Reminding myself about KAIZEN

small successes which lead to big breakthroughs.  Kaizen.  Keep on keeping on...

$248 Billion

In a recent Facebook posting, I noted that it's no big deal to me that Ted Cruz is covered under his wife's Goldman~Sachs-provided health care plan.  If I could choose excellent health care coverage through my employer  OR  gilt-edged benefits through my spouse, I'd opt for the latter, too.  My issue was with the negative impact employer-provided coverage continues to have on our nation's health care delivery.  A friend's reply noted that costs of employer-provided health care benefits aren't footed by taxpayers.  Except, they are.

A core reason (among several) why businesses - especially large  ones - continue to support employer-provided health care coverage is due to the MASSIVE tax advantages it provides both the business and the employee.  The value of Ted Cruz' health care benefits is tagged at $20,000 - a sizable amount not included in his wife's taxable income.  And Goldman~Sachs gets to take it, in part or in whole (not sure which), as a business expense write-off.  Win for the employer, win for the employee.  NOT a win for the U.S. taxpayer.

In 2013 alone, it's estimated the U.S. Treasury will be out $248 BILLION ($240,000,000.00) dollars in health care benefits-related lost income & payroll taxes (a whopping 1.5% of the GDP, or more than the government pays for the interest on the federal debt).

 

I thank my friend for stating that tax-payers don't take a financial hit from employer-provided health care benefits.  Would that it was true. 

Dirt Happens - the power of short-term cleaning.

As young adults living in the same house, was always interested at how my sister tolerated clutter, but loathed dust, whereas I loathed clutter & tolerated dust.  When I mentioned this to a friend during one of Mom's long-stay jaunts down to Australia, she commented, "I guess, now that the two of you are responsible for cleaning the house, it's uncluttered & dust-free."  Nope, just the opposite - place looked like a hell hole by the time Mom was due home.  We had to set to & clean with a will to get it looking semi decent in time for her arrival.

While our housecleaning habits have improved over the years, that long-ago reality left me with an appreciation of short-term cleaning.   And wondering why it took me so long.

For most of my adult life, it was natural to put off what many of my friends considered "must do" daily chores.   Vacuuming was left until dust on the carpet became visible, dishes left unwashed to the next day, and so on (don't want to get too disgusting).  The bottom line is that I'd wait until cleaning became a major chore worthy of my attention, rather than making myself a "slave" to what felt like the thankless tasks of keeping things clean as an expected norm.  For me, having a house that was always clean& tidy spelled icky daily drudgery.  Better to tackle a BIG task, one worthy of my attention & effort. 

One of the great challenges before me RIGHT NOW is to take short-term cleaning part of my daily habits.  It matters to me, because the environment we live in matters.

That might seem obvious to most folks, but it faces constant resistance with me.  Why doesn't matter.  Getting past it does.  Because the environment I live in matters. 

There is no getting around the reality that my house ~ as it is at this moment in time ~ will never be as welcoming as my friends', none of who are fur-ever parents to a large clowder of cats.  Especially not since Sky joined the cabdoodle of kitties.  Seriously traumatized as a kitten, he daunted my efforts to keep the house fairly free of kitty smells.  For the foreseeable future, there will be no parties in our house.  But that doesn't mean I can't make it as clean & welcoming as possible.  There could always be an excuse to put off cleaning, but that's all they are - excuses.  It may never be as clean & welcoming as it was, but the reality is that our house can be, every day, as clean & welcoming as it can be.

But it can't happen without short-term cleaning.  A house that's only cleaned when it HAS to be is anything but welcoming.  Entering it, going from room to room, is a constant reminder of what needs to be done, rather than an invitation to settle in for rest & relaxation or whatever. 

Just hit with a reminder of something my sister once said - years & years & years ago, so it's probably something she long outgrew but which has stuck in the mind of her adoring baby sister - to the effect, "Why bother with dusting?  It's just going to get that way again."  Stunning, realizing that such a short thought - possibly just thrown away in jest - stuck with me all these years.

Short-term cleaning.  Knowing that I am successful by how at peace I feel in my home, rather than simply treating it as shelter.  Is it repetitive?  Does it sometimes feel like inane drudgery?  Yes & yes.  And worth every precious moment & extended energy.  

Dirt happens.  Keep the dust cloth at the ready & a good supply of vacuum cleaner bags, invest the time & energy, because an uncluttered, dust-free house (even one that sniffs to high heaven) is a treasure worth having.

Kaizen

Kaizen - a Japanese word meaning small successes.  The small successes which lead to big breakthroughs. 

When I think about it, can't bring to mind a single successful friend who hasn't mastered kaizen, investing countless small amounts of energy into equally small actions that accumulate ultimately into major accomplishments. 

And it is never too late to learn that mastering big things means first tackling, accomplishing, moving past the minor things to the major - because we understand that some of the steps might seem minor, but all are essential.  Kaizen

Wink Wink

For decades, my hometown seemed to be a "wink wink" community - lots of talk about welcoming others, but typically said with an invisible wink of an eye, since it wasn't really true.  Well, am happy to say that today it is VERY true, it fully completely enthusiastically welcomes others.

Been wondering about my own life, my own existence, and realizing it's been very wink wink, sadly wink wink.  My experience has been of setting an essential goal, but with a wink wink attitude.  The goal was set, without intention of follow through.  Complete the goal?  Seriously??

The roots of such foolishness will never fully dawn on me, but foolish it certainly is.  And it feels downright wonderful challenging dangerous to find myself with a goal that matters to me & the determination to utterly completely totally shelve the wink wink foolishness.

My doctor told me that if I don't have health care coverage & can't afford to get it, then I absolutely positively no-excuses must follow the RAVE lifestyle*.  Forever.  "E" stands for NO exceptions.  No gluten.  No dairy.  No processed soy products.  No sugar.  No animal products.  No oil (!).  No caffeine.  Lots of vegetables.  Lots of whole grains.

Alas, I believe him.  Which leaves me either following what I believe in my bones to be true, or reverting to foolish wink wink ways.

An interesting place to be.  Puts me on par with a grannie client who also faces accepting the challenge of an extreme makeover - and a happier life - or staying with the familiar, the comfy.  Do I embody my talk, or not? 

Don't you hate it when the questions are so simple & the answers are so unimaginably challenging!


*"The best insurance money can't buy!"

older2elder ~ Crowdfund request (draft)

Gulp - this is the (hopefully) final draft of an Indiegogo request.  At present, the work I offer to "seniors" (a term I heartily dislike) and their families is limited to the two or three clients I can personally handle. 

My dream is to expand from the few to the many. 

Why me?  Am reminded of a story about a guy stuck in a deep hole -  he yells to a passing doctor for help, and the man throws him down a prescription;  he yells at a passing lawyer for help, and the man throws down his business card;  he yells at a passing minister for help, and she throws down a Bible.  Finally, he sees a friend pass by.  He calls to her for help & is shocked when the woman leaps down into the pit, to stand with him.  "Are you crazy!" the desperate man cries. "Now, you're stuck here, too!"  "Oh," she explains. "I've been here before.  I know the way out."  When it comes to facing the often shrinking lives of aging loved ones & friends, I've been there before - I can help show a way out of the fears of aging to the brighter light of a fully well-lived life. 

Your comments - critiques - suggestions greatly welcome!!! 

 

 

TEXT

 

"There are many things my physical condition keeps me from doing, but there are a lot of new experiences just waiting to be given a whirl. On the physical level, life stinks. On almost every other level--emotional, mental, spiritual--the world is my oyster and every month has an R! ~ ~ Marianne Williamson says that to get to the light, a person has to work through the darkness. In middle and early old age, life can seem dark and scary as we move out of the familiar into the unknown. Work through it toward the light.”

That’s my 90-year old Mom, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, in a 2001 article – The Velveteen Grammie – we cobbled together from e-mails she wrote since the previous year. Twelve years ago, yet her voice, her presence is clear & strong, as close as http://www.Mindwalker1910.blogspot.com, which features many of her online postings.

Blogging helps olders capture years past, reconnects them to moments – big & small – throughout their life. It engages, energizes and empowers them. People far away or long gone come clearly to mind, feel almost tangible. Time & again, as Mom composed & I transcribed her postings, she’d slip into special moments – the little child celebrating the end of WWI, the young woman newly in love, the parent sending off children for trick or treating. Fun, connection, the gift of honoring a life – all flow from blogging life stories.
   
Sadly, most olders balk at life review, backing away with, “Who’s interested in my life? I didn’t do anything important. No one will care.” It’s true, some children might not care. But legacy blogging is not about others. In many ways, it’s not even about an “older.” It’s about honoring the life. (And I can almost guarantee the GRANDkids care!)

Blogging expands an older’s world. As does getting OUT, hitting the road for fun & even frivolity, getting “life veterans” out of artificial light & filtered air and into the wider world, sensing day turning into night, feeling the change of seasons. As does facilitating easy internet access, which takes even the home-bound to once unimagined places as they surf the web, connect with Facebook, communicate via e-mail.

Blogging, travel, internet access – each helped keep Mom lively to the end of her days. BUT she never touched a keyboard, never learned how to drive.  I served as Faithful Scribe & chauffeur, keyboarding her around the web, driving her to a favorite local diner or off on a ramble, transcribing her dictation to e-mail (my years as an editor & writer proved priceless in helping Mom connect with topics, help craft her thoughts into words).

I started older2elder to get life veterans OUT. Out into the larger world, out onto the internet, connecting with those around them or far distant.  Older2elder offers blogging support (from simple keyboarding for the technically timid to writing support for the computer literate), outs & abouts (near or far), and stress-free access to the internet (they direct, I keyboard). Ah, the bliss of providing priceless options & choices! The resulting fun, connection & life honoring – the potent power of play – can do more to lift spirits & revive the senses the any meds.

My present outreach is beyond teensy compared to what is needed - every “senior” deserves the advantages Mom enjoyed, every family deserves the difference they make in their loved one’s life. My plan is to use http://www.older2elder.blogspot.com for sharing ideas & insights,  getting discussions rolling around eldering issues, spreading seeds of ideas for others to nurture & grow. Wheeeee!

While I can provide the experience, passion & determination, the core investment needed to take older2elder from inspired idea to far-reaching success is way past my present income. Your support, large or small, can make a difference. A snapshot of my projected basic needs includes*:

• Business/marketing coaching* – $1800
• IT support/tutoring* - $800
• Blog design* - $500.
• Desktop - still researching
• Cell phone/service plan - still researching
• Laptop - still researching
• Tablet - still researching 
• Workshops/seminars/conferences – $3600 (excludes travel costs)
• 2010 Nissan Versa (to back-up 1999 sedan) - $11,000
• Self-publish THE VELVETEEN GRAMMIE - $2,200

*based on 18 months

All that may seem a brazen request, but leaves off full underwriting. Instead, as a nod to Mom (who could never have afforded my support services), monies raised over my target will be used to underwrite “no charge, no kidding” outings & events.

From funding to final success, my goal is for older2elder to embody the concepts of engaging, energizing & empowering. My hope is that others will ultimately take up the cause, leaving me free to flip other eldering issues – aging in place & building multi-generational communities – from hobbies to full-time focus. Always keeping my eye on the horizon!

What’s my background, my certifications & credentials? None. I am not a psychologist, a social worker, a trained counselor of any type. I am not a rent-a-daughter or even a traditional in-home care provider. Maybe the only special quality I bring to helping olders tap into their inner elder is the gift of seeing them as fellow humans still yearning to stretch & grow & even indulge their ageless human spirit. All I do, as best I can, is take down barriers, external & internal. That’s basically all I did with Mom & do for my current clients – clear & open paths that they can, if they want, take. They make the choices & do the rest.  

Mom was in her 40s when I was born. Many of her friends were far older than she was. Throughout my life, I was privileged to sit in on their coffee klatches & cocktail parties, soaking in their talk about trials, tribulations & triumphs. In my teens, I did housework for many of them, talking over tea & cookies during breaks between dusting the living room & washing the kitchen floor. 

As an adult, I was honored to develop close friendships with sprightly octogenarians, including ones whose spirits transcended their bedridden bodies.  

Even my career path – in education, public relations, marketing and customer support – prepared me for older2elder, made me proficient in talking with others, in aiding olders in looking back at & valuing their past, in providing writing support. 

To be both cheerleader & coach, I read – a lot – often with Mom. I learned how to balance being a “grannie listener” and “badgering & browbeating” (Mom’s words). I learned the challenges of family dynamics, of dealing from a family’s strengths rather than their unrealized hopes of what they wished they could do, of working with what is real even if it doesn’t seem ideal.

In late July 2001, my husband & I were staying with Mom outside D.C., 150 miles from home.  She looked forward to welcoming area family & friends to brunch. Early that Sunday morning, she took a tumble; she was gone by mid-September. During her last week, at home, in her own room, in her own bed, Mom responded with her usual enthusiasm to e-mailed questions from a local college psych class, on life, love and leaving. She sent out e-mails to the end of her days! 

Mom was 90 when she wrote her first Mindwalker1910 posting. At 61, I am just now beginning what feels like my true life’s work. Mom wrote about late bloomers in a 12/11/00 post – “I consider the personal changes I am currently experiencing as a late bloom, one after what I thought was a hard frost. Reynolds-Lockhart ladies may be late bloomers, but my, what a lovely bloom it is.”

Is it outrageous to think I can reach out in myriad ways to help countless life veterans enjoy some of the “élan vital” – vital life – that infused Mom?  That little ol' me can make a difference to their families, friends & care givers?  Why not?  At the very least, I can step up & swing away! 
 
Thanks for supporting my older2elder energies, either through chipping in or via your prayers & best wishes. I’ll be happy to send e-mail updates on what’s happening or you can check my blog for a sense of what I’m doing.

Here’s to helping countless life veterans blog, surf & ramble their way to staying engaged, energized & empowered!

 

END

I Gained Weight

Yep, I gained about a pound since my last weigh in at Dr. Lehman's.   And I am delighted!  It wasn't due to more fat, but - gasp! - muscle!  All that walking is paying  off. 

But I have a long way to go, beginning with sticking to the original game plan.  Eating a primarily vegan diet (I refuse, at least for the moment, to get twisted about eating foods with eggs in it) is a start.  No butter, precious little margarine, no cheese.  Pretty simple to know if I am staying on track - if it crosses my lips, I'm not.

And no alcohol or carbonated beverages.  Figure out how to sautee foods without using any oils.  No fried foods, including tortilla chips.  No purchased salads - almost keeled over reading the ingredients label on deli potato salad from GIANT.  Make social spreads using Tofutti cream cheese.  

Don't do any of these things from a gotta mentality, but because they are the right things to do.  Look for more builds!!

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

It's easy to think to myself that it really doesn't matter if I have just a teensy bit of cheese on a vegetarian pizza or butter on grits.  Seriously, such a tiny amount?  Yeah, it does.

It's easy to think to myself that it really doesn't matter if I have a couple beers during the week or a Manhattan or my beloved mango juice with club soda.  I'm just keeping Anne company when she has a cocktail, it's lovely to have a refreshing glass of fizzy juice.  Seriously, just a little alcohol & carbonated drinks won't matter.  Yeah, it does.

It's easy to think that doing three sets of three breathing exercises every day just isn't worth thinking about.  Seriously, it's not worth the bother of being aware enough, care enough to make the time, take the energy.  Yeah, it is.

Yeah - Yeah - Yeah....

 

 

aaarrrrrgggggghhhhhh

Weird, thinking of all the years – the decades & decades – spent feeling frustrated & confused & UN when it came to having a sense of my surviving family.  Weird, because no matter how I felt about them, can now understand in my bones that it was piddly compared to the arrrrgggggghhhhh! they felt around me. 

Truth is, I had it so much easier than they did.  I felt a sense of connection with them, but - to this day - they seem to only feel an occasional connection to me.  Imagine having to put up with someone for years & years & years without feeling much if any sense of common bond.  That is hard, that is miserable hard.

Shaking my head, thinking about all the times I sent them around the bend with frustration.  Mim expressed it best.  After Kerry & Mike had gone home following his 40^th Charter Day reunion & Mom's Charter Day weekend memorial service, she told there was something she wanted to tell me, but was leery, fearful I’d take it the wrong way.  I assured her I’d take it well, so she shared with me that Mike & Kerry appreciated all that I had done for Mom.  What a dork I was, responding, “While it’s nice to hear from you, it would have meant a lot to hear it from them.”  In an instant, Mim was distressed - “It's enough they said it to anyone, they shouldn't have to say it to you.” Click.

I was always putting things awry with my sibs.  Even when I thought I was being sort of neutral, I had a talent for driving them over the edge.

Take the time first Mim, then Peter backed out of a family appointment with Mom’s psychologist.  Mim had a work commitment, then Peter called to say he wouldn't be there either.  I was left wondering if he was pulling out due to a commitment or wanted to wait until Mim could be there, too.  Seemed like a logical line of wondering.  Not to Peter.  Mom had left a voice message, asking just, and he read her the Riot Act when he called back - “Mim & me and the whole f---- world are sick of Elsa controlling our lives.  You tell her what I just said, all of it.  It’s enough to know I’m not coming; she doesn’t need to know why.” 

Mom didn’t have to tell me - I was in the same room & could hear every word.  Geez, a friend  sitting downstairs in the living room could hear his voice!   No two ways about it, I could drive that man around the bend. 

For years, have said my sibs experience me as fingernails on a chalkboard.  Even my sister-in-law experienced me as over-the-top rude, telling Mom she wanted to leave a room as soon as I entered it.   

And there I was, all those years, haplessly clueless that my sibs experience me as unimaginably toxic.  Yeah, they often left me in a dither trying to communicate, but it felt like nothing in the world sent them right up a wall than persistently aaarrrrrrgggghhhhhhh moi.  Yikes!

Disconnect

There is no fathoming how much I drove Mim, Peter & Mom to distraction!  There were the three of them, as leery of open conversation as a cat is of a swimming pool;  there was I, with my steadfast faith in the healing powers of full discussion. 

Is it any wonder they felt I drove them around the bend?

How could we have such night & day different communication styles?  My guess is that will have to remain one of life’s unanswered questions.

Power, Prestige & Place

It is truly strange reading something that caught my attention on a rather prosaic level, only to discover a lot of its messages are like magic keys opening up AH HA! insights into my life, from earliest days to now.  Strange & wondrous!!

For one thing, can now grasp how my tone deafness about “proper place” got me into a pickle with siblings who felt owed due deference because of age or brilliance, with people of power or prestige or connection who expect a “kiss the ring” mentality from all but a select few, with people who expect leaders are to followed, not questioned.  

Mind you, I was raised to be deferential to my elders, to teachers & to ministers.  That was it.  Mom & Dad never seemed cowed being around people with vast wealth or were incredibly successful in the business world or had racked up a collection of degrees & lofty honors.  

Nope, I never fully grasped that some folks measure & expect to be measured by power, prestige, or place.  Call me a clueless ninny, but it never occurred to me. 

But, wait - that clueless quality was the very cornerstone of my corporate success!  Unlike most of my colleagues & coworkers, I never hesitated to reach out to a “higher up” to resolve a problem or advance a key project.   (Thanks, Pete, for encouraging that!)

Will always remember the colleagues who considered I’d committed corporate suicide when I questioned a suggestion made by a lofty vice president-in-charge and several lesser vps.  (Hey, it was an expensive idea with no long-term benefits for the company!)   They were even more surprised when, after our lunch break,  the very execs I’d questioned returned full of agreement with my idea, wanting to hear more.  “Gee, you have nerves of steel,” was the comment I heard.  No – it never dawned on me to keep silent; sure, they might not agree with me, but at least I’d give them another way of looking at things.

Time & again, I was blind to the next-best step toward recognition & power.  Take when a financial services group I worked for acquired the 401(k) administrative unit from a company with an illustrious name (our company was only known within the industry).  I was assigned to work with the new unit when it started having morale problems due to the transition.  After a couple weeks, I asked the vp of our HR department, “Jim, I’m wondering - what's your transition plan for bringing them onboard?”  He looked at me like I’d spoken Swahili.  I rephrased the question.  Same puzzled response.  Finally, I asked, “Jim, do you have a transition plan?”  No, he didn’t - we'd acquired a unit with well over 100 employees, all of who had taken great pride working for a famous company, thrown them into a culture significantly less laid-back than theirs, and didn’t have a plan for helping ease them into their new environment, for making them feel part of the bigger team.  And there I was, opening up my big mouth to point this all out.  But it got results.  Jim realized the execs had to TALK to the new hires, needed to make them feel visible & valued, yet  part of a greater whole.  They were so impressed with my “bold, straight” talk, they insisted (literally) on giving me a hefty salary increase plus bonus. 

Back in the dawn of my professional life, when I was an elementary school teacher, it never occurred on me to play politics with my students.  A co-teacher from those early days, a wondrous politician who went on to spectacular success, told my sister the reason I hadn’t lasted at the school was that when I saw a child needed something, I went straight for it, without taking the time to pander to the principal (who saw himself as THE power broker) or the parents, who (sadly) often saw their own interests more readily than they did their child’s.   He was right - didn't then, wouldn't now.  

To me, in that first job, teaching was about advancing each child’s best interests, not racking up tenure.

When I worked in public relations & marketing for a mega insurance company, it was about making sure the marketing teams had the materials they needed, that the city offices served by our regions had the proper resources, accurate information, and creative support  they needed to meet/exceed their financial objectives.  And sometimes it meant questioning dubious suggestions by lofty execs.

When I worked in financial services, it was about being there for customers (HR department heads) and brokers, to define problems & craft solutions, to educate all contacts so that they could avoid similar problems in the future, then following up with our own departments on ways to improve my own delivery of services.  And sometimes it meant speaking truth to power.

In doing all of the above, I ruffled my fair share of feathers, from the principal who felt my (unwitting) use of power was unseemly in a female teacher to colleagues horrified at my willingness to disagree with power to vps who could not believe  I’d bring up a dicey situation simply to protect the company’s best interest to the sib-in-law who bristled when I didn’t inwardly courtesy to her superior self.

What fun at age 61 to realize that what got me into “trouble” was a forever devotion to stewardship.  I am not patting myself on the back.  Look at my life.  It’s sort of clear.  And it’s not because of anything I did or strategized or developed.  Chalk it up to a little bit nature, a lot of my family's nurture. 

It’s not a handicap, not a blessing – it just is what it is, which is a spur for more. 

What a thrill to confidently, consciously, vibrantly sally forth into the rest of my life, seeking opportunities to bring the best of whatever it is I am to a world that seems in need of my – let’s face it – funky ways. 

My power lies in my eagerness to do what I can, in whatever circumstances I find myself.  My prestige lies in being myself & staying willing to experience others with an open heart.  And my place is wherever I set my foot. 

Adventures await!

Oh, rats! It's a Foothill!!!

After working SO hard on improving my capacity to be aware & attentive, have discovered that mastering those conjoined qualities is akin to reaching the top of what I thought was a mountain, only to discover it to be a foothill.  

No!  

You’ve GOT to be kidding!! 

My true mountain, beckoning me to scale its peak, turns out to be focused attention, a quality I couldn’t see until clearing its foothill.  What first felt like a stunning set back, am now seeing as the next best step, the bigger climb to a much wider perspective. 

No time to rest.  

Savor the achievement – because it is – and press onward.

Stewardship v. Committee-eze

It was a shock when my offer to put on a monthly “Movie & Martinelli’s” night – 30 mins of socializing over chilled sparkling cider in champagne flutes & bite-sized desserts, followed by a classic (closed captioned) flick - - evening at our local senior residence was turned down as basically too much bother.  Am happy to report that they now do watch a movie every week, but it would be so much fun to pamper them a little bit, let them know how appreciated they are as role models & mentors.  But “they might drop food on the carpet” and cleaning up would be too troublesome.

It was a shock when my offer to arrange a monthly evening meal – an informal pot luck “thank you” from our community’s youngers to the elders who mean so much to us – was turned down because it might cut into the number of people signing up for the twice-a-week catered supper. 

But neither of those responses were as surprising as the friend who counseled me that the best way to get people to take my efforts seriously was to form a committee to work on it.  Having a committee behind me would show that I was serious about my idea, that it had the necessary gravitas to get it done, that it would demonstrate that it wasn’t just an idea that I might drop down the road.  Setting up a committee would demonstrate my commitment to the proposals.

You know what a camel is?  

A camel is a horse that was designed by a committee.

Am going on record as saying that a strong, healthy vibrant community is not founded on a web of committees.  It is founded, grounded & nurtured through good old-fashioned stewardship.  On someone taking the “a” (accountability) for doing something, even if, when & how that something becomes a bother or even a chore.  You put your shoulder to the wheel & get it rolling.  “Where two or more are gathered together” doesn’t refer to committee meetings, but about the inner spirit transcending the human experience. 

According to something I recently read, living from a sense of stewardship is the opposite of living from self-interest.  It is living from a sense of community building, an activity that is often packaged as a pseudo-corporate dynamic when it is actually massively free-form, in ways wildly contrary to a systems approach.  Taking a systems approach is so calming, so reinforces that we can get this difficult task in hand & resolved.  But community, real community, is heart centered, and the heart has reasons reason knows not.  It is unruly & wild, unpredictable & spectacularly rewards.

Stewardship is the antithesis of committee thinking, at least as I’ve experienced it.  It means someone taking the ball & running with it.  It might involve working with committees & occasionally doing things within a systems-based format, but it can’t start there & it can’t largely reside there.  Stewardship is organic, growing naturally even if that means slow, erratic growth.

Stewardship v. Committee-eze.  I grew up speaking in the tongue of stewardship.  Learned it at my father’s knee.  

Never could get a handle on committee-eze.  Respect those who can, but it so is not me.  

Throw me the ball, then watch me run with it.  

So, yes, I’ll send a proposal about putting on a dessert & Martinelli’s once a month at the local senior residence’s movie night.  And one on having the youngers put on a monthly “feast of thanks” for our older role models & mentors.  And will set up a clean up committee for each one - or have one amazing friend (who gets antsy setting things up but loves setting things straight afterwards) take the "a" for restoring order.  

But, no “exploratory” committee.  An organization committee, sure.  There are many uses for committees.  But not to give an idea value.  The idea has its own value, or not.   

So, let me at them  Just one woman, wanting to act as a steward to a community of elders, none of whom are related to me or even particularly close friends, who have touched my life, have touched the lives of more people than they might realize.  Just one woman, wanting to let them know – we thank you, we care.   

Enigmas

A lot of people are uncomfortable with enigmas.  

Personally, I think most things are enigmatic, simply clothed with an appearance that we comprehend.

wee small hours - a universal US

Oh, the insightful thoughts that burble up after being awakened at 4:00 a.m., then unable to get back to sleep! 

This morning, it felt like a great something flipped over in my soul.  A flip I've believed in for many many years, a flip I couldn't make happen, it had to happen on its own, in its own time.

And this morning, there it was.  On this side instead of that.  

Two small but mighty moments in my life came together.  A comment in an obscure movie that talked about how we are all energy, therefore all connected, all one.  Heard that in the early 1990s.  One comment by an actor in a little known flick, and my mind opened to its own power & glory for the first time.  What I see-touch-feel is illusion;  life was suddenly a spectacular something new & different.   The second moment happened in the late 1990s, when I "adopted" my first BACS class, the ANC Class of 2010.  One incredulous adult simply could not fathom why I would invest my time & energy in a group of children who were not related to me, whose families were not close to me in any way, who had no connection to my life.  I explained that I didn't love them because of any family or friendship connection  -  I loved them because they breathe.

This morning, I woke up & my life had flipped.  Ancient issues & chronic problems had blown away, like the head of fluff of a gone-to-seed dandelion.  POUF!  Gone.  Instead of feeling small & unconnected, an aberration in a swirl of standard, I just am.  Which is pretty darn stunning, as it means there are no barriers between me & anything.  

Only endless pathways.

There is only the universal US.  The US that connects all energies, that loves all "because they breathe."  

None of  this is news to me.  It wasn't news when I heard John Heard's character talk about how EVERYTHING interconnects.  It wasn't news when I explained to people that I loved the 1st grade because they breathed.  In both cases, it was a reawakening to what I'd always known.  The reason I could move through so much confusion in my life was because I knew the core reality was that I was connected to all of it, including the confusion, in a positive way.

That is not to say there aren't people, places, things to which I feel a special, deeper relationship.  Praise be, there are.  And I am open, receptive to forming more with all that comes along.  But am sitting here, smiling, at an absurdly (for me) early hour, because my focus is on the incomprehensive, glorious, liberating BIGness & connection of it all.  

The united state of US

I don't know how rare it is for someone to feel like he or she was never considered part of her birth family - the longer I am on this planet, the more I discover my experiences aren't all that unique - but it was certainly my experience.  

How much did/do my surviving siblings feel or felt part of our genetic unit?  Am utterly clueless.  But at least they shared years & years of common memories, be they good, bad or indifferent.
Not me.  By the time I hit 5th grade, they'd all graduated from high school.  

I was never part of them, of a larger us that is the experience of so many families.  

"Oh, how sad,"  friends say.  I don't experience it that way.  Well, not once I moved past figuratively & literally banging my head against the wall in futile attempt after futile attempt to  find common ground, to make connection, with people who had no sense of either, at least not  with me.  

Instead, those friends should say, "How interesting."  Because it is.  And astonishingly impersonal.  It's not that my sibs are unfeeling or awful or mean - it's just not in their make up.  

Instead, those friends should ask, "What did you get out of your experience?"  So much!!

Chief among my blessings is the universal sense of US that's solely due to not having the core "us" so many of my friends enjoyed, even with all the gnarly family issues that usually arise.  While I many not be connected to individuals, to surviving brothers & sister, they are part of the bigger connection I feel, the connection to EVERYONE & EVERYTHING.  The universe is my family.  It's not just that all sentient creatures seem somehow connected to my life force, so does the stunning dogwood, that beautiful out cropping of rock, that bend of the river.  It's all part of my US.  Being connected to everyone & everything means that I am naturally connected to my surviving sibs, too, and to their kids & to their kids.  

Another blessing is learning when it makes sense to just let go, without judgement.  Look at the relationships you're working to "fix" in your life.  Is it truly fixable?  A lot aren't.  Over the years, I've come to compare striving mightily to "mend" my own family relations to someone who's spent decades trying to restore a beloved family clock, finally taking it to a master clockmaker, who realizes there is a missing part.  No matter how hard I tried, it wasn't going to be whole.  How I wish I could convey that hard-won lesson to others, but it seems each of us has to come to it on our own.  

I don't have a grand fambily or even a not-so-grand family, but I have everything that breaths & that takes my breath away.  Pretty cool.

Genesis

When did I first read The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People?  To be more accurate, when did I first hear them?  Because my first contact was through the hefty (6 or 7 cassettes!) audio book.  

Can't remember.  I was still at Prudential, still working with Pete Boericke, so it would have been before 1996.  

I'd swung by B&N to pick up something to during a lengthy drive.  Didn't really have much of a clue about the content, just knew the length of time felt right for how long I expected to be on the road.  In that, I was spot on - pulled out of the B&N parking lot as the first sentence was being read, the last one ended as I drove up my friend's driveway.  

Remember just sitting there in the car, letting it soak in ~ "Well, that was life-changing."

The 7 Habits...  and it's related books have sort of fallen out of style these days, which is regrettable.  Of all the books I've read over the past twenty years, it remains the book I'd recommend to someone struggling with getting on a more productive life path.

Until I researched some particulars for this posting, I hadn't realized that Stephen Covey died less than a year ago - July 16, 2012.  I learned - too late - that he'd had an online community since  2008.  Well, he may be gone, but the influence of his books will be with me always, in ways I could never have imagined as I sat in my car, in the dark, in a friend's driveway, honoring the importance of what I'd just heard.

“Two people can see the same thing, disagree, and yet both be right. 

It's not logical; it's psychological.”   

Zowie!  This touched something dormant since I was ten years old, when I first saw a subtitled 
Rashomon on a New York channel's 4:00 p.m. Million Dollar Movie (there wasn't any cable back then, not even UHF - just the three network channels, maybe Channel 12 - but Lach Pitcairn had a big antenna that got NYC stations <Philadelphia of the mid-'60s would never have aired such an esoteric flick>).  It was a lesson I really needed to be reminded of in the mid-90s ~ that it's basically impossible to glean the truth of event because people see them through different personal filters.  Over the next few years, it was really important that I remember this classic flick & the lesson it sparked in my little kid mind.  On an autumn day, driving along interstates & back roads, Covey reminded me.  

“...to learn and not to do is really not to learn. 

To know and not to do is really not to know.” 

It's interesting that I embraced this Covey quote years before I discovered what is now one of my top 10 favorite quotes from Swedenborg (written 200+ years before The 7 Habits...) - "To will and not to do when there is opportunity is in reality not to will; and to love what is good and not do it, when there is opportunity, is not to love."  

How did I miss that says-it-all quote back in my high school & college religion classes!  But that made it even more Ah ha!ish when I came across it back about ten years ago.   Says it all, takes away all excuses with its utter simplicity.  We have not learned if we do not act from what we've heard or read;  we do not know if we do not act from what we claim we've learned.  

“Love is a verb."

It's possible that this 4-word sentence resonated with me more than anything else.  Love is a verb.  I'd said that to Mom for years, from around the time I was married, two years before Covey wrote his book, many more years before I first listened to it.  

Love is a verb.  Love is so much more than words that speak of affection.  Love is action.  How a person treats someone is way more an expression of love than what they say, or at least that what I believed.  And here was someone saying the very thing writ large across my heart - love is a verb.

Sheez - this has not turned out to be the posting I first intended.  But I didn't know when I typed in "Genesis" (Beginning) that Stephen Covey was no longer with us, at least the flesh & blood man.  His insights, his helping hand, will always be just a book, a cd, a dvd or, yes - cassette, away.  

If you've read The 7 Habits... and it affected you like it did me, offer up thanks.  If you haven't yet, take the time to read or listen to his powerful lessons in personal change.  

Dear Mr. Covey -  thank  you!

Cutting Slack

Here’s something that’s stumped me for too many years than I can recount ~ how is it possible for people to realize that we aren’t always at our best BUT not realize it holds true for everyone?  Feels like a lot of folks just don’t cut others the same slack they expect others to give them when things aren't as going all that well.

None of us know what sort of day others are experiencing.  Maybe the terse tone or less-than-friendly look are rooted in a bad night’s sleep or a malfunctioning 2nd floor toilet or discovering someone else ate the left-overs intended for breakfast.  

Even if a smile is met with a scowl or a version of “Bah! Humbug!”,  smile away anyhow.  And let someone do the same for you when the grumps hit!    

Meaning & Gratitude

Two great truths struck me over the past month, two truths that feel like they capture what everyone faces as we age, especially if we reach a great age, with all the challenges that brings ~ ~  If our lives are rooted in a search for meaning, how does it affect us when what once defined meaning to us is no longer? ~ and  ~ Is there one thing above all others that we are called to do, whatever our age or circumstances?

Am pondering that first one - how does an elderly person redefine their definition of meaning without feeling less?  Because "less" is an illusion - they are different, themselves redefined.  What is that redefinition and how can they embrace it?

In response to the second question, it feels to me like we are all asked - at every age, under every circumstance - to live a life of gratitude.  Mentioned that yesterday in passing to a grannie client, who grumbled that she didn't find much in her present moment that brought her a genuine sense of gratitude.  

Which leads me to yet another question to ponder ~ If we are called to live a life of gratitude, what does that look like, feel like?  And THAT question is not so easy to answer!  But I'm thinking on it!

Blog v. Reading

Reading won.  Hands down!

Been wrapped up in a book that beckons my soul & fills my heart.  And has taken up all of the attention which might otherwise had made time for at least one blog posting between 03/30/13 & today.

Not the sort of book you can read through FAST.  A slow reader, one where every page is carefully ingested, mulled over, reflected upon.  One that has taken at least two weeks to almost finish, in spite of having it with me at all times for those odd moment of suddenly-available time.

A book that has, over the 2nd part, repeatedly brought Mom to mind, a totally unexpected response.  Appreciating in ways previously unimaginable what a wise elder she was, how much she embodied what I hope to attain.  And how it all totally fell to pieces whenever matters involved two of my older sibs.  For the most part, what I was blessed to experience was a true elder, whose warmth & wisdom touched all whose lives she - even briefly - touched.

Which explains why I went totally bonkers on the occasions she flipped from true elder to whatever it was she became.  Being very literal (a mega limitation), I could never grasp how such a complete flip was possible.  Still don't, but am now able to grasp that it is ungraspable, if that makes any sense.  

What I can fully comprehend appreciate embrace honor is that the times she flipped were so way fewer than the times she eldered my life.

Has this book made a difference?  Oh, yeah!

Conflict v. Confrontation

Chris Hayes, interviewed this past week by Terry Gross on Fresh Air, mentioned that politics inherently involves conflict, that it's the nature of the political beast.  It got me thinking - again - about how conflict is an inherent part of families, too.  And to think otherwise can lead to incredibly negative consequences.

It feels like this world is more or less divided between people who tolerate conflict because they  totally shrink from confrontation ~and~ those who tolerate confrontation because they detest conflict.

Will there come a day when I am no longer horribly fascinated by my mother's loathing of confrontation & utter willingness to endure, even perpetuate, conflict?  Oh, Lord, I hope so!!  

Guess it's sort of natural to be thinking about this on this day of all days.  Ian died at age 11, when I was only 7.  Would he have been like our older sibs, who took after Mom, or would he have been more like Dad, who tended to call 'em as he saw 'em?  I like to think that he would have been like Dad, in part because I know from family tales that Ian asked questions, looked for deeper meanings rather than just what appeared to be true, another trait of our father.

Near the end of her life, Mom did too - much to my amazement.  When she was 90, Mom went totally outside her once-rigid comfort zone to ask Peter why he (& Mim & Mike) seemed so riled up by her seeking help from a psychologist to get a better, healthier view of herself.  As Mom shared with me later, Peter leaned back a bit as he pulled himself up to full height, leveled her with a look, leaned back in, and replied, "You ask questions!"  

Now, there are a lot of things that Mom told me over the years that I have to wonder about, but the physical description & the comment are too spot-on PRL to be false.  And I could see that it had really set her back on her heels.  Never, not in a million years, was she expecting that as his answers.  What upset them (according to Peter) was that she asked questions???  

Mom at 88 years old would have totally understood his answer.  Mom at 90 - no.  Which makes me realize - yeah, I can totally let go of what once was, because by the time she died, Mom had so gotten over her fear of confrontation.  She could march into the scariest lion's den she could think of - and come out whole.  

There were a lot of issues still unresolved between the two of us when Mom died.  Identified, but still unresolved.  Turns out, in writing this posting, that the question of tolerating confrontation or conflict is NOT one of them.  Oh, the power of blogging!

Dad - territory covered

Raymond (universally known as PETE) Lewis Lockhart

Mom & Dad had a glorious trip to England in 1972 - as soon as they were home, both were thick into plans for a return trip the next year. Then, her sisters' health started to decline & both knew they'd have to head west to California, where Dot & Betty lived, rather than back across The Pond.  

Although he apparently hadn't mentioned it to anyone else in the family, Dad confided to me on New Year's how much he was looking forward to a vacation because he felt worn out.  He chalked it up to Mike (who had worked with him) & Kerry's move to her native Australia.  They'd supported the young couple's decision, but it had a cost, both at the lumberyard & in our hearts.

It was around the middle of February that I saw them off on their way to San Francisco.  

They had a marvelous visit with Aunt Betty & Uncle Paul at their ranch in Newcastle, a great time with Aunt Dot in Sacramento (still remember Mom sharing with me on the phone a dinner they'd all enjoyed at The Fire House).  Mom was so happy to have that special time with her two sisters, since she felt like either of them might leave us in the near future.  Never, not in her wildest nightmares, could she have imagined that it would be Dad who'd be gone in six weeks.

Even now, that seems unimaginable.  

The two of them were about to board their flight home, were approaching the flight attendant waiting to take their tickets before they took the short walk to the aircraft.  Inexplicably, Dad dropped what he was caring.  When Mom looked at him, just as he was about to collapse, it was clear he was having a seizure.  He would have died right there & then, choked to death on his own tongue, if a U of P doctor hadn't happened to be right at hand.  "Get me a spoon," he barked at the attendant.  "We need to wait for our doctor," she answered.  "Damn it, woman," he yelled at her, "If you don't get me a spoon right now, this man will die right here."  Spoon in hand, he pressed down to keep Dad's tongue in place.

They took him to Penisula Hospital, an 5-star hospital with 5-star staff who took good care of Mom as well as Dad.  Because it happened where it did, the airline stepped up & took care of all of the hotel arrangements & made sure Mom had whatever she needed.  Bay-area New Church men & women gathered her under their sheltering wing.  As heart-breaking as it all was, at least it happened in the best possible place for Mom to get maximum support.

It turned out that Dad had a brain tumor deep inside his brain, inoperable from the instant the first lethal cell formed.  (Nicknamed "Carpenter's Cancer" because it often strikes wood workers, result of cutting treated lumber.)  He was given six months, maybe up to a year.

He was gone in six weeks.  

Remember his first & last day back at him lumber & millwork shop - the call to Mom that he was coming home because he couldn't do figures.  And when he had to resign from being a church usher, a big part of this life.  The effect of seeing his response as bits & pieces of his life vanished.  He went downhill fast.  

Back in 1973, there wasn't any hospice or even the sort of compassionate hospital support that we take for granted these days.  Six weeks to the day he collapsed, Dad died alone in a Richboro nursing home, because back then all visitors had to leave at 8:00 p.m.   I contrast that with what I experienced when Mom was in her final hospitalizations & hospice.  Hospice - it was unheard of back then.  What a comfort it would have been to Mom & Dad for him to be at home.

Other than picking the minister, planning the memorial service fell primarily to me, which was wonderful as I could make the music selections - picked in consultation with Mim & approved by Mom - our last gift to Dad.  Bishop Pendleton did a fine job of capturing my father, closing with "Well done, thou good & faithful servant."

Ian - territory covered

So, what did I learn as a result of my brother Ian's death?  Considering the reality that I was only just 7-years old at the time, quite a lot.

That death can come to anyone, at any moment.  

That our body is temporary, but our loves are forever.

That mourning parents could put aside their grief in order to comfort the family where the accidental shooting happened.

That my big strong Daddy could be totally broken. 

That you never know when someone might be taken from you, so be sure be aware of & grateful for them NOW, because there might not be a later.

and later...
That a tragedy can draw a family together or push them further apart.

That people can go through the exact same situation but perceive & experience it in vastly different ways.

That different people handle loss in different ways - my Mom  longed to go back to the lake, because it made her think of Ian;  Dad couldn't bear to go back to the lake, because it made him think of Ian.

That family members have different ways of communicating.  I was alone in our family in wanting to consider how Ian's death affected us as individuals & as a group.  The only time we discussed the impact of Ian's death was when we agreed,  a couple years before Mom died, at a family meeting with her psychologist, that we never discussed it.

in addition...
I learned from Mom that it was possible to recover from such a devastating loss,  that "one day, you'll notice again that the sky is blue - but it will never be the same shade."

I learned from Mom that when tragedy or loss hits friends, it's better to show up on their doorstep when they don't need you than to stay home.  She shared that with me when family friends lost a young son in an accidental drowning - their friends were gathered outside the house, not wanting to intrude on their sorrow, not knowing what to do.  Mom went up to the door & rang the bell - and the lad's mother practically fell into her arms for comfort.  

Take My Hand

I've been blessed to know some remarkable life coaches - most recently, the deeply gifted Anna Friesen Cole - and have been complimented when friends & acquaintances have urged me to become one.  How many time have I heard, "But you're a natural!"  Never shared that image of myself.  But I can relate with heart, mind & soul to the image of myself as a guide, helping people navigate difficult terrain I've trekked numerous times. Will never be a life coach, but here's my YES to being an end-of-life guide, because I've been there & done that.

Ian Scott Lockhart 1959

Saturday marks the 54th anniversary of my brother Ian's death, suddenly gone on an Easter Monday afternoon.  I experienced that unspeakable time as a 7-year old, so a lot of the most grievous parts went over me.  What I knew for sure was that my 11-year old brother, my closest sibling in age & manner, wasn't coming home from his afternoon of play.  

One priceless gift that came out of at most grievous time - Ken Stroh, Ian's 5th grade religion teacher & the minister giving his memorial service, took the time to talk to a little girl & had the courtesy to treat me like a big kid, asking if I had any questions.  I had one - what would Ian look like when I saw him again, in Heaven?  

Ken gave a brilliant answer, one that resounded in my so-very-young mind.  Realizing that my worry was how he would look after the accidental shooting that took his life, he drew me over to him & sort of leaned me against his lap, so we could look straight into each other's eyes.  "Ian won't look the way you remember him right now," he explained gently,  "He will be a young man, much older than Ian was on his last birthday.  But, Elsa, you will know him immediately because you will recognize his loves, which is all that we really are."  In the moment of seconds it took to tell me that, "Mr. Stroh" flicked on a switch in my mind - it might seem sort of esoteric for a very young girl to grasp, but grasp it I did.  That image of Ian as his loves rather than an earthly body helped get me through all the strange adults hugging my & patting my head, got me through the burial, where Dad slumped against a tree & Bishop Pendleton went over to put his arm around his stricken friend, got me through everything.  It stays with me still.

next - Raymond (universally known as Pete) Lockhart 1973

Toe Holds & Foot Prints

It wasn't until my father's memorial service, about 40 years ago, that I got my first inkling of the indelible image he'd made on the community into which he married & lived & raised a family.  Then & over the years since, I'ved heard story after story from people who held him in high regard just because they'd experienced in him a good-hearted man.

Been thinking a lot about Dad as we move closer & closer to March 25, the date he died.  

Although he hadn't shared it with the rest of us, Dad had been experiencing terrible headaches for a couple months.  Mom had realized that he seemed to using a lot of aspirin, but hadn't made any connections between the pain relievers & his health.  

The closest he came to sharing his deteriorating health with any of us was with me, on New Year's Eve; he'd picked me up from a party at Glenn & Joel's and on the drive home shared how much he was looking forward to the trip he & Mom were taking out to California to visit with her sisters - he was really tired, he confided, and was looking forward to having some time away from work, an opportunity to relax & unwind.  

For Dad to be looking forward to not being at Lockhart Lumber was unusual.  He enjoyed a vacation as much as the next fellow, but he truly loved working at his teeny tiny lumber & millwork "shop" - loved his use, loved being of use to others.  

Mom was much the same with her "job" as wife & mother.  She loved every aspect of her work, even cleaning out the fridge.  And she thrived in her role of wife, which she translated as being a partner through good times & the difficult.  

Both of them - individually, as a couple, as parents, as a family - embodied what their faith taught about expressing in word, thought & deed a life of use.  Mom & Dad never knew the word "stint" when it came to giving their precious time, their boundless energy, or their limited money.   If they saw a need, they did everything in their power to fill it.  

Naturally, I thought that every kid in town was brought up with that sort of outlook.  My brothers were hauled into helping Dad with parking duty, getting up early early on Sunday mornings to help direct cars into the most optimum parking spots.  (Imagine the demand for space back when Glencairn was a private home, when there were no parking spaces aross the street, back when the college parking lot was a vast wheat field!)  Mim had her own kids’ club.  I was encouraged to do what I could to make dorm students feel less lonesome – can’t remember a time Mom was reminding me that “their lives might seem glamorous to you, but they don’t get to have a homecooked meal every day or sleep in their own bed.” 

None of us gave much thought to cost – Mim financed her Explorer’s Club (featuring weekly meetings, activities, even a 3-night summer camp in our back yard!) with piddly dues & money she earned from babysitting;  Dad paid for the ingredients for all the batches of goodies that made their way to the dorms.  Both my parents encouraged us kids to invite dorm students down for Sunday dinner.

Mom & Dad weren’t sought after social types.  They were the other's best friend.  So, it was a stunning surprise at Dad’s memorial service when the family rose to sing the first hymn and were hit with a wave of beautiful singing, our first indication that the nave was filled, from our front row to the very back.  Mind you, Dad's service was on a weekday afternoon, so a lot of the people - from corporate presidents to his car mechanic - had to take time off to attend.   

And there it was, my first inkling that although my parents had a very small toe hold in our community, they left a very big foot print.  Their legacy was & continues to be the example they set of what mattered most to them – forging relationship to God, to your partner, your family, your friends, your community, your nation.  Very big shoes to step into!