Month: September 2011

Pursuit of Fun

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

Early this week I ran across the quote just below that has deep meaning, especially considering it comes from a TV show (Sex and the City). 

When you’re young, your whole life is about the pursuit of fun. Then you grow up and learn to be cautious, you could break a bone or a heart. You look before you leap and sometimes don’t leap at all because there’s not always someone there to catch you and in life there’s no safety net. When did it stop being fun and start being scary? 

Having slept long and rested well last night, my mind is bright and fresh today so probing into the past is clearer than most days.  The past of the quote that has simmered in my mind this week is the opening line “When you’re young, your whole life is about the pursuit of fun”.  It has been rewarding to think back about what I thought was fun when I was a kid, before the uncertain clouds of my teen years moved in followed by adulthood.  Since most over 40 can probably remember a time before computers, cell phones, movie rentals and video games, I don’t feel like a fossil making a little list of a few things that come from my growing up years. 

If you never got to play ‘kick the can’, you missed out.  It seemed the time we played it usually was late afternoon and the game usually ended with being called in for dinner.  All that running and laughing sure created an appetite. 

“Red Rover, Red Rover…” was a game the teachers had us play in elementary school.  I suppose it has been mostly outlawed now because it was a physical game.  Once in a while someone got a little banged up in a minor way.  It was one of the few playground games where being big or wide or both was an advantage. 

Does dodge ball still get played in schools?  I wonder.  While it was not my favorite game by far, I do remember it well.  In this activity being big or wide or both was a definite disadvantage.  

What happened to merry go rounds on the playgrounds?  I bet insurance companies and school liability concerns did away with the kind I remember.

It was considered normal where I went to school for a boy to carry a pocket knife.  No one ever got stabbed or cut.  It was just a handy tool to have and was essential to play a game called Mumblety-peg.  The game had a series of knife trick moves one had to practice to be good.  The loser had to pull a peg out of the ground with his teeth.  We played it at recess, but the activity would get you suspended or arrested today.

While I was always terrible at it I remember kids playing jump rope of the kind where two people swing a rope at each end.   Then a third person (or more) popped in the middle and jumped the rope as it came around.  It’s been decades since I have seen kids doing it.  I hope somewhere this kind of jump rope is still alive!

Having seen some in a store not too long ago, I know “pickup sticks” are still around.  Do any kids today still play that game or is it available for those with grandkids to buy?  What about chinese checkers? Or just plain old checkers?

I had an electric race track set, my brother had Lincoln logs and we shared an Erector set.  We burned our fingers making creepy crawlers in our Mattel “Thing Maker” but we don’t think we are any worse for it today.   Our time was when GI Joe was new and the girls started getting Barbie’s.  Just about every one wanted or had a Slinky and Etch-a-Sketch.  Hula Hoop and Twister competitions were not uncommon.  There were “Dammit dolls” and stroking their long hair was supposed to give good luck (they were not named for a curse word and instead got their moniker from their inventor, Thomas Dam).  Skateboards were new and so were three speed bicycles from Schwinn.

What a pleasant little journey down memory lane it is to sit here, write and remember those times long ago.  The simpler years of childhood contain some fond memories where some the biggest issues were the girl or boy you “liked” (if you admitted liking the opposite sex at all!) or if one had done their homework.  Those years occupy a much broader stripe in my memory than the quantity of the time they cover.  While not all was good in my childhood, there are many wonderful experiences I will treasure and will have much gratitude for all my days. 

Now where is my old BB gun?

Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders. Unknown

The Point is… They Lived

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

Generally speaking, most of us work about eight hours per day, commute for an average of an hour each day, eat for about two hours, watch television for about five hours and about two hours goes to the computer for leisure such as online games, research or social media according to 2010 U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics.  All total that’s about seventeen hours and does not include sleep. 

How important is my time?  A simple illustration is a modern fable that has floated around the internet for years: 

With a soft voice and loving eyes, a little boy greeted his father as he returned from work, “Daddy, how much do you make an hour?”  Greatly surprised, but giving his boy a displeased look, the father said, “Look, son, I don’t tell anyone how much I make, so don’t bother me now, I’m tired.”

“But Daddy please tell me! How much do you get paid for an hour,” the boy insisted.  The father, finally giving up, replied: “Twenty dollars per hour.”  “Thank you, Daddy? Could you loan me ten dollars?” the boy asked.  Showing his displeasure, the father sternly said, “So that’s why you asked how much I make.  It’s your bedtime.  Go to bed and go to sleep.  I’m too tired for this right now.”  It was already dark when the father arrived home.

A short while later the Dad was thinking about how he had reacted and was feeling a bit guilty? He felt bad he had responded to his son the way he did.  Trying to relieve a little of his guilt, the father went to his son’s room and asked “are you asleep, son?”  “No, Daddy. Why?” said the sleepy boy.  “Here’s the ten bucks you asked me for when I got home,” the father said.

“Thanks, Daddy!”  joyfully said the son, while putting his hand under his pillow and removing a sandwich bag full of change he had stashed there. “Now I have the whole twenty dollars!  I finally have enough” the little boy said to his Dad, who was now looking down at his son with a confused expression.   It was then the little boy made it clear why he wanted the money “Daddy, could you sell me an hour of your time?”

Sometimes it occurs to me I have been so busy trying to move forward in some aspect of my life I forgot to live the life I had at the present moment.  That is absolutely true in my 20’s, 30’s and 40’s.  There certainly were times I was guilty of being too busy for my son like the fable above illustrates.  The same can be said about me for friends, family and even time for myself. 

Always I was aiming toward something, headed somewhere and my efforts were in majority for would or could be.  Other time was wasted looking over my shoulder trying to solve some riddle about my past.  There was a big deficiency in the amount of time I spent on the present moment at any given point.  I am not bitter or beating myself up over it (well not  much), because that realization now in my 50’s has brought me a whole new perspective.  I am much more “present” in my life than ever before.

Every day I do my best to live well centered in the “now” and I succeed quite a bit at it.  When I forget I am acutely reminded frequently that our days are limited by the loss of friends, family, favorite musicians, movie stars and people, famous and not famous, I look up to.  Each of us has no idea when the “off” switch will be thrown on our life.  

A method I use to center myself and gain perspective when I need to, is to think of each day as being a deposit of 86,400 made to my account.   It’s up to me how I withdraw from that balance, how much of it I actually use and how I spend it.  The bad news is that any unused or leftover part of the deposit is taken away every midnight.  The good news is another 86,400 seconds are deposited in my account with the beginning of a new day.  It is with much gratitude I realize whether my daily deposit is used well or how much is left “unlived” at the end of the day is largely up to me.   

…And while Cinderella and her prince did live happily ever after, the point is, gentlemen that they lived.  Grand Dame in the movie “Ever After”

Carlos Santana: Sound of Collective Consciousness Tour

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

A painter paints pictures on canvas.  But musicians paint their pictures on silence. 
Leopold Stokowski 

Music has been a deep love as long as I can remember.  Both my parents were big music fans.  The radio was on at home and in the car almost all the time.  Clear in memory is a concert program my parents got at Hank Williams, Sr. show when I was a baby that was around the house for years.  Vividly I recall the records Mom and Dad played over and over.  I remember the first record I ever owned and because of it since five years old I’ve been able to recite the lyrics of “The Ballad of Day Crockett”. 

Born on a mountain top in Tennessee
The greenest state in the land of the free….

OK, I won’t go on, but I know every single word.  My guess is there is at least one song from your early childhood that is just as deeply embedded in your psyche.  

By the time I was eighteen several thousand songs were logged deep in my memory and the profession I choose was related to music.  For over forty years I have had the honor of being a part of great radio stations that play music all day long.  

I can’t imagine life without music.  In my home there is only one television, but there is something that makes music in every room including the bathroom!  My life has had a constant soundtrack of my own making.  What I am listening to at any given point is either a reflection of where I am mentally and spiritually or else where I would like to be. 

Often I go to concerts and have been to hundreds.  Last evening a show was attended that made left me feeling extraordinary.  It began with an opening act I had never heard of:  Michael Franti and Spearhead, a band that blends hip hop with a variety of other styles including funk, reggae, folk and rock.  The music was good but the message was even better.  Every song was upbeat with a positive message. 

Michael spent half of their set dancing, singing and playing guitar down on the floor with the audience.  I have never seen anything like it. There have been shows I’ve seen where a band member went down on the floor for a song or two, but never for song after song like as he did.  For their last song a randomly selected group of about 30 people ranging in age from 8 to 87 years old were on dancing on stage with the band.  Anyone watching was smiling almost as big as those on stage were.  

Berthold wrote “Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life” and that is what the main act then did for me.  Carlos Santana and his band build upon the vibe of the opening act and made it match the name of their current tour:   “Sound of Collective Consciousness Tour”. 

At sixty-four years old, Carlos is playing guitar as well or better than he ever has.  He makes doing it look effortless.  His backup band was incredibly talented and very well rehearsed.  It was obvious everyone on stage was having a great time as were most people in an audience that ranged from little kids to great, great grandmas.  

As good as the music was the message was even better.  Twice Carlos talked about world problems and how much more love of our fellow-man was needed. 

Santana has given a lot of credit for his success to his spiritual beliefs.  His message is about love, beauty, grace, purity and peace.  There is hope in his music as we are urged to love deeply and for humanity to show its best side. All during the show he backed these points up in rhythm and beat that left it impossible for me to be still.  There are some traditional religions that take exception with some of Carlos’s beliefs, but even they must admit he is sincere and practices what he preaches.  

A highlight was attending the show with a relatively new, but dear friend.  Santana’s music has special meaning for her.  It was at one of Carlos’s shows on his adopted home turf of Northern California where she essentially reclaimed her life and started rebuilding it.  Getting to revisit a personal spiritual renewal with someone is a special experience.  

Carlos Santana, thank you for a wonderful show.  My life is richer because of your music and the message you spread in the world.  I hope you are still playing guitar at ninety! 

When through life unblest we rove,
Losing all that made life dear,
Should some notes we used to love,
In days of boyhood, meet our ear,
Oh! how welcome breathes the strain!
Wakening thoughts that long have slept,
Kindling former smiles again
In faded eyes that long have wept.
Thomas Moore

“To Forgive Is Give Up All Hope for a Better Past”

/ James Browning / 3 Comments

Definition for forgive: to grant free pardon and to give up all claim on account of an offense or debt.  To excuse for a fault; to pardon; to renounce anger or resentment against.

There’s a wonderful definition of forgiveness: that to forgive is to give up all hope for a better past. If you are locked in regret over the past, you have less available to your life now.  Forgiveness allows you a fresh start… It’s like a rain coming to a polluted environment. It clears things.  Dr. Fred Luskin

From time to time I find myself figuratively “kicking myself in the butt” repeatedly for something I have done in the past or a fresh misstep.  That’s how I process mentally before being able to let go and forgive myself.  I know the tendency goes back to childhood where punishment was a regular part of life even for the smallest offense.  I learned early on to be very hard on myself.  Even today a bit of emotional self-flogging is a penalty often self-prescribed for my misdeeds, although little by little I am slowly learning to not be so tough on myself. 

I have forgiven the women who broke my heart and the people who stole from me.  I have forgiven the ones who have stabbed me in the back and the one who ran into my car and irreversibly changed my life and my health.    I have forgiven the company that fired me after 18 years and the friends who turned out not to be friends at all.  I have forgiven the adults who abused me as a child and an ex-wife who verbally abused me.  I have become proficient at forgiving everyone but one person:  ME!  

Some of the knowledge I have gained about forgiving others is well described in a book called “Heart Match Solution”: You’re not forgiving them for their sake. You’re doing it for yourself. For your own health and well-being, forgiveness is simply the most energy-efficient option. It frees you from the incredibly toxic, debilitating drain of holding a grudge. Don’t let these people live rent free in your head. If they hurt you before, why let them keep doing it year after year in your mind? It’s not worth it but it takes heart effort to stop it. You can muster that heart power to forgive them as a way of looking out for yourself. It’s one thing you can be totally selfish about. Now if only I could broaden that perspective to include myself! 

My tendency is to be harder on me and hold myself more accountable than I do others.  At times forgiving my self is not even a consideration because my thinking is I must hold myself in a state of constant remembrance, lest I forget.  There is this nagging deep down there is some price to be extracted from me, some form of long penance I have to pay.  I know better, but the practice of that knowing is inconsistent and irregularly applied.    

I once read that if you do not forgive yourself of past sins, it is a form of pride. The thinking goes, whenever I enact a different set of rules, a higher set of standards for my self over others that is pride. When I can find it within my self to forgive others, but not my own self, I am saying I am less capable of making a poor decision than others. Attempting to hold myself to some higher standard than others means I think somehow I should be more intuitive, wiser, more insightful, more careful than others, and therefore, I am without an excuse and should not forgive myself.  When viewed in that sort of light it is so easy to see how an over developed sense of pride can greatly hinder self forgiveness.

My ability to forgive me is improving.  I know forgiving my self is essential to growth and happiness.  No amount of stirring my pot of memories will make the past make more sense.  I have to “give up all hope for a better past” and just let things be so I can have a better today and tomorrow.  The unchangeable reality is that I cannot alter what happened in the past. I cannot restore lives to where they were before a particular event. For each indiscretion or mistake all I can do is forgive myself and let the healing begin. 

There is not love without forgiveness, and there is no forgiveness without love.
Bryant H. McGill

Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

There’s an old song most often credited to Bing Crosby and other crooner’s a bit before my time titled “Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep”.  I prefer to hear Diana Krall sing it and my favorite of her versions is just her playing piano and singing:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JeftvZPsXeY 

The lyrics of the song are: 

When I’m worried and I can’t sleep
I count my blessings instead of sheep
And I fall asleep, counting my blessings

When my bankroll is gettin’ small
I think of when I had none at all
And I fall asleep, counting my blessings

I think about a nursery
And I picture curly heads
And one by one I count them
As they slumber in their beds

If you’re worried and you can’t sleep
Just count your blessings instead of sheep
And you’ll fall asleep counting your blessings.

I had a living reminder over the weekend of the blessings I have to count.  It can be sobering observing another person’s difficulty but also a solid reminder of one’s own good fortune. 

A friend and I were visiting an antique shop in a small town outside the city where we live.  There was a print from the 1920’s I took a fancy to and decided to buy if I could improve the asking amount a little.  I asked the man behind the register what the best price was and he said I would need to talk to the proprietor who he went to get.  

The owner was summoned out of the back of the store and very, very slowly he made his way to the front leaning heavily on a cane.  The sluggish pace of his movement gave me time to study him.  What I saw was an old man probably near 70 years-old who looked older than his years.  He did not look healthy.  It was distressing for me to watch him grimace with pain with each step.  There is a gray-ish color that comes upon the face of someone seriously ill and he was painted with it.  

The owner made me a fair deal on the print and in conversation I learned knee replacement surgery had not gone well and he was in a great deal of pain along with some other unnamed health issues.  He sensed my taste might be similar to his based on the print I purchased.  We were invited to the back of the store to see some “really good stuff that was not for sale”.  

I expected we’d end up in a storeroom and instead found myself walking through a door and into the man’s bedroom.  Through the bedroom we continued and entered into a combination living room and kitchen, all dimly lit.  The place was well lived in but was not a mess.  The bed was unmade and there were things lying about.  Yet there seemed to be some general organization to the clutter.  

Once in his “living room” with some difficulty he plopped down on a Queen Anne type love seat.  Our host started to point out several art deco pieces I had noticed as soon as we entered the room.  He was correct about me loving that type art from the 1920’s and 30’s.  

It is my strong suspicion the shop owner has few personal visitors.  I think he is lonely.  While he was in obvious pain, he seemed to enjoy greatly the half hour he spent with us.  His face would light up when he pointed to another deco piece as he began to tell us about its story and pedigree.  His collection contained several quite valuable pieces of types I have never seen up close before.  I enjoyed hearing about each one.  I think he would have preferred to visit with us longer but it was clear the moving around had brought increased pain which he acknowledged to us.  He said he needed to rest.  

As I emerged back into the main store, I was struck with a sadness that matched the murky light in owners two room home in the back of the store.  Thoughts rushed in asking:  Why did he live alone?  How did he come to be here? Why was there not someone to take care of him?  Was there no better place else where he could recuperate?  Was he as depressed as he appeared?  And so on….

As we began the drive home I thought of the shop owner hobbling along.  Over his gray pallor I clearly saw an expressionless sadness that seemed to keep him from making much eye contact.  I sensed he was fearful that someone who looked directly into his eyes could see the source of the pain he preferred to keep hidden.  Even this morning I feel sad for him. 

I have no idea what the shop owner’s story is, but meeting him reminded me how blessed I am with good health, a caring son, friends to take care of me, more than two rooms to live in and so much more.  I am very grateful.  From the weekend experience I gained a renewed perspective of gratefulness and a soft spot for the “old man” who owns the store.  I know I will visit again soon.  

The capacity to give one’s attention to a sufferer is a very rare and difficult thing; it is almost a miracle; it is a miracle.  Simone Weil

Seeing Past Myself on a Beautiful Morning

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

What a beautiful morning, one like we have not seen here in a long time.  When I woke I was excited to walk outside on my patio and feel the cool air, something Oklahoma has not known since last May when the recycled blog post below was originally written.  How wonderful the temperature feels and knowing the high is only around eighty degrees just adds to my joy this morning.  How immensely grateful I am to have relief from the 60 days or so of 100+ temperatures this year (normal is 11 days!).

It is a holiday morning.  Happy Labor Day.  And in the spirit of not extending too much labor here today, I am including a “reprint” of an early Good Morning Gratitude blog and taking the morning off for a convertible ride in the country.  Enjoy every hour of today!  I will with great gratitude!  

__________________________________________________

Originally posted on May, 25, 2011 
 https://goodmorninggratitude.com/2011/05/25/seeing-beyond-just-looking/

I have no certainty where exactly I got the idea.  It may have been from something I read or several things I came across blended together.  It may have even been a spontaneous realization.  But in the last 10 years I have learned to “see beyond just looking”.  I can’t do it all the time.  Actually that is probably impossible for a human being.  If I could I suspect I’d end up over dosed in goodness like Woody Allen was with the “orb” in the movie Sleeper.  Seeing beyond looking does happen for me frequently and the more I intentionally try the more frequent the activity comes without thought or effort.

My discovery was I mostly only acknowledged what came into view.  I would mostly just walked without really noting  what was right before me.  Mine was a bad habit of hardly ever really “truly seeing” much of anything.  My mind seemed to always be racing forward thinking about where I was going, what I had to do and what issues I needed to deal with.  Or else, I was looking backwards trying to solve some past emotional riddle or find some meaning in an episode of life I wanted an explanation for.

What I began to do, inconsistently at first, was to just stop and really take in visually what I was looking at.  There was amazement the first intentional time I took 30 seconds to study a beautiful tulip, to see its unique form and texture and to take in its vibrant red color.  I was stunned to look and see so much always detail missed before.  It was during the early times of intentionally having these experiences when I noticed how beautifully blue the sky really is (which is still one of my favorites to marvel at).

How touched I became when I locked my vision on an elderly couple watching the man help the fragile woman out of the car and attending to her to get into a restaurant.  Eating at the same place as they were I watched the smiles they exchanged while eating and from a distance the conversation they were having.  I saw a couple deeply in love just moving in slow motion;  true romance at half speed.  Without looking closely I would have dismissed them mentally as “old people” and hardly noticed them at all.

I found delight in watching a toddler in a park giggling wildly while chasing a grasshopper like it was the greatest find of the year.  Truly sitting and watching birds through a window enjoy a feast of crumbled bread I put out for them on top of a big snow allowed me to notice the quirky uniqueness of each breed and what appeared to be joy in the abundance they had found.  And then there is nature!  A walk in the woods or a park became a sensory banquet.

When was the last time you sat and watched a sunset or sunrise?  When was the last time you actually “saw” a person instead of just looking at them.  How long since you gazed in a mirror and actually saw yourself instead of just acknowledging your reflection?  How long has it been since you focused on something to the point to where you found sheer delight in what you were looking at?  For me I am glad to say “no long ago”.   I am grateful to have stumbled across this activity and to have cultivated the habit.  As time passes with consistent effort I find I am able to more truly see with greater depth and frequency.  If life is a feast, then this is the seasoning for the meal.

Taken from “Seeing Past Myself” – Don Iannone

Sometimes I have trouble
Seeing past myself
Blindsided by who I think I am
…oblivious
To the vast world of possibilities…
I clean my glasses twice a day
Unfortunately it’s to see what I want to see
And not beyond that
I guess I’m no different –
Than you, or anyone else.
My self-image directs my eyes.
There’s a solution you know
It’s not as hard as we think
Open our hearts to unknown possibilities
Accept that our version of reality
Is but one of many out there.

The real voyage of discovery consists of not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.  Marcel Proust 


I Could Not Do It Alone

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

Writing in a journal has never been an activity I could find consistency with.  I must have a dozen journals with the early pages filled and then nothing afterward.  My entries are haphazard.  Sometimes I would write fairly consistently and at others skip months, and even years without writing.  At random I picked one of those journals up this morning and began to read.   

February 4, 2001 Ritz Carlton Hotel, Atlanta,  Beginning or Ending? 
Ending – the way I have lived and the thoughts I have…. Have not gotten me to the place I seek.  I have been blessed with the fortune to not have to work and soon, within 2 years or so (age 50) I will leave my profession to seek the life… the peace I need.

Beginning – I am only now realizing the illusion I have chased.  Peace must come from within me.  Nothing material on Earth nor anyone can give me what I seek: the balance, the peace, the strength of wisdom and knowing. 

February 7, 2001 7:25am
The ‘path’ makes such logical sense and speaks to my heart (Buddhist Eightfold Noble Path), yet it is difficult to follow.  Old habits and emotions are strong and I can only beat them back at times. 

February 8, 2001 8:05am
Finding it sometimes difficult to gain the determination to meditate each morning.  All old habits die hard.

March 2, 2001
Just spent two weeks in Europe… Netherlands and Poland.  Drifted back to smoking all the time.  Need to get back on track.  _____’s immaturity is a big problem for me and I am having great difficulty dealing with it.  Her child-like way is both appealing and repulsive.  Such a paradox.  Need to focus on me to find solution and let her focus on her.  Unsure of outcome.

Over two years later……

June 30, 2003 Monday 7:30am
And I begin again.  After several years of at times being focused on my practice alternating with times of loss of focus.  I begin again.  Quit smoking for 9 weeks last summer and started back.  But need to quit.  _____ and I continue the roller coaster.  Three weeks ago after returning from Europe she seems to have “got it” and opened her full heart.  I am skeptical, but hopeful.  Still feeling a longing, wishing to be happy, but yet lost and not knowing how to accomplish it. 

July 1, 2003 Tuesday
Work is sending me back to counseling.  I’m told I’m not open, approachable and react badly to others.  I’ve tried so hard to be liked and to be a good boss and leader.  Bad economic times seem to go on and on in the market.  Very tough.  Somehow I have to get through.  I can’t afford to get fired.  I wish I understood better.  I wish I knew why I have this gnawing feeling inside all the time.  Chronic discontent.

  • I was fired in late August, 2003 from a company I had been employed by for almost 20 years. 
  • October and November, 2006.  I finally dealt with my “stuff” by spending five weeks at a healing place called “The Meadows” in Wickenburg, Arizona.  Miracles happen there and at least two happened for me.  I came home a changed man

September 9, 2009
Interesting date.  9-9-9. Nine’s have always been a lucky number for me.  Raining and lightning now.  Hoping the hot Oklahoma weather is almost over for this year.  Life is good.

Sept 29, 2009
Played hooky from work.  Came home about 12:30pm.  Rested.  Went to bed at 8:45pm.  Slept 10 hours.  Feel great.

February 11, 2011 Tulsa
____ (son) visiting.  Having fun.  Proud of my son!  Went to see Ozzy Osbourne last night.  Very good.  Lots of snow still around.  Fourteen inches last week.  Six inches this week.  Lows of minus eleven!

Revisiting my old journal reminds me where I used to be and to appreciate where I find myself today.  There is much gratitude to not be stuck “back there” anymore.  For so long I knew something was wrong, but had no idea what to do.  My determination would swell to where I was convinced to be at a new beginning.  Then over and over within weeks I fell back into old habits and ways of being.  Each time failure only made the next attempt that much more difficult.

In the journal before I faced my demons in 2006 and then some years afterwards I am able to clearly discern a big different.   The three short entries written 2009 and 2011 are short, light and reflect a happier and more contented man. 

My life has not turned out the way I thought it would and it is far from perfect.   Divorce, injuries and recovery, financial challenges and life unfolding far differently than I once anticipated has me today still working fulltime.  I am quite a long way from being able to retire now.  That’s OK.   I have learned happiness is not about what is happening in my life.  It is all about my attitude toward what is happening.  That fact combined with the people I love and who love me sums up what I have come to know as at least three quarters of the recipe for a good life. 

The BIG lesson I learned along the way I will never forget:  I COULD NOT DO IT ALONE.  All those years I tried to fix myself ended up meaning little compared to what happened when I finally accepted help from others.  Thank you all for your love and assistance.

Its seems to be shallow and arrogant for any man in these times to claim he is completely self-made, that he owes all his success to his own unaided efforts.  Many hands and hearts and minds generally contribute to anyone’s notable achievements.  Walt Disney

 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Other Poetry I Love

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

A love of poetry seems to be a rare thing today.  If I mention enjoying a particular poem to someone, almost always that person will tell me they love poetry too.  When I ask what their favorite poem or poet is ninety five out of a hundred can not name either.  So I am doing my part in keeping poetry alive by all the books of poems I have collected which are frequently picked up.  There is always joy to find within those old volumes many beautiful words expressed from the heart.  The best poems for my taster are lyrical in nature with relatively even lines and balanced rhyming words, although there are exceptions like the Apache poem below.

My favorite poet is Elizabeth Barrett Browning. There is something unique and extraordinary about how her words touch me and stir the heart.  I hope you find meaning in the work of  Mrs. Browning and a few other favorites I have put here to share. 

How Do I Love Thee?”  By Elizabeth Barrett Browning 1806-1861

How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight,
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with passion put to use
In my old grief’s, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seem to lose
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!  And, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death. 

 If  Thou Must love Me” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning 1806-1861

If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love’s sake only.  Do not say
I love her for her smile, her look, her way
Of speaking gently, for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day,
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee, and love, so wrought.
May be unwrought so.  Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity’s wiping my cheeks dry,
A creature might forget to weep who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby.
But love me for love’s sake, that evermore
Thou may’st love on, through love’s eternity.

“The Years” by Sara Teasdale 1884 – 1933

Tonight I close my eyes and see
A strange procession passing me.
The years before I saw you face
Go by me with wishful grace.
They pass, the sensitive shy years,
As one who strives to dance, half blind with tears.
The years went by and never knew
That each one brought me nearer to you.
Their path was narrow and apart
And yet it led me to your heart.
Oh sensitive shy years, oh lonely years,
That strove to sing with voices drowned in tears

“A White Rose” by John Boyle O-Reilly 1844 – 1890

The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
Oh, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.
But I send you a cream-white rosebud,
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

From “Sudden Light” by Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1828-1882

I have been here before
But when or how I can not tell.
You have been mine before
How long ago I may not know.

“To My Dear and Loving Husband” by Anne Bradstreet 1612-1672

If ever two were one then surely we.
If ever man were lov’d by wife, then thee.
If ever wife were happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold
Of all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor aught but love from thee give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay.
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persevere
That when we live not more, we may live ever. 

From “Shall I Compare Thee” by William Shakespeare 1564 – 1616

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 

‘Wedding  Prayer” – Tradition Apache Prayer date unknown

Now you will feel no rain,
For each of you will be shelter to the other.
Now each of you will feel no cold,
For each of you will be warmth to the other.
Now there is no more loneliness,
For each of you will be companion to the other.
Now you are two bodies,
But there is only one life before you.
Go now to your dwelling place,
To enter into the days of your togetherness
And may your days be good and long upon the Earth.

My heart swells with gratitude and feelings as I read these poems again.  I have read them so many times each has have become a dear old friend.  The newest of the poetry here is almost a hundred years old and yet the words can reach across the years from the writer if one is receptive to the poet’s message.  I am grateful for the beauty in word these writers left as their legacy for me to discover and enjoy…. very grateful!

Children See, Children Do

/ James Browning / 3 Comments

Even though I remember feeling emotions deeply as a child, no grownup nearby was interested in what I felt.  If I did express myself it usually got me into trouble of the sort that included a belt or willow switch.  In the house I grew up in no adult cared much about what a kid felt or thought.   So I learned to hide my feelings and emotions by stuffing them deeply down inside.  

Where I grew up to need medical attention brought grumbling about how much it cost the adults responsible for me.  Seeing a doctor or dentist was considered unnecessary unless something very serious was going on like when I broke my arm. Even then I was reminded repeatedly about the charges at the town clinic.  

When I was in 6th grade I got some sort of infection down inside my left hand.  My fingers and palm to my wrist turned deep red and blew up like a balloon to be at twice their normal size.  I was scared about it but did not dare tell anyone.  Hiding my infected hand in my jacket pocket kept others from noticing.  It hurt badly.  Paying attention and sitting still in class was very difficult during the worst of it.  I was afraid for the teacher to find out what was going on because there was no doubt she would tell my parents.  I was lucky and my hand started healing on its own in less than a week. 

Growing up in the country, there was no fluoride in the water and I don’t recall being taught oral hygiene.  Brushing was an inconsistent practice and at twelve years-old I ended up with a huge hole in one of my back bottom teeth that resulted in a massive tooth ache.  I begged to go to the dentist for several weeks but the adults around basically ignored me.  

Every day after school and all day long in the summer my brother and I were made to work at my stepfather’s store.  We were free labor and made to stock shelves, run the register, pump gas, sweep floors, clean windows, sack coal and a hundred other tasks we were responsible for.  We rarely got to play, never got visit friends or have them over and our only time off was Sunday afternoon after church.   

My brother and I were literally worked like beasts of burden six days a week from the time I was ten until I was sixteen.  To our stepfather we were unnecessary baggage that came with our Mother when he married her.  There is no purpose to me writing about the punishment we often endured as his hand, often for very minor infractions, except to say adults go to prison today for such treatment of kids.  My evil stepfather threw me into the street the day before my 17th birthday.  With no other place to go, I called my Father who I hardly knew that lived several hundred miles away.  He took me in.      

I remember vividly while I had the bad tooth when an old woman I was hand pumping some kerosene for noticed I had a toothache.  She said “boy, get you some cotton and put a drop or two of this kerosene on it.  Then stuff that cotton down in the hole in your tooth.  It will stop the pain”.  I’m sure it was toxic, but she was correct about it stopping the pain.  Every day for a couple of weeks I carried a little bottle of kerosene to school with some cotton in my pocket and became accustomed to the taste.  Eventually the tooth abscessed and my jaw became swollen.  Only then did I get to go to the dentist to have the tooth extracted.  I was 12 years old.  

None of what I have shared is a plea for pity or sympathy.  Rather I wrote it to openly express why for decades I could not let anyone know what I was truly feeling most of the time, especially any sort of pain or emotional hurt.  

Having worked my way past the majority of the uncaring nature of my upbringing, I now find I am ultra sensitive emotionally.  Mostly this is a blessing and I find richness in the abundance of my feelings.  Joy is greatly enhanced, but so is pain.  This is especially true of anything having to do with children.  I can become inwardly very emotional when I see kids not being cared for or being mistreated.  I feel what I imagine they are feeling.  The most difficult part at such times is remembering the hopeless fear I felt as a child and the aching desire inside to be loved and wanted.  

I have written this sordid and sad tale to be able to point a reader toward two videos on YouTube.com that move me deeply when I watch them.  The first video reminds me how inseparable my little brother and I were growing up and the care I took of him.  Things were bad, but at least we did not have to beg on the street.  The location and narration are foreign, but I doubt you will have any trouble understanding it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kHt0NkZT6LM

The second video is presented here as a reminder of how children emulate what they see.  There is much regret for me in knowing in some ways I did end up just like my parents, but thankfully I dearly love my son and never abused him.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7d4gmdl3zNQ 

I am grateful for so much this morning!  For my recovery and growth the last five years, I am very thankful.  For my younger brother and my son, whom I love dearly, and to my dear friends who have been there when I needed them, I have bountiful grateful.  And up near the top of my gratitude list is my ability to feel and express my emotions openly.  It took about 50 years, but emotionally I am almost grown up now. 

Don’t worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you.  Robert Fulghum

What Do Men and Women Want?

/ James Browning / 3 Comments

I ran across some information a couple of days ago that sheds a little light on the question:  “What do men and women want?” Researchers at the University of Iowa have conducted a study every decade since 1939 that asks participants to rank a list of 18 characteristics they would want in a partner on a scale ranging from “irrelevant” to “essential”. The data increasingly shows men and women are mostly interested in same things:  attraction, love, character, stability, intelligence and ambition. 

Discernible differences between the sexes in the research last done in 2009 are:  1) women’s desire for men who care about home and children, 2) men’s hope for financially competent women and 3) men’s importance placed on looks.  However in the latter, male preference about a woman’s looks was rated only marginally higher than the importance women place on men’s looks.  For both sexes over the 70 years of this research, looks have come to matter less and less. 

It’s important to note that ‘mutual attraction and love’ was an overwhelming top choice for both sexes in the data.  In 1939 when this research began it was not even in the top three.  Also, worth noting, chastity is unimportant to men and women.  Today’s adults are not particularly looking for virgins or angels.  Political beliefs don’t matter either.

For more than four years previous to this last March I lived on a street of nothing but duplex’s owned almost exclusively by old people who lived in one side and rented the other for income.  Living around and getting to know some of my mostly 70 and 80-something neighbors was enlightening. 

Clear in memory is a conversation at an informal Christmas gathering when I talked to an 80-something untraditional ‘couple’.  I knew each had their own place catty-cornered across the street from each other and they spent a lot of time together.  Bill and Evelyn told me they were what they called a “committed couple” and loved each other.  I learned both had been married to other people twice in their long lives, but had no intention of getting married to each other.  It was just too complicated they explained because of their families and the separate long lives each had lived.      

Each time Bill and Evelyn looked at each other their smiles and sparkly eyes told easily how much they cared for the other.  Before our conversation broke up, they told me they spent a few overnight’s together each week,  much to the disdain of some of their family members.   There is no cloudiness in my memory of Evelyn’s comment “I’m old enough to do whatever the hell I want to do.  Bill and I love each other and that is all that matters”.  Even writing those words today they sound like something young lovers might say.  In the love department I think that’s exactly what this couple is in their hearts.

As long as I live I will remember one more thing that came up in my conversation with Bill and Evelyn near Christmas in 2009.  Their blunt explanation about sex embarrassed me a little at the time. I learned age and infirmity kept them from sharing sexually, but was told they had found something both thought was even better.  Evelyn said something like “we just lay down, kiss a little and then hold each other very close for a long time”.   What a beautifully sweet thought and one I am grateful to have logged away in memory. 

Do I love you because you’re beautiful,
Or are you beautiful because I love you?
Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, Cinderella