Happy New Year! This is Twenty-Twenty Five

And I knew it was coming. I was planning, I was thinking for months ahead of how I’d be fabulous and celebrate. My plan was to bounce back from the surgery and use the skills I’d earned as a Sensei. That was not how it is happening.

I did use my Sensei skills to endure. I would far rather have used them to celebrate.

What laid me so low?

A bad cold. Everyone got it. And I did too. I was so mad; somehow I thought I had paid my dues and didn’t have to do that thing. But no, I’m human.

And the good news is, I am human and I’m on the other side of the sick now. Mostly.

I’m human. I’ll be bringing that into the new year too.

I have some time—a whole year—to celebrate. It doesn’t have to happen today.

I can keep my eye on it, and keep it as a priority to get to. I don’t have to cram every part of what I hope the year will contain into the first day of it. That’s the beauty of a clean slate, there is more room that I can fill.

Yesterday I was carrying a lot of pain and weakness from the surgery and from this stupid cold/flu. Today I am carrying less.

That leaves room for more strength and celebration. There is plenty of room for strength and celebration.

These things build. Like the head of a trail, I look up at the distant beautiful summit, the challenging peak I am aiming at.

I’m at the beginning. It’s alright for me to be weak at the beginning, because I will be strong at the summit and there are some adventures to be had along the way.

I didn’t know my new year’s morning would look this way—feel this way—and here I am. I didn’t know what was inside the gift when it was wrapped.

Now I’m experiencing it. And I’ll keep on living through it every day of the year. I’m willing for the sweet and the bitter to come through, and celebrate it as much as possible.

This is my year. I’m going to make something of it.

Happy holiday season to my fellow wonderers

The regularly scheduled Weekly Wonder is Christmas day. It’s my no-so-surprise gift to you all.

It turns out that for the grown-ups, Christmas is a lot about all the work we put into it before the surprise. I have the experience of to acting surprised when I open a gift I knew I was going to get.

But if it weren’t for the tradition, which could be called the routine, we wouldn’t be surprised. In my family we have agreed to be surprised on this day.

Another thing has repeated itself on our holidays for the last few years is sickness.

Last year and the year before my daughter and I were sick.

This Sunday, my husband was sick. I woke earlier than he did (also tradition) and heard him enter the bathroom in distress.

Of course I was concerned. I was not the only one who heard this unusual circumstance. Our house has another tradition.

The animals receive treats every morning. Can and dog await my husband’s rising in the morning because he very faithfully dispenses goodies. Their morning routine highlights this action.

As the photo shows, they are right outside the bathroom door looking concerned. Are they worried about him?

A cynical view is that they are impatient for their snacks. Is that all they want?

Another view is that they care about their person—my husband—and want to lend what comfort and healing they can to his distress.

Hmm. What if it is a bit from both?

The tradition created an awareness in their animals lives of what he was doing every morning.

I wake up in the same house, but the dog and the cat are not as excited when I get up. The long habit that my husband nurtured with them has created a sympathy for him.

Even after I gave them their morning treats because he was ill, they continued to watch him and stay close.

I could interpret their attention as more than self-interest. It wasn’t just because they wanted their treat; those were already dispensed.

When it comes to gift giving relationships, I can see that the repeated kindness of gifts creates a bond.

It is more than the sum of it’s parts. Looking at it today of all days, I am seeing one how Christmas works.

Being consistent, giving things that delight others with generosity is more than the value of the gift given.

I am going to call it. Yes, my husband and his daily ceremony of treats has shown me the true meaning of Christmas.

Merry Christmas to all!

Christmas is a week away!

Am I ready?

Have I learned to be the Christmas character that I would like to be?

There are a lot of traditional stories to choose from.  I was talking with some lady friends, they were trying to get ready and face the season. I was reminded that Scrooge and the Grinch are among the options.

And when I think about it, the week before Christmas is the traditional time for disaster to strike? Has your disaster arrived yet?

Someone paid extra for that disaster to come exactly at the right time to ruin Christmas.

Because the stories have the arc, the story does come around. Even Joseph and Mary with their total faith—or on the other side with Scrooge’s cynicism—the story comes around to the lesson and the blessin’.

Yes, I couldn’t resist. I was going to say gift, but from the beginning it’s not strictly a gift. The peace on earth, the way-making that Christmas signifies is more than a gift.

Scrooge’s new perspective on life at the end is better than a gift. He questions his values and arrives at a re-prioritization.

Remember how Christmas is only a week away? This is a great time for me to question what I think is most important.  

Can I shed some expectations on myself so that I can spend time with the people I can about?

I’m sure Joseph would have liked to have a nice room and bed for Mary and baby Jesus. That manger was a workaround.

But as it happened, it was exactly as it was supposed to be. And I can let go of what I thought ruined everything. The stars in the sky can look down on my workarounds, Bless all the dear children in my tender care and make me more and more fit to have the responsibility.

Are we there yet?

I remember the long road trips when me and my brothers would play games to pass the miles. We counted the mileposts on the side of the highway. We had maps on our laps, looking ahead to where we wanted to go and what we would pass along the way.

There were measurements on the routes along the way, with estimates on how many hours it would take to go between different cities. One brother would find something, and then pass it around to the rest of us to consider.

Are we there?

Are we done?

Are we finished?

Have I got to the end?

On Saturday December 7^th, I finished my black belt training. I am Sensei Murphy in Krav Maga martial arts. I did it. I am there.

Yet it is not the end. Not done or finished.

I remember graduating with my Bachelors’ degree after so many years. I felt so sad that I couldn’t take more classes. I was had done it, but I didn’t want to be done learning. It turned out I could, I just had to look harder for them. I had run past the edge of the map

Years ago, Chris and I climbed Mt Whitney, the highest peak in the lower 48 states. He got sick, but I went on with the rest of the climbing party. We got to the crest, and I saw over to the other side. That’s as far as I would go that time. We turned around before reaching the pinnacle.

I know I have more to achieve if I went to climb it again.

I have so much more I want to achieve. In each of these areas.

Like that the Whitney crest, these different accomplishments got to a natural stopping point. I can put it down for a moment, but I’m not done exploring or having adventures. I am going to see what is past my known world

I’m feeling the glow of thanksgiving, and living in the reminder that I have a great deal to be thankful for. My kitchen is bursting with food that has been carefully chosen and prepared.

The arc of the holidays means that gratitude flows right into wishes. What is my Christmas wish? What do I want? It’s a hunt to discover the secret—perhaps unknown even to them!—desires of my friends and family. And I must plumb my own depths to give suggestions to people who want to make my wishes come true.

There is less daylight in the winter, but I am staggered with my blessings. I can both make wishes and do magic by fulfilling them. The holidays are a special time of year.

That is not the full arc, though. The harvest, the wishes and then comes the new year. It’s a cycle. The short days grow slightly longer just before Christmas as the world tilts towards the sun again. The wishes churn up some deeper things.

I might wish for new shoes. But I could dream of dancing in those shoes, if only I learned the steps.

That takes more than a new pair of shoes. I’d have to set out with intention to learn the steps, and then practice until I mastered them.

It is a familiar arc. From thanksgiving gratitude, to Christmas presents and facing the new year making resolutions. Everyone in the community joins in this stepping out from the everyday routine to participate in the season.

It’s a circle, to appreciate what life has given me, then to prepare surprised and presents for the people around me to share my abundance. After the preparations and celebrations, I look at myself and see that I would like to be a better person.

I’ve been given so much, and the people I love around me show me different adventures I could be part of—Or I think of adventures I would like to have. These are the things that inspire me to expand on the person I am.

Thursday November 28th is Thanksgiving
America has an origin story, and our country owes a lot to the pilgrims. They were one of the big influences on how the system of America came into being. They came over from Europe and gave it a serious try.

Almost half—45 of the 102 passengers—died the first winter. Starvation is part of the lore I learned. These pilgrims didn’t know enough to catch and eat the fish in the ocean nearby.

Most cultures have a harvest festival of some kind, because most humans have learned to appreciate the seasons of germination, growing and then harvest. The pilgrims somehow missed that part of their trip planning, so they didn’t have enough food and a lot of them died with the lack of it.

The lore tells us that a generous local person showed them how to plant and harvest what grew locally.

That was 400 years ago.

32 years ago me and my family found ourselves in a new country a new continent for Thanksgiving. I’d only planned to be there 5 months, but it got extended and we were over in Far Eastern Russia for Thanksgiving.

How were we going to manage to celebrate it? What could we do to observe this tradition? The original pilgrims had Turkey, cranberries, corn and pumpkin pie.

I learned as a grown up that that is American local food. It didn’t exists in the lean crop of items at the stores in Russia. We had to find ways to simulate the food to keep the tradition as best we could

If I find myself in unfamiliar territory, it helps to look for what is at hand that is close to what I’m trying to achieve. If I don’t have an expert in the area I need help with, what is similar?

I remember we had access to a jar of carrot/apple baby food. It turned it into a custard pie. It wasn’t pumpkin but it was orange. It was well-received.

The Pilgrims has some good ideas and some bad ones. I’m glad we celebrate learning from new cultures and sharing a good meal. I know I get that wrong a lot, but it’s still something I aspire to along with all of America. I’m grateful for this tradition, and I’m happy I get to carry it on

Happy Thanksgiving!

After the effort

and the striving



the winning

the losing

the critical mass



a wisp of an idea

or

the beating of a dead horse



Enough is enough

Done is better than perfect



Except



Is it enough?

How do I know it’s done?



In life

In art

There are no promises



Done is better than perfect because I can’t do perfect

I can’t be perfect

But I can be done



Maybe

At least for now

At least this part



Next I’ll do even better

If I can get it done

I hate the last minute, and here I am.

I am the one who stays up late, turns the assignment in early and never gets to that last minute

But here I am.

If I don’t write this today, there will be nothing to send. And I will miss my self-imposed deadline.

I dislike that last minute but it is still motivating me with its very existence.

I remember a line from an old movie:

 ‘In Italy, for 30 years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed. But they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love. They had 500 years of democracy and peace. And what did that produce? The cuckoo clock!’

It’s true.

And that cuckoo clock reminds me to pay attention to the time so I can keep away from the deadline.

My struggle is with that clock. Most certainly it is tonight.

I should have let some other obligations be delayed so I could do this essay on time.

There were a lot of obligations this past week.

So I’m up late, with half a cold with my creativity stifled.

I’m not feeling like the rennnaissance.

I’m hearing the cuckoo. And that is my muse tonight.

It can be enough.

I look forward to having the time and energy, to give that cuckoo bird better food than mere acknowledgement.

That will have to be enough, mechanical bird.

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Last year at this time I was counting the days until I could get off Chemo, wanting to have more energy and be past feeling sick and tired all the time

November 2023, I had my thyroidectomy surgery

That was last year

Right now I’m counting the days until I finish the black belt test. so that my muscles don’t have to be sore and all the time. It’s a different kind of sick and tired.

Three days after I test for my black belt I am scheduled for a second thyroid surgery.

There is a pattern here.

I shake my head at myself. There is always something. 

After all, what did I expect? A broad grassy meadow of sunlight and gentle breezes?

I’m chasing after adventure.

Shakespeare said

Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.

The cancer and surgeries seem to be thrust upon me. The Black belt training is something I’m working to achieve. I am taking the skills I was born with to try to achieve greatness

I would have picked a different adventure than cancer if I’d had the choice. Since I didn’t, I will hope to do something great with it.

The martial arts make me think about life differently.

So has cancer and chemo.

After I left the meeting with the oncologist—the one where she told me it would be 5 months of chemotherapy—I broke down in sobbed. My husband held me as I gasped out that I felt trapped in my own body, in a prison with no chance to escape and taste life.

And it was not as bad as I imagined, even though it was tough.

As I look at it, preparing for the black belt testing is a lighter lift. I could say that the black belt testing is the life I was hoping to get to.

Since I am healthier and stronger (e.g. black belt achievement) I am hopeful I will recover faster from the 2024 surgery that I did from the one last year. That one wasn’t so bad even. 

It’s not a repeat. It’s a familiar pattern. I’d like to see over the horizon to a new pattern, with next year being different.

On my trip to England, I made a point to visit Canterbury Cathedral. The vaulted ceiling and gorgeous history haunted me, soaring in my memory when I tried to sleep.

But it wasn’t the architecture that drew me. 

Of course It was because of Chaucer. That jester poet who marked a line in path of the Norman noble courts of Britain and forever carved his name with The Canterbury Tales.

Chaucer took the tropes of his day, all the characters that his audience were so familiar with, and let them speak English to one another as they pilgrimaged to the cathedral.

Not the snooty French of the nobility and their sycophants—the language of the people who hadn’t gotten that far. The characters poke fun at each other with stories they’ve learned. 

Tonight I joined a book discussion of this story. What did this book still have for us today?

It was a challenge to make it to the zoom meeting because my daughter had only the night before had the vomits pretty bad. I’d stayed up to soothe her, but I had missed out on the reading. 

A sick pitiful pool of a child, she felt better but was weak and in need of company.

A perfect time to read aloud that last section of the book that was assigned. I need to do it and she’s not in a position to resist.

I warned her that it was bawdy and naughty, which intrigued rather than alarmed her.

And we began the Reeve’s tale. I pointed out the double entendres, and we puzzled out some of the more confusing story points. 

For being such high literature, the tales have a lot of primitive humor. 

Farts, fooling and carnal relations

Oh

Chaucer is perfect for teenagers.

I’m going to go read the rest of it.