Source of Amusement

My friend, Monica, has on her wall a cute little ceramic plaque with the inscription: Blessed are those who can laugh at themselves, for they shall never cease to be amused. It is brightly colored and cheerful and I admit, I covet it. I secretly hope that if she dies before I do she'll bequeath it to me. (Oh hi, Monica! Are you reading this?) But I'd rather she keep it for many, many more years.

The fact is, I am amused a lot. Mostly because I do plenty of ridiculous things. I usually don't do them on purpose. They just sort of happen.

Sometimes they happen because of my penchant for the spontaneous. Sometimes they happen because I hate to admit I can't do something well. Not that I fancy myself some sort of Renaissance woman. I don't. I know I can't do everything well. In fact I know I can only do a very few things well. And none of them include math. But, I rarely like to admit that I can't do something...which is pretty ridiculous in and of itself.

As was my recent adventure with a ladder.

I don't like ladders. They scare me. Not only that, but the reason for climbing ladders is to reach high places and high places scare me too. I'm really most comfortable on nice, solid, flat ground because being inordinately klutzy, it is far less likely I'll fall standing on nice, solid, flat ground. It's not impossible, mind you, just less likely. I needed to climb a ladder, however, because I was on a mission.

The school year is winding down and that means my little senior will be graduating soon. As a part of celebrating her life to date, I wanted to find some video recordings of her singing in a number of church plays and performances throughout the years.  I don't have any personal copies because, although we have hours and hours of video of our oldest child, and somewhat fewer of our middle child, we have about six minutes of our youngest. In most of that she is sleeping. It doesn't help that the video camera got dropped on her third birthday and we never replaced it. So, I have a lot of memories, but little to show for it.

I'm fairly certain, however, there are videotapes that contain the desired footage stashed somewhere in our church building. The most logical place seemed to be a lofted area up above the baptismal which can only be accessed by a small attached metal ladder, parallel to the wall. My friend, Debbie, suggested we climb up there to see if we could find the videotapes. God knows I didn't want to look like a ninny by admitting my fear of ladders so I closed my eyes and climbed. The next thing I knew,  I was, up in the loft scrounging around for old video. Eventually, however, we had exhausted all hope that we'd find what we were looking for which meant we had to leave the lofted area the same way we came up. Via the ladder.

Turns out Debbie is afraid of ladders and heights also.

There we stood, at the edge of the loft, too fearful to look down, trying to figure out how to go backwards on the teeny tiny ladder, without falling to our deaths.  Few people are as awkward and clumsy and afraid of heights as I. Debbie might be one of them.

The next several minutes were spent with a variety of Lucy and Ethel attempts which included whimpering, swear words, small shrieks, and a variety of odd bodily contortions. Fortunately nobody else was around to witness the absurdity.

Especially since the loft is only about eight feet high.

We probably could have jumped.

Nevertheless, following our harrowing experience we found ourselves laughing at how ridiculous we had been, fearing for our lives and all, and it made me think of the saying about never ceasing to be amused. 

The cute little plaque with the saying makes me happy. Mostly because I provide myself with so much amusement. If I didn't laugh, if I took myself too seriously, I'd just end up dour, and pinched, and miserable. And what is the point in that?

We all know those people. The ones who take themselves way too seriously and don't laugh at their mistakes or own foolishness. The ones who can't look at a situation and find humor even though the humor is right there just itching to be found. I always want to grab those people and tell them to lighten up. Don't they realize how short life is? Don't they know laughter is good for the soul. And the heart. And probably all the other body parts.

Blessed are those who can laugh at themselves, for they shall never cease to be amused.

Today there will probably be a reason.

To laugh.

Stuck in the Middle

I think they call us the sandwich generation. 

Although I suspect we might be a bit past that. Maybe it is just simply being in the middle.

Is this cow photobombing?

 

Whatever its called, it seems Steve and I are at the stage of life when both our parents and our children seem to require a lot of time and tender loving care. Our children are trying to make their way toward adulthood, which has its challenging moments but is, on the whole, an exciting time. There's a lot of talk about college and careers and thoughts of life partners. Our parents, however, are winding down now, moving toward the day when their lives are just the stories we tell.

Bittersweet.

I enjoy watching my children as they figure out the direction they want their lives to take. There is so much opportunity ahead of them. Mistakes happen. Stupid decisions. And then, moments of brilliance that assure me (and them) they are going to be just fine. There will be more mistakes and stupid decisions...witness my own life...but, like me, they'll move past those and forge ahead. I love the adults my children are becoming and the friendship we share. I wish, at times, I could suspend everything and just stop where we are to savor. But I can't. And really, even if I could, it wouldn't be the same. Life moves forward at its dizzying pace.

Some day soon they'll move on.

Steve and I have two parents left. My mother. His father. Sometimes I think they should live together but then I realize Steve's father may be a curmudgeon, but even the most curmudgeonly don't deserve that. I've juggled many a health crisis with my mother but Steve's dad has lived in his own home and been healthy until recently. A fall a few weeks ago put him in the hospital. Now decisions are being made about having him return home. We can't predict if it is really safest for him. Or for how long. It is a delicate tightrope we walk with the elderly, between letting them keep their pride and knowing when to intervene. At his core he's the same person he's always been. But, like my mother, his fire burns cooler these days.

Some day soon they'll move on.

Standing in the middle reminds me how quickly this life passes. Yesterday I was a young adult. Tomorrow I'll be an old woman. Which is why the way I live today matters. Being generationally sandwiched between people I love reminds me that I don't have forever to make my life meaningful. I only have today to learn lessons from my younger years that enable me to happily anticipate my older years. I only have today to turn tears from the past into laughter. Anger from the past into peace. Fear from the past into trust. Justice from the past into grace. Hurt from the past into love.

Today I live in between.

Because someday soon I'll move on.

Risky Business

I wouldn't exactly call myself a risk-taker.

I'm not willing to jump off a bridge with a big rubber band tied around my waist. Or parachute out of a soaring airplane. Or hike a jagged saw-tooth ridge between 14,000 foot mountain peaks. I don't like physical pain and I'm not willing to mangle by body on purpose. If that's what it takes to be a risk-taker, I don't qualify.

But I do regularly visit my mother. That can be pretty dangerous.

Maybe I'm what you'd call a 'risk-taker lite.'

Recently I came across a quote by philosopher, William James: "It is only by risking our persons from one hour to another that we live at all." If I could, I'd ask James what he meant by the word risk. However, since he's been dead longer than I've been alive, asking him would require use of a Ouija board or a seance and that whole thing freaks me out too much. That would feel way too risky.

Regardless, maybe he didn't really mean we have to jump from an airplane to feel alive. Or to risk.

Maybe he meant something entirely different. To be sure, risk-taking can mean putting oneself in life threatening situations but I sort of think risk taking has more to do with loving people than potentially shedding blood. For some of us risk taking means offering our hearts. Or sharing our lives. Or just simply trusting. Because sometimes the risk of emotional pain is more frightening than the risk of physical pain.

Nothing makes us feel more alive than loving people.

But, it's a risk.

Like so many, I learned to be emotionally cautious at an early age. I couldn't trust the people I was supposed to be able to trust so it only stood to reason that it was pretty risky to trust other people as well. So I withheld. A lot.

But as I entered adulthood I didn't like feeling only half alive. I wanted to feel fully alive and the only way to do that was to risk being hurt. I started off slowly, sharing my life and investing in relationships. I became more vulnerable. I let others see the genuine me. Gradually as I risked more and more of my heart I started to feel more and more alive.

And I liked it.

Sure, it was risky and I'm far from perfect at it, but over time I've learned that the joy of loving outweighs the pain of being hurt. I can't have one without the other. There's nothing better than the joy of loving my friends and family. Nothing outweighs the warmth of knowing and being known. Nothing is more meaningful than pure and simple love.

Don't look for me to be bungee jumping anytime soon. That's not what I need to feel alive. But you can bet I'll be taking the risk to love.

There's no greater joy in life.