At the Intersection of Atlanta and Cosmic

Travel is an amazing thing. To be able to transport yourself from one locale to another, interact with places and people, to touch what was only seen in a photo at one point. Perspective shifts, lives meld, and the world keeps moving. Each of us with our own little world, our little world that intersects with other little worlds.

On a flight from Albany, NY, I had the opportunity to meet a young soul. Her name is Faith.
I had been wheeled onto the airplane, given priority, as the 'boot' I was wearing afforded me a wheel chair and handicap 'priority'. I waited at my window seat on the plane, wondering who would be occupying the space next to me. A 20 year old dirty blonde with dread locks stood staring at me, then said, "I guess this is 20B," to which I replied, "You have found your spot in this world! Have a seat."

It was quicksilver. The moment that two strangers can decide that circumstance has set the best situation out for you. Small talk ensued, as we asked about one another's reason for the flight.

She was 'home' visiting her mom and working on living that dream of travelling on the road. The little bus that her mother purchased and painted purple, well, it broke down. Faith had other plans that included her boyfriend in Florida, not stuck in upstate New York with a broken down bus.  The boyfriend purchased a ticket for her to fly back, so that they could be together. There was a band, a job offer for the boyfriend, and music. When you're 20, sometimes that's all you need in this world.

We discussed life, anxiety, growing up in a small town, small minds, and small people. Then we went large. The cosmos, the Great Maker, Butterfly effect. The note that we all suffer, in one way or another, the fear of being 'less than', of missing out on the 'dream' or the chance to change. The fear of change, the fear of the unknown, the exhilaration that every new step brings one closer to a new reality. Living in the moment, for the moment, not the past, nor the future. Higher thinking, mental, emotional, and physical well being. The opportunity to experience life on life's terms, accepting it all, and creating our own sense of belonging.

Our 2 1/2 hour flight became a theoretical discussion worthy of most 600 level Philosophy courses. A young girl, who had lived a bit, but not experienced enough... comparatively speaking. We shared our love of music and travel. Commiserated on our distaste of small minded busy bodies, judgmental souls, and the restraints of the world.  Our flight ended with warm wishes for safe and soulful travels, not just for that day, but for the rest of our lives. We had connected, shared, and then took a small part of one another's lives, dreams, souls. Touched another human. Intersected our lives and created a new reality and perspective.

Our encounters in life, as 'spontaneous' as they seem, are moments of dreams, snippets of wishes, handfuls of hope, stitched together to create our new reality and perspective.

Overload

I yearn to feed my own understanding of this world, an understanding that I so desperately yearn for.

There are so many things out there that scream for attention. We willingly add more information into our minds through surfing the internet, watching the evening news, interacting with others. It is a daily onslaught, and one that I crave too often. My mantra, 'Sapere Aude,', taken from the philosopher Kant, doesn't help either.  I live my life wanting more information, seeking out others' ideas, yearning to understand what makes things work, why people act and interact the way that they do. I'm certain that I am not alone in this, however, I'm also certain that not everyone's mind runs this way on a regular basis.

I can't get enough. I see the world as inextricably linked. One thing feeding off of another, feeding into another. A flow that when interrupted, changed, re-directed,  creates some incredibly profound changes. Some of those changes are not necessarily discernible to everyone, but in my mind's eye, I see the shift 'in the force'.  There is a moment of no return. That time in which the slightest shift takes on a whole new meaning, a new divergent course that creates a new reality.

To be able to find the nuances of a soul's intent, is difficult at best, and is the thing that I guess I will never understand. Fragile things, souls are...  breakable. Broken. Just remember, as you walk through out this life, try not to harm, try not to hurt.

To Err is Human

Failure is horrible. Right?

Remember what it was like the first time you failed, and failed miserably? How did that affect who you are today? Did you change the way you approached something, how you dealt with situations in later years, did it make you re-think how you handled a task, or even your responses to someone?

I am of the firm belief that failure teaches us. First and foremost, it teaches us humility. Something that our society, and a new generation of young people don't necessarily have much of now days. We will be surely facing a group of young people, many of whom will be completely deflated, as they face the first time they weren't awarded for 'showing up'. Living under the grand delusion that they are so unique, they will eventually become cynical beings who learned too late in their lives that even though we are all unique, wonderful characters in our own right, we really aren't that much different from our fellow man. No sparkly, shiny 'happily ever after' in sight, they will miss the teachable moments. They will miss out on the upside of failure, the ability to learn something new.

Edison, Ford, and Einstein were blissful failures at many points in their lives. Those failures of their own making ensured that we had new understandings, deeper meanings, and a better quality of life. I do not make these things up. Look up the real history behind these men, you will find that (and is usually the tale we tell our grade school children who struggle with math) Einstein failed math in grade school ~ miserably. The difference in he and others?  They had the ability to look beyond the failure, press onward, hope that there might be some other way to accomplish what was needed to succeed.

Missing too, is the opportunity to reflect on past errors. There's a camaraderie with parents when they share their tales of parenting horrors. "Been there, done that" is almost dismissive. Assuring one another that being human, making an error, learning how to correct our past failings, it brings us closer together as people. You are not alone....

When our parents were growing up, some of their parents imparted the past failures of their lives so that they would not have to replicate the same mistake. Alas, much as in human nature, children do not always heed their parents' cautionary tales of mistakes. They, in turn, suffer many of the same failures, or worse, create even more issues that were not there to begin with. No matter what we do, inevitably, our children will forge their own path in this world, making some of the same mistakes along the way. It is our responsibility to be there. Not to pick them up every time, but to re-assure them that they are still valuable, productive members of society, and that this is just a temporary set back, NOT the end of the world.

Think about a given trade or career. A world class chef will tell you that there were numerous failed attempts at dishes that they are now renowned for. An engineer learns, not only from his own mistakes made, but studying previous mistakes made by others. A successful businessman will tell you that they studied other's mistakes, as well as their own, in order to 'build a better widget'.

Failure teaches us to become more industrious, 'think outside of the box', manage our time better, become better stewards in society, and above all, allows us to be human. When something doesn't go 'our way', we don't need to have a melt down, nor do we have to beat ourselves up (although, most likely, many of us will do one of those things at one point or another). It allows us to empathize with others, letting them know that they are not alone in their daily dilemma. It brings us together, allows us to care, makes us more human, and gives us the opportunity to allow ourselves to recover.

So, let your kid fail now, when they're young. Allow them for those moments of disappointment in themselves. Assure them that it is part of the learning process. They will become more well-rounded, clearer thinking adults when they have to face those demons in later years.

As Alexander Pope once wrote: "To err is human; to forgive, Divine".

Isn't it nice to think that we are modeling the concept of our Maker, who, upon seeing our faults, still loves us, no matter what?  With that, we can move on to be better, wiser souls.

Santa Lives in Sun City

Labor Day ~ food stuffs to make, things to grill, and me, without any of it readily available. I've been cleaning the house and doing laundry for 3 hours. It's time for my escape. My son gives me the opportunity, and offers me the opening, requesting ribs and sausages for the grill. I willingly comply with the request, packing my purse, armed with a phone and a debit card.

A ten minute drive to the local grocery store, music blaring, windows rolled down (the air conditioner in the car doesn't work), as the automatic transmission slips grudgingly with each gear. I am free of the housework that begs to be completed, even if it is only for a short respite. 

As I begin my trek into the store, my mind whirls around the family finances. I won't be able to buy the ribs that my son wants, they're much too expensive for us. Maybe I can find a few pieces of meat on sale, ones that might 'do the trick' and I can always use the chicken in the freezer. I muddle around in my mind's eye what our meal will look like. Fresh corn, a couple of kabobs with red meat, a package of sausages, all on sale, are what our celebratory meal will be. It's expensive, even on sale, but we don't get the chance to spend time together and eat leisurely on a regular basis.

My heart begins to feel weighed down by the burdens of my world. I begin trudging back to the soda aisle to pick up our afternoon beverages. My face must have looked grim for certain, and then, he showed up.

Out of nowhere, a man was standing next to me. Older, with a white beard and a smile on his face. He looked like any other gentleman that could be wandering in the store. Nothing terribly special in his appearance. Nothing, except his eyes that were peering through a set of glasses. They were a piercing blue, and they were within a foot of my own.

He was leaning in toward me. Putting a hand on my shoulder, he cheerily exclaimed "Smile!"

Taken aback, I took one step away, breathed deep, and tried to put on my best smile for the nice old man.

"Of course, I should smile." I responded half-heartedly. My breathe barely pushing out my response in an audible tone.

"No! No, no, no! That will not do! I mean, you should smile! It's a beautiful day. There is so much that you and I can smile about. So much!" Grinning ear to ear, he patted my back, and held out his hand, as though to point me in the direction that I would be walking in.

"Oh, you're right." I had a tried and true response. One that I use when I need to remind myself that I'm not infirmed, one that puts the point home that I am capable, if I chose to be.

"I'm upright, breathing, and on the right side of the green." My smile put a twang of happiness that really wasn't quite there into my pat response.

"No my dear girl. That's not what I mean." He had to have seen the puzzled look on my face when he was trying to correct me.

"Sweetheart, there is so much that we can smile about. We are both here, standing in a place, able to make a purchase. We are here for others, getting things that will make them smile. If you think about it, there isn't a day that goes by that you don't make someone else happy, make them smile." The warmth of his voice was like a hug from my daddy.

"I am simply here to remind you that you should be happy, you should smile. Think of every day as having a little bit of Christmas in it. There's always something magical that happens, if you look for it." His grin, grown full, depicted that of a soul that was truly happy.  His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples, how merry......

I stared at him, looking into his eyes, and felt a rush of warmth come over my heart. In return for his words of encouragement, I smiled. This time, genuinely, a big smile. My voice trembled a bit, overcome with a bit of emotion that snuck up inside of me, and I whispered a 'thank you' to him.
 I turned to say something more, and he was gone.

Walking away, my heart filled with hope. The kind of hope that you get around the holidays. Hope that encourages. Promises of better things, and feelings that come when you think there's a chance that your situation will turn around, sooner than later. Tears welled up and fell silently on either cheek.

Picking up my last bits of items, I made my way to the check out line. I kept looking for 'him'. The older gentleman was no where to be seen. The cashier was pleasant, and nothing else remarkable occurred on my way out. I even waited a moment in the parking lot, thinking that I could catch just one more glimpse of him, but I didn't.

Driving home, I realized that Santa lives in Sun City Center. Maybe he was looking for me, maybe it was a chance meeting. Either way, he's sharing his message of hope, reminding whomever he meets, that even on Labor Day, we can celebrate the grateful heart of Christmas. And just to make sure, we can smile.

One Large, to Go.....

I have to tell you a secret, I don't cook dinner on Thursdays.

OK, so the crew at the local pizza shop knows that I don't..... alright... the kids at the grocery store where I pick up the sodas know it too. But that's it, other than you. It's a guilty pleasure that makes me smile, every Thursday. It's a break from the dinner dishes, the prepping, planning, and cooking of a meal. My family is fed, my teens happy for the ritualistic treat, and I can enjoy an evening of relaxation.

Pizza.... go ahead, say the word out loud ~ no one's around. You smiled when you said it, didn't you? Now, another exercise (bear with me friend, I promise you, it is necessary). Think of various times that you've eaten pizza. Remember them? Good.

From an educated guess, most, if not all of your memories are positive, maybe even really happy. They are ones, like my Thursdays. I would even venture that there were parties surrounded by a few of those slices, or a grateful boss that sprang for a snack to show his appreciation for a finished project.

Oh, the left over pizza you had after a long evening of frivolity? Weren't you glad that you had THAT as a 'go to'?  College dinner/breakfast? See what I mean, you can't think of, eat, or say 'pizza' and be miserable. You just can't help but crack a bit of a smile.

My favorite memory of pizza is from a long time ago, when I worked in the family deli, where we made the treat that makes smiles. Daddy had just opened his business that week. It was a summer day, and I was ready to make subs, dish up home-made salads and beans, and of course, make pizza.

New business owners tend to do this huge mental build up in their mind's eye of how their first days will be. Bustling and exceedingly busy is the hopes that they all place their lofty thoughts. The reality of still moments that lead to quiet hours finally set in.

The small town we lived in was supportive. More so, our neighbors and family friends. This one particular Saturday was quiet. A few people trickled in, ordered a bit of cold cuts, a pound of this, a hoagie or two. The large, antiquated, brick-lined oven had been sitting patiently, waiting to be thrust into service.

'Pépé Lorde' strolled into the front door that day. He was our next door neighbor, and our family had 'adopted' him and his wife as surrogate grandparents. Pépé was old and wore a hearing aide. He and his wife lived with their daughter, son-in-law, and their teenage children.  Seeing Pépé walk through the door made me smile. He ordered a large pizza. Daddy said I could make it, and with his supervision, did so. While the pizza was baking in the oven,  the two men talked and walked around the small floor of the deli.  Daddy pointed out what he had done, and what he was planning to do, once business picked up.

I got to 'ring up' the sale, and had to figure tax, as the deli's first cash register was an antique. Pépé glowed with pride as he watched me, and praised me for my prowess. "Geez Larry, not only can she cook, she can do math! She'll make someone a fine wife!"

A bit embarrassed, but proud of my accomplishment, I thanked Pépé for shopping with us. Daddy shook his hand and thanked him for the business and asked that they let us know how their meal was. As we retreated behind the deli counter, Pépé opened the front door of the deli and stepped out onto the large form-made concrete stairs. As he closed the door behind him, he appeared to look around with pride at his new gastronomical acquisition. Then, as though he had done so a million times before, turned the pizza box on it's side and wedged it under his left arm, as if he were carrying the Sunday paper. 

Daddy and I groaned. I started out after Pépé, but my father grabbed me by my arm and stopped me. He pulled me close to him, and quietly, but firmly, told me that I needed to make another pizza, just like the one I had before, and it needed to make it quickly. There was a sense of urgency to his directive, so I did.

While I was preparing the second pizza of the day, Daddy was on the phone with Pépé's family.  Pépé was walking across our front lawn toward his home, along with his new possession tucked under his arm, and they could see him out their kitchen window.  Daddy explained that we were already making another pizza, it was in the oven cooking, and when it was ready, he would send me over to deliver it.

I delivered the second pizza to the neighbor's house a short while later. Pépé's son and grandson, Jack and John, were in the carport, still ribbing Pépé about the family meal being 'ruined'. Betty, Pépé's daughter, came out, chastising them, and then thanked me for the effort.  When it was all said and done, we were all laughing, and agreed that I should probably deliver pizza to them when they ordered.

See, it's like I said... you can't help but smile when you think of  pizza.