Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Health and Wellbeing

January 8, 2018

silence settles

silence settles
fills cracks in evening darkness
ticking clock whispers

It’s my favorite time of day. Quiet and dark, nothing making a sound except the hum of our refrigerator, water gurgling through the radiator, my heartbeat echoing in my ears, and the calm, super-quiet tick of my now-ancient desktop clock. I bought it in Germany in the 1970s. It sits on our kitchen table, faithful and timely for nearly four decades.

Last night I was bemoaning (only slightly, mind you) my housebound captivity during our early winter cold spell. I’ve always enjoyed this time of day. I get to read a little, write a little, eat a little snack on behalf of my blood sugar, and often listen to evening hymns—singing along if I’m so inclined.

So last night I decided to write a haiku about my evening surroundings. Writing it was more than enough to calm and lift my spirits. If I can’t walk in the woods, I can wander through my house of memories. Surrounded by reminders of where I’ve been, how many amazing people and places I’ve known along the way, and the beauty of late evening silence.

Happy Monday!
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 8 January 2018
Photo found at pixabay.com

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January 6, 2018

A letter to our Creator

Dear Creator of this World, though not the creator of its craziness,

I have a dilemma, so I’m bringing it to You. Hoping for a little light, as one of many followers of Your Son Jesus of Nazareth.

I’m to pray for those in official authority over me. In particular, those who have responsibility for governing this nation. Important people such as the President of the United Sates, the governor of Pennsylvania, Senators and those who serve in Congress at state and national levels.

The easiest way to pray is that they will rule wisely, with special consideration for the poor, widows, orphans, refugees and others who struggle to make it from one day to the next.

This way of praying has always worked for me before. Yet today I feel compelled to pray in a different way, and for different leaders in our country and abroad.

For example, I feel compelled to pray daily for officials who run nonprofit organizations. The kind that help pick up the pieces and make ends meet. It seems our current government has abdicated too much of its responsibility toward those with the least resources, while also lining the pockets of the wealthy who already have way more than enough.

Here’s something else. I’m also tempted to pray against some of the officials I’m exhorted to pray for. In fact, it seems that the only way to pray for some of them is to pray against them. If the goal is to have wise decisions that serve us well, perhaps it’s time to pray that certain plans will fail. Or that those who create these plans will get caught in the traps they set for others.

Finally, as You already know, our President has dismissed, mocked and denigrated women who come forward to tell the truth about powerful men who made their lives nightmares. He also seems to get away with his loose talk and loose living, and with abdicating his responsibility to lead this nation.

Tomorrow is Sunday, and I’ll probably be in church. We always pray for those who govern us. I know good national leadership is good for all of us, to say nothing about the rest of the world. Still, I feel the need to pray against some who govern us, and to pray for those who have the courage to stand up and be counted on the side of truth.

One more thing. I don’t see or hear Jesus of Nazareth holding back in his assessment of political and religious leaders of his day. And, as noted above, I want to follow in Jesus’ footsteps.

Please advise.
Elouise

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 5 January 2018
Image found at englishforschools.wordpress.com

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January 5, 2018

Playing my card – a poem

,

Is being born female a scar?
A blemish a blot an
unfortunate role of the dice?
Something to disguise or
hope might fade over time?

Mind your scar dear
You wouldn’t want to be
laughed at, jeered at, taken
for granted or trashed

Here love let me help you make
the most of your scar perhaps
then they won’t notice it so much

Who knows
you might even win adulation
and a real man if you play
your scar card just right

Remember you’re in this
for the long haul so buck up
and smile like a million dollars
someday you’ll be rewarded for
your dumbed down version of
the woman every man wants

Not to worry there’s still plenty
of time to make your mark you
just need to keep at it no cracks
in the façade

Don’t get me wrong dear I’m not
saying you haven’t been doing it
the right way

It’s just that the cracks in your
scar are showing and we wouldn’t
want you to bleed all over the place
and your clothes

So you’ll just have to stop picking
at it and let it heal the way it’s
supposed to heal all flat and flawless and
invisible just like you

This is my attempt to capture the ethos that informed my growing-up years, as seen today through my adult eyes. I would be less than truthful if I said this kind of approach wasn’t also part of my professional life. It was. Gratefully, by then I had a company of women and some men who helped me make it through. Not as a scar on the face of humanity, and not all flat, flawless and invisible.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 5 January 2018
Photo taken by my father in 1947 — Seattle, Washington, with Daughter #2 (of 4) and a young friend

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January 3, 2018

majestic wings

I.

majestic wings
hang in winter air
descend slowly

II.

bird of prey
touches down in old oak tree
folds majestic wings

I can’t decide which haiku I like better, so you’re getting both versions! I wish I had a video of what I saw out my kitchen window this morning. I don’t know what kind of raptor it was, but it was gorgeous. Especially its wings–much like the osprey in the photo above, but probably not an osprey. I watched for a few minutes before it took off. It was surveying our yard and a neighbor’s yard. Looking for breakfast, no doubt.

We had a little ‘heat wave’ today. That means we got up into the high 20s (Fahrenheit). Tomorrow promises a shock to the East Coast, especially in New England. We may wake up here in the Philadelphia area to wind chill in the range of minus zero degrees Fahrenheit. And snow, of course, along with strong winds. So today included a nice walk with D outdoors in the winter sun, and a trip to the grocery store.

Hoping this finds you enjoying the outdoors as much as possible.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 January 2018
Photo found at audubon.org

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January 2, 2018

What I can’t take with me

My electric toothbrush died this morning. After more than 20 years. Burnt out. Busted. Going nowhere.

Which got me thinking about something else I can’t take with me. Not because it’s tangible, but because it’s intangible. Irreplaceable. Even valuable.

I struggle with giving it up because it’s valuable. Which is another way of saying two things.

  1. It isn’t valuable unless I give it away. Hoarding it does nothing for me.
  2. If I hesitate, the opportunity will be lost. Whether it helps anyone or not isn’t the point. I don’t want to live in fear mode. Especially about things that relate to me personally.

So what is it? It’s the opportunity to speak now, in this present moment, on behalf of all women everywhere who, with me, carry scars piled on scars. I don’t omit men and their scars. This time, though, I’m focusing on women.

Women are yet again (in my lifetime) pushing beyond the ‘normal’ cycle of news reporting. Insisting on being heard not once or twice, but over and over. Relentlessly.

Sadly, this has set in motion growing push back, with calls for ‘time out’ to slice and dice various permutations of inappropriate behavior toward women. Why? Because the men being talked about may be unfairly lumped together with all men. Which suggests we have generations of men and women who don’t yet get it.

Sexism, like racism, is in the air. The air we breathe, consciously and unconsciously from cradle to grave. No amount of slicing and dicing will ever capture the reality of what sexism does to the embodied soul of one woman or one little girl. Or the reality that no one is safe from sexism’s fallout.

It will take all of us—women and men alike—to begin turning the tide. We desperately need safe spaces for women to breathe, stand up and speak their minds. Telling their stories, often for the first time. Without fear of being judged, questioned as though on trial, or turned into side shows.

I’m tired of hearing subtle and not-subtle calls for women to Shut Up and Sit Down. It’s time to move on and try Listening for a change. Asking how we got here, and what we already know in our hearts needs to change, and what each of us can do about it.

Last night, just before I went to bed, I wrote these words in my journal as a kind of prayer:

I crave the companionship of women and men who carry scars like mine. Perhaps by naming my scars yet again I’ll find them, or they will find me. And then what will we say to each other and to the world?

Thanks again for listening, and for considering what part you might play in your neighborhood, or wherever you have a voice.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 2 January 2018
Quote found at squarespace.com

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December 28, 2017

my icicle

winter chill
creeps through sunlit air –
icicle sparkles

There’s only one icicle. It hangs outside my bathroom window. Lonely? Maybe. Definitely an outlier, since we haven’t had a decent ice storm yet, and our gutters are almost clean.

So there it hangs, too cold to melt, though it shrinks a bit every day. Yesterday we had another deep freeze day—with more on the way.

So what’s a lone icicle to do? Nothing. Just hang there and let the sun do its work—casting rainbow colors, glistening, showing off flaws that look like the work of a master sculptor. No dripping. Just hanging there, shrinking a bit every day. Disappearing.

I don’t often emote over icicles hanging from our gutters. They’re usually growing longer by the day, sometimes too heavy to let nature take its course. So D grabs an old ax handle we keep by the front door, throws open the windows, and whacks them to the ground.

But not this little baby. It’s there just for me. A mirror of sorts. I’m too cold to melt quickly. I’m shrinking a bit every day. And it seems I’m going nowhere for now. So there’s nothing to do but hang there in all my glory, catching and reflecting every little gleam of light that comes my way.

I had a small epiphany this week. I’ve heard a lot in the last years about just ‘being’ instead of ‘doing.’ A wonderfully freeing concept–until you can’t ‘do’ so much anymore. Yet God wants me to show up every day. Just as I am. No more and no less.

So what does it mean for me to show up right now? Sometimes the most obvious things escape me. But this week I finally got it. I show up by writing! It’s so simple. I don’t have to write something in particular, but whatever comes to mind as I hang there just under the gutter. Cold, shiny, changing every day, ready to reflect rainbow colors or nothing more than the morning sky and clouds.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 December 2017
Photo taken by me with my iPad – sunrise, 26 December 2017

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December 27, 2017

ripe seed pods

ripe seed pods hang clumped
soak in early winter sun —
shadows creep

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 27 December 2017
Photo by DAFraser, Longwood Gardens, December 2017

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Video | December 18, 2017

Advent and Lullabies

evensong
wraps today’s anguish
in lullabies

Living with unexpected physical challenges feels like a roller-coaster ride. Up one day, down the next. My short list of essentials for each day is simple: write, read, listen to or play music, exercise, rest, and prepare food as required for my diet. Sometimes my energy level is up, and I’m able to do everything and then some. Other days, I pare it down.

I’m not in love with this situation. Nonetheless, over the last two years I’ve accepted my wellbeing as my number one priority–not the way the house looks, or showing up for gatherings I used to attend regularly.

As the first-born of four daughters, I learned to neglect my own wants and needs in favor of caring for others. Today I often think of myself as the little girl I once was. I focus on listening to her and comforting her–acknowledging in the present that she still lives in me and still needs affection and affirmation.

All I have is one moment at a time–the precious gift of the Spirit of my Creator. Writing has been my best tutor when it comes to connecting with myself in the present. It’s demanding, but immensely rewarding when a haiku or poem begins to take shape on paper because it’s taking shape in me–echoing what’s going on inside me. The haiku above is a case in point.

Even Jesus wasn’t born into this world immune to tough choices or anguish. I can imagine his earliest comfort included lullabies. They also work for me. Especially when I sing them to myself as a way of bringing my past into the present.

The Christmas Lullaby tune above is “Restoration” from William Walker’s shape-note song book, Southern Harmony. It’s an old American tune, sung here by Doc Watson.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 18 December 2017
YouTube video found here 

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December 16, 2017

Listening to Extreme Poverty

An article this morning about Australian Professor Philip Alston’s survey of extreme poverty in the USA did me in. It’s Advent. A time for hope, joy and expectation. Yet for over 41 million Americans there is no expected arrival of anything but escalating hunger, despair, disease, death, and promises not kept. Professor Alston’s written report will go to the United Nations next May.

It’s easy to blame politicians and corporations. Or the super rich. But that doesn’t cut it.

Taking time to listen deeply is a spiritual discipline. I love pondering a beautiful flower or sunset. It’s something else, though, to ponder a problem this large. What is this reality trying to tell me?

There’s a growing divide between those who care to understand extreme poverty, and those who choose to ignore it or put the blame somewhere else. For example, we know charitable agencies, churches, outreach programs and governmental services work daily to ease the anguish and dehumanization of USA-style extreme poverty.

We may also believe that if extreme poverty isn’t addressed systemically, our personal efforts are mere bandages–a waste of time, effort and money. Yet the message of Christianity and other faiths includes the importance of showing hospitality to strangers. Especially those in distress.

So what can I do about any of this?

I don’t have answers. The easiest thing would be to shake my fist at politicians and super-rich ‘one-percenters.’

I’m reminded of Dorothee Soelle’s book on Suffering. What’s needed from me isn’t outrage, shaking my fist, or solutions to solve the problems of people trapped in extreme poverty. What’s needed is simpler than that, and a thousand times more difficult.

I need to listen in silence, the way Dorothee Soelle listened to victims of the Viet Nam war. That might mean listening to long, painful silence before words are found and haltingly spoken with anguish or rage.

Yet if I don’t learn to listen patiently for the story of a person trapped in the despair, humiliation and disenfranchisement of extreme poverty, I won’t understand my story. ‘Their’ story is another piece of my story, whether I like it or not. It’s also part of the story of the USA, whether we like it or not.

The photo at the top shows the sanctuary of a church in San Francisco that opens its doors weekdays from morning through mid-afternoon for homeless persons to rest and sleep. It came from the article I read this morning.

Praying each of you will have a hope-filled Sabbath rest.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 16 December 2017
Photo of St. Boniface in San Francisco found at msn.com in “A Journey through a Land of Extreme Poverty: Welcome to America” 

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December 11, 2017

disappeared


disappeared seeds
sown in haste germinate –
my heart skips a beat

It’s the late 1950s. I’m a young teenager, sitting at the supper table with my parents and my three sisters. I’m teary, feeling crampy and a bit nauseous. Not eager to eat anything.

My father tells me to stop crying and eat my dinner. I can’t stop crying, and my stomach ache isn’t going away.

My father tells me to stop this nonsense immediately, or he’ll give me something to really cry about. I burst into loud tears and run upstairs to my bedroom, sobbing my heart out.

My childhood, youth and adulthood are littered with occasions that replicate or echo these dynamics. My biggest problem, so it seems, is that I’m over-emotional and haven’t yet learned to control myself.

I learned to ‘disappear’ myself by choking on my emotions, swallowing them, eating them alive, or trying to paste a happy face over my true face.

When I wrote about the pain of retirement, I said I feel ‘disappeared.’ I didn’t hear it then as a loaded word. But now I do. A cue of sorts. The kind that suggests the opposite of what it seems to say. Following is my un-disappeared, crystal clear comment about myself.

No, I do not feel sorry for myself. No, I’m not stuck in a gear I need to shift out of. No, I’m not simply repeating myself over and over and over again.

My words are my words. My feelings are my feelings. I’m as entitled to them as anyone else is to his or hers. I dare not sit on them, deny them, modulate them to suit your ears, or beg forgiveness for not living up to what you believe should be the standard for my life.

I’ve never understood why some men (also some women) have, throughout my life, felt free to give advice about how I should NOT be. Or about what I should be ‘over’ by now.

My father buried and tried to smother in his body and soul the very things he demanded I bury in my body and soul. Not because they would harm me, but because they made him uncomfortable, or didn’t fit his view of the woman he wanted me to become. Or the man he thought he was.

I’m grateful for my feelings. I admit to feeling uneasy sometimes about letting them show. Yet overall, I’m grateful to be a highly sensitive woman of a certain age. Unleashed, untamable, not prone to shame or responsive to scolding.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 11 December 2017
Image  found at ucg.org

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