Living Life Like Water

  
I've always thought water was wonderful, but my granddaughter wrote an essay about water that gave me yet another perspective.  Water shows us how to live life - if we are clever enough.  Water embraces contradictions.  Think of a lovely babbling brook as it gurgles its way along.  It gently flows, sometimes gathering speed and racing along on its long voyage out to the sea.  Except for the heavy hand of humans that intentionally or unintentionally cause it to dry up completely, it is water's nature to just keep going on -- whether above or underground, determined to reach its destination.  It is patient and makes whatever adjustments are necessary to get where it wants to go.


Water is not only persistent, but also very creative.  Just look at the Grand Canyon for proof of the artistic power of water.  Water can also change its state from eons-old ice to steam rising from hot springs.  It is soothing to thirst, but maniacally destructive of everything in its way in the form of a tsunami or a flood.  Whatever you can say about water is also true in the opposite.


Why are we attracted to watching salty waves crashing upon rocks or sandy beaches?   We return time and again to be in their majestic presence.  Water's gymnastic antics entertain us for endless hours without us even getting wet.  Many CDs for meditation include the sounds of water that either soothe the soul or lull us to sleep.  Almost always, fancy hotels have a fountain out front to greet guests.  The highest level of water entertainment in front of the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas thrills spectators with  how graceful and rhythmic dancing  spurts of water can be.


While laying by a creek near my home and listening to its music, I thought of all the things water can be.  And then I remembered that our human bodies are mostly water and that we are a part of nature.  As my ears listened, my imagination wondered what the burbling creek could be saying.  And then I wanted to join the water.  I wanted to have the grace and gentleness of water, the persistence and determination of water, the strength of ice, the freedom of steam, the rhythm of a dancing fountain, and the power of waves in the sea.  I wanted to feel the fish tickling me and be able to flow in and around beautiful coral reefs.  I wanted to dance with mammoth whales and play with sea lions.


I mentally slipped into the creek and joined the water.  My human form was no longer imprisoned by arms, legs, a head.  Instead, I undulated over and around rocks -- and traveled onward.
Suellen Zima
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Dead Women Don’t Wear Girdles…

I came up with this title…and I love it…I just can’t figure out quite what to do with it…it might help if I’d seen the movie that gave me the inspiration…but…I didn’t…
So…I’m on my own…I keep getting ideas…but they seem morbid…and perhaps insensitive…although…that would never be my intent…I’ll tread lightly…
Okay…since there are no accidents…this popped into my head for a reason…something I need to learn…something I need to say…or…I’ve finally lost that one lone marble that’s been rolling around in my head all these years…
I’m gonna go with something I need to learn…which means it will also get said…
Quit rolling your eyes…guess we know which one you think…geez…
I keep thinking…when I am a corpse…will I ask the undertaker…does this casket make me look fat…do you think you could squeeze me into a smaller size…maybe something in black…
I know…that’s irreverent…I suppose the question I am asking myself…is…am I willing to go to the grave worrying about what other people think of me…
And the answer is…I hope not…
I hope I realize that my life is bigger and fuller than that…I hope that I appreciate who I am and what I do…I hope that I realize I am more than someone else’s opinion of me…more than my size…more than my wardrobe…more than my relationships…more than my job…and even more than my writing…I hope I realize that I am all of that…and more…
I hope that I will not squeeze into a symbolic girdle even one day…ever again…
And that when I do get to that undertaker…I will only ask…do you know what an awesome life I had…it was full…it was fun…you may need a bigger casket to fit it all in…maybe something in lime green and flamingo pink…

Jane Carroll , 

Author                       

Bertha-Size Your Life

Life According to Jane

It Isn't Easy Being an Optimist

I know that optimists aren't supposed to whine.  Actually, I've been more of an optimist-in-training for the last6 months.  After years of faking being an optimist (because I knew that pessimists don't have much fun), I read the old, but good story of Pollyanna - the girl who knew how to play the "glad game."  With her as my mentor, I did make some progress toward turning into a "real" optimist.  I was genuinely sunnier and happier,

and it felt good.

But I've begun to slip.  Although I secretly suspected that optimists are born rather than made, I latched onto the hope that acting like you believed something could make it real.  And I do know some genuine optimists whose sunny dispositions don't waver.  I like having them in my life as a counterweight to a lot of less optimistic people I know who are coping with serious, sad problems.  My mother,  like the character in that famous cartoon strip that always had a raincloud above his head, was a pessimist by nature.  One's own nature is difficult to overcome, but I don't want to believe impossible to change - at least readjust a little.
 
One complication of  becoming an optimist at my age is that I've also spent 67 of my 68 years being very naive.   My rose-colored glasses have now broken, and life, especially the politics of the day, look both clearer and a lot dirtier.  I've gone from believing just about everyone to believing no one.  It's lonely as a conscientious doubter.  Although my daily life is presently very good, the "what if's" could rise to daunting proportions if I don't do battle with them.
When I feel my optimism slipping, I keep reminding myself that I really am in control of many things in life that drag down the spirit.  There are off switches to many "downers" that can tug on me and pull me toward the pits of pessimism.  But it's tiring.  I laughed heartily at a cartoon I saw recently that had an optimist going on and on about how wonderful everything was and the two who were listening commented to each other, "Optimists are so exhausting to be around."  My mother's words echoed, "I can't be like that."
 
I'm sure that being an optimist is harder for people like me who have a short supply of optimism genes.  Yet, when I dip, there's often some reminder to pick me up again.  Today it was the words on a paper cup of coffee I was drinking.  It had a line at the halfway mark that said  "half full - Seattle's Best has been seeing it that way since 1970."
Suellen Zima

Is anyone in my city serious about making lifestyle changes?

Making healthy lifestyle changes is a choice.
When do you decide? Is it after being diagnosed with a disease or when your waistline expands?
For me it was after being diagnosed a borderline diabetic.
Here in my city the young girls' bellies are fat, and they have no shame showing them off in their style of dress. The young boys are obese, and are constantly being teased. The women are stricken with some form of disease, walking on canes or unable to lift their legs up to ride a bus. The men look nine months pregnant, and are always encouraging their women not to lose weight, "I like my woman thick."
It's like living in a secret society, here's the rules.
"Stay within city limits, and you will go unnoticed. Eat no healthy foods whatsoever. Never exercise, drink very little water. "So what if your bellies are big and you are obese? Look around you - most of us here in our city look that way."
Here's what was on my mind as I rode into work today.

Robyn Howzell