Magic

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you

because the greatest secrets

are always hidden in the most unlikely places.

Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.”

Roald Dahl

Thirty-five years ago, I broke up with a boyfriend and decided I wasn't going to have any relationships for at least a couple of years. I was only 20 years old, after all, and had a lot I wanted to do. The next day, I met a quiet, handsome, older man (he was 24) named Chris Reinhart. We'll celebrate our 34th wedding anniversary in May.

I believe in magic love.

Two weeks ago, when we started looking at our house and deciding where to paint, one wall stood out with its ugly, dirty, yellowish color and pencil scribblings. This wall definitely would not be painted. It's our sacred growing wall, telling the stories of our children in graphite lines, scrawled names and dates.

About ten inches from the floor, the name written for the marking is Isabel Gosling, 6/16/02.

Almost even with our daughter, there's another line. The name written by it is familiar to our family. Lisa was our daughter's imaginary friend for years before, “you know how it is, Mom. Sometimes imaginary friend's moms just want them to come back home”. But before Lisa went home, she left her height mark on our growing wall.

I had an imaginary friend when I was younger, too. Her name was Linda. Where do these friends come from? I don't know, but I believe they are real.

I believe in magic friends.

Once, when traveling, I was introduced to a wonderful woman named Bella. She immediately came over and embraced me, then stepped back, looked away for a moment, and chuckled. Turning back to me, she said, “You brought someone with you, in spirit.” I replied, “Yes!” When I returned, I told a friend about this. He looked at me very seriously and said, “It was me”. I smiled, because I knew.

I believe in magic people.

We watched our donkey make friends with a fox and play in our yard together. Later, when the kits were born, the fox and his wife brought them out to meet the donkey. We watched from the window.

I believe in magic animals.

We heard Chris' mother's last words, wrapped them up in our love and sorrow, and gave them to the rest of the family.

I believe in magic moments.

Our paychecks nearly always carried us through from one month to the next. When they didn't, my father would loan me a novel, telling me I had to read it. As we walked out the door, he would grin and say, “don't lose the bookmark”... a $20 bill.

I believe in magic fathers.

Being diagnosed with Parkinson's disease means I can stay at home, write, do art, cook, dance, do yoga, see friends, take classes, and take naps whenever I want to.

I believe in magic gifts even when they come in crazy wrapping.

The puppy only peed in the house once today, my husband danced with me, and our son has a job interview on Friday.

I definitely believe in magic.

 “The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”

 W. B. Yeats

Living Well – Exercising the Heart

“The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference.

The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference.

The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference.

The opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.” 

Elie Wiesel

In other words, I'm not talking about aerobics.

Physical exercising will help keep my physical body strong, yet there may come a day when my body isn't strong anymore. Making lifelong learning a priority will help keep my mind sharp, yet there may come a day when my mind slows and I don't remember things so easily. Life doesn't come with guarantees.

Even if there aren't any guarantees, I'm still going to place my bets on living a long life and staying upright. If there's any possibility I can keep myself going longer by doing something about it, I'll do something about it, but I won't go overboard. Once in awhile I'll even have a McDonald's cheeseburger. I'll fudge a little here and there. I won't fudge when it comes to taking care of my heart – and doing whatever I can to help care for the heart in every person I come in contact with.

Six years after being diagnosed with Parkinson's, I went back to the very first article I wrote for this journal. Do I still feel the same way?

Here's part of what I wrote.

* * *

If I ever need others to take care of me, I want people around me who will allow me to live a normal life.

This means:

· Friends and family who will get me out of the house and into the world, even if I am grumpy about it.

· Friends who will pour me a glass of wine and help me drink it, even if I’m not supposed to have it.

· Friends who will tell me bullshit stories and make me laugh.

· Friends who will make me cry.

· Friends and family who won’t mind if I tell the same stories more than once.

· Gossip. If there is a juicy story, I will want to hear it.

· Adult stories. I don’t ever want to be talked to as a child. Politics, religion - don’t stick with “safe” subjects!! I want to always have an opinion. You can even swear, if you need to.

· Friends who will get mad at me from time to time. And who will take it if I get mad at them.

· Friends who will tell me if I’m out of line.

· I want my friends and family to tell me what is going on in their lives, even if it’s painful. Don’t keep things from me so I don’t worry. You are my family and my friends and I have every right to worry about you.

· Friends and family who will hold my hand or put an arm around my shoulder.

· At least one friend who is not afraid to kiss me on the lips, even if I drool.

· Someone who will sing with me, no matter how I sound.

Being normal, being a real living human being means experiencing life. And life is both beautiful and painful. Experiencing life means experiencing disappointments and triumphs, joy and intense sadness. Sometimes it means getting really pissed off, too. And it can be delightful to get really pissed off from time to time. It’s energizing and it keeps the brain working.

I don’t want to be wrapped in cotton wool. Being safe doesn’t mean padding all the corners and keeping me from falling down. Being alive means getting hurt from time to time. I don’t ever want to be too protected. I want to be able to struggle – physically and emotionally. I want to wrestle with the real questions of life and love and friendship and what does it all mean, anyway?!

I want to keep bumping into life and crashing into love. Life does make its marks on each of us, but don’t worry. The marks you see on me?

They’re just love bruises.

* * *

Do I still feel the same way? Yes, but I rarely think about it. When I do, I know that what I want more than anything is to be able to do all this for my family and friends.

Six years can make a difference.

When Life hands You a box of Rotten Peaches

Forget the lemons. We know what to do when life hands us lemons, and lemonade is just the not so creative beginning. There's lemons in furniture polish, cleaners, and laundry detergent. Honey-lemon tea can help soothe a sore throat, and socks soaked in lemon water and put on your feet can bring down a fever*. There are so many incredible uses for lemons. If life hands you lemons, that's cool.

But what do you do when life hands you a box of rotten peaches? Years ago, a friend told me this story:

At a time when dishonest peach salesmen roamed the country, a man bought a box of peaches from a roadside stand. When he got home and looked carefully in the box, he discovered that underneath the top layer of good fruit, everything else was rotten. You can't make peach cobbler or peach juice with rotten fruit. In fact, there's not much at all you can do with a whole box of rotten peaches. The peach pits are even poisonous.

What do you do when life hands you a box of rotten peaches?

The man was angry at first and went back to the roadside stand to complain, but when he arrived at the place, both the stand and the dishonest peach salesman were gone. What could he do?

What do you do when life hands you a box of rotten peaches?

The man walked home with his box. As he had paid a good price for the peaches, he didn't want to just throw it all away. After taking out the few good pieces of fruit, he took the rest to a place in his garden where nothing was growing. He dug some shallow trenches and buried the rotten peaches. He didn't just leave it at that. Over the next few years, he tended all of his garden, including the area where the peaches had been planted. When the first tiny seedlings appeared, he carefully weeded around them, keeping the soil moist. In the winter, he added mulch to protect the new trees from freezing.

It takes four years to go from peach seedling to peach harvest. That's a lot of patience.

I tend to get impatient when life hands me lemons. I spent many years dutifully trying to make lemonade, trying to cover up the sour taste by adding something sweet. Eventually I realized what a bitter aftertaste this had for me. For a long time after that, I simply complained about how sour the lemons were. It has taken a long time for me to learn all the other more creative things one can do with all those sour lemons. I still forget from time to time, but fortunately I have friends who gently remind me to shut up and stop complaining.

There are a lot of positive, inspirational quotes out there. I enjoy many of them, but this story is my favorite. It reminds me to have patience. It reminds me that thinking positively isn't enough and can, if not done properly, be a bit like adding sweetener to lemons. It's good, but not if I use it to cover up my challenges and pretend they aren't there. I need to remember to work positively with all the ups, downs, lemons, and rotten peaches in my life; and keep working, even when I don't necessarily feel positive.

It would be a lovely fairy tale ending if the dishonest peach seller came back and the man graciously gave him a box of good peaches. The thief may have even turned over a new leaf and become an honest man. Ah, but even good farmers are still human, and for all I know, he might have punched the salesman first, then given him a peach or two.

It's more likely the two never met again, for the story is true. I once knew this peach farmer, which makes this story just that much sweeter.

Written in honor of all those friends to whom life has recently given large boxes of rotten peaches and all those who have tended their gardens faithfully for so many years.

 * http://www.steinerhealth.org/health/fever/   instructions for fever wrap