: Einstein, Goethe, humor, quotations, wisdom
Don’t you hate being predictable? I had been waiting to get into gardening. I had this notion that I couldn’t tackle the outside of the house until I “finished” or at least “caught up on” the inside of the house.
Every spring I would put a couple of geraniums in pots and promise, “pretty soon”… “not this year but soon.” I would keep trying to slog away at the clutter, and paint the woodwork, fold the laundry, and so on and so on. Meanwhile I would pore over gardening books and magazines and imagine what I would do with the garden when I finished the house.
After living in said house for more than twenty years, it finally dawned on me that unless I had some sort of personality transplant, I will never finish the house. Or even get caught up. I am “housekeeping-challenged” and I have accepted that. So I finally decided to start on the garden. I started by literally carving out some garden space in the front of the house, two-foot square by two-foot square, I cut patches of grass out in front of the evergreens with a paring knife. I lifted out the grass and kneaded each clump to work out the dirt. I couldn’t wait to dig out the whole bed before starting to plant. So square by square, after the grass was out, I worked in some peat moss and added new top soil, I planted a perennial and added a pink geranium for color. I finished off with pine mulch and admired my work.
It felt great. I loved being outside in the sun. I loved working the dirt with my fingers, and I loved how the little patches looked when I was finished. After I had been at it for a few days, my neighbor from across the street stopped by. “Wouldn’t that go faster if you rented a sod cutter?” she suggested. “Probably,” I replied, “but I like doing it with my hands. It’s therapeutic,” I said with no irony in my voice.
I felt so creative. I had not just planted some flowers; I had not just discovered gardening. I had INVENTED gardening. I had had a similar experience once before. When I gave birth to my first daughter, I was heady with the knowledge that I was the first human being to invent the whole processes of child bearing. Now I knew that no one before me had experienced the wonder that comes from that special communion with nature that produces a beautiful flower bed.
What intoxication! This was the cure for all forms of frustration or melancholy. Just get out there with those garden tools, and in minutes blue moods would be banished. The physical benefits were equally health-giving; surely the digging, bending, lift, standing, kneeling, walking, carrying would bring a new trim to my waist even as they brought roses to my cheeks and to the garden.
I was in love. I was so clever.
Within weeks I read that baby boomers by the millions are taking up gardening. Those of us born between the years of 1946 and 1964 can’t seem to do anything alone. Whether it is attending rock concerts, growing long hair, dropping out of school, or discovering the joys of the garden, we do it in droves.
Labels: baby boomer, creativity, gardening
Vickie and Dave moved in next door when their youngest daughter, Randi, was 18 months old, exactly one week older than our Jane. When you are growing up, it just doesn’t get any better than having your best friend live right next door. The girls went through all kinds of milestones together: kindergarten, Brownies, going away to camp. They played basketball, coached by Randi’s dad, and swam on the local team for about seven years. They gave up swim team when they reached the age where they were expected to practice at 6:30 AM. At that point teenage love of sleep won out over athlete’s love of the sport.
As the years went on, the girls made more friends, developed different interests and were no longer inseparable. But they still had that special bond that you can only have with someone you have known all your life.
It seems like it was just a few years later that the girls were graduating from high school. There is a special section of the high school yearbook for which parents are invited to submit candid photos of their graduate with a parting wish or bit of wisdom as they leave high school. At the time the pictures were due, my mother who lived with us passed away. The picture was forgotten as I was taken up with all that surrounds the death of a parent.
I never gave the yearbook another thought until Jane came home, smiling and thanking me for the great entry. That’s when I saw what Vickie had done for both of our girls. Two generations of extraordinary friends enjoyed a beautiful thought! Yes that's the entry that appeared in the yearbook.
copyright © Dianne Morr
Labels: Friendship, motherhood
Last week I had the chance to see The Buddy Holly Story at a Drury Lane Theatre in Oak Brook. The glittery decor of red velvet everything and lots of crystal chandeliers Drury Lane makes every visit festive. The production featured excellent musicians and singers. The only thing that surprised me was the audience. Buddy Holly was the ultimate rocker, right? So his fans were kids, right? So what were all these old geezers doing in the audience?
I started watching American Bandstand when I was 7 years old. I remember running home from second grade to watch Dick Clark and all the cool teenagers celebrating rock and roll! Those were glorious days! For the next 15 years I could do all the new dances and could sing all the words to the top 40 singles. I was in the know. I expected the audience to be made up of all those rocking teenagers.
So why was I the only kid at The Buddy Holly Story? The crowd reminded me of the bunch I saw at the Paul McCartney concert at the
Labels: baby boomer, Buddy Holly, musical, theatre
If you have looked at my profile, you know that The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron is one of my all time favorite books. I discovered Julia about 12 years ago, and that book changed my life. The Artist's Way shows everyone how to access, or reclaim, their creativity. One of the tools Julia uses is what she calls morning pages. They are three pages of long-hand writing to be done first thing in the morning.
Labels: creativity, Julia Cameron, morning pages, The Artist's Way
Labels: baby boomer, depression