Posted on by cheryloreglia · 22 Comments

Grow Dammit

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You’ve heard the adage bloom where you are planted? Well, that sort of rubbed me the wrong way, I started thinking about what kind of growth one should expect in the time of corona, with COVID for soil. And no fertilizer! My dad had a great sign that he staked in his garden, it said Grow Dammit, sums up his aptitude on nurturing to perfection. Now I’m thinking that might be our new motto?

After spending the majority of my quarantined time commingling with my spouse I’m rethinking the rash decision to coalesce my parent’s ashes in a posh urn up at the lake. Glancing up at the bell-shaped ceramic vase, I scan for signs of discontent, but all appears placid and calm as the lake. Anna Quindlen says, “the single most important decision you will have to make is not where to live, or what to do for a living, it’s who you will marry,” and maybe remind your kids unto death do you part?

I jest. Slightly.

The truth is my parents thoroughly enjoyed each others company (I’m sure they are thrilled to be eternally potted together). They did not realize it at the time but living in the shadow of their love story was the best gift they could have given Nancy and me. They built a worthy foundation, and even though I’m as ancient as hell, it continues to inform my life.

I admit I do not run to dab perfume behind my ear, and pinken my lips before Larry walks in the door like Mom did for Dad, but I smile if we’re not in a fight. I’m sure he’s just as charmed.

Don’t think I’m so naive as to think my parent’s marriage was perfect, it was not, and like everyone else, day after day they to had to decide if they would coax the good out each other, or the bad. Some days I think the entire deal pivoted on my Dad’s sense of humor and a decent amount of wine.

If this seems abstract let me solidify my point, every relationship I’ve ever had I hold up to that of my parents, not intentionally, it’s what I know. Larry not only made the cut, he overachieved in my opinion, and I’ll tell you why. He’s steadfast, hardworking, and not prone to gossiping, in fact, he rarely speaks, but that’s beside the point. He’s the one I dare to dream with, laugh until I pee my pants, and even though we fight so fiercely I start googling lawyers on my iPhone, maybe that’s where we Grow Dammit, in the long crawl back to each other. He’s a good man. This for me is the essence of a quality individual, because everyone has the capacity to be wicked, it’s the ones who choose not to that interest me, and he makes great…coffee.

Thinking back on my family of origin helps me identify the origins of some of my most deeply held beliefs.

Family dinner was a standard practice when I was growing up. The four of us ate together almost every night. It was expected and protected, no phone calls, no leaving the table before being excused, and no food left on your plate (even if it was liver). On occasion my Dad used the dining table as a podium and his message was always the same, “if you grow up to be half as smart as your mother you’ll be fine, she’s the smartest person I know, and the best mother.” I remember thinking poor Daddy, he’ll never be as smart as Mom, and we all depend on him?

Dad was a generous provider, but the message he left with us was even more profound, his devotion to my mother was “somewhere between a physical reflex and a neurological response (Anna Quindlen).” I loved that about my Dad.

My parents started their life together in the shadow of the Korean war, the Great Depression, and the end of the Golden Age. A new era of liberalism would replace that of compliance and conformity. Maybe that’s why I’m so confused.

And we’ll build this love from the ground up, now ’til forever it’s all of me, all of you.
Just take my hand and I’ll be the man your dad hoped that I’d be. Smyers and Mooney

Walking down the long aisle of Mission Santa Clara on our wedding day, flanked by both my parents, I could not have imagined the length and breadth of our journey together, those passages I prefer to forget, right next to the unforgettable ones. There were visits to the emergency room for ear infections, stitches, and broken bones, but also skidding into the parking lot, water dripping down my legs, and coming home with a new life. We had absolutely no clue, but we did it anyway, and when the storms came we knew they would eventually run out of rain. Losing jobs, reinventing ourselves, holding the keys to a lake house, all doors in the long corridor of life that we dared to open, as my brother-in-law David Wood was known to say, “it’s all good.”

We still have riveting discussions about politics, novel career paths, risky investments, dinner options, but today most of our conversations go like this:

Are we going to the lake?

I don’t know?

We talked about it yesterday.

I wasn’t listening.

You never listen.

You always say that.

What did we decide?

I can’t remember.

My daughter Kelley and her fiance Tim had to make the heartbreaking decision to reschedule their wedding during this pandemic. We are all feeling their despair and I look forward to the day I can watch her make the long walk down the aisle of marriage. It’s strange how we cleave to our old ways of being in the world, before the virus, the quartine, the mayhem of canceling our lives. Maybe this is how we hold it together when imprisoned by the harsh tactics of a virus, one that terrorizes us with fear, “Stay put, stay inside, stay away from each other.” Yet I’m plagued (couldn’t resist) by the memories of what was once my reality.

The labor of letting go reminds me of childbirth, I remember having to surrender to the contractions, the pain, the pressure of something I created ready to survive on its own, the only thing left for me to do was to push, push a part of myself out into a chaotic world. If you know me at all, you know I resist severing cords, because separation from a beloved way of being means confronting the unknown. How do you unthread an entire vascular system in a few months?

All I can say is thank God I found the “one special person I want to annoy for the rest of my life (Rita Rudner),” and while I’m still certifiably sane, if Larry and I are potted together for all eternity, I want a swanky urn from Bloomingdales? If you’re trying to bloom in the middle of this blasted pandemic, but need a sign, feel free to use Dad’s “Grow dammit.” 

I’m Living in the Gap, holding it together with wine and Cheese-its, wondering if I’m living in a sitcom?

Anecdotes:

  • “Do you know what it means to come home at night to a woman who’ll give you a little love, a little affection, a little tenderness? It means you’re in the wrong house, that’s what it means.” Henny Youngman
  • “An archaeologist is the best husband a woman can have. The older she gets, the more interested he is in her.” Agatha Christie
  • “I love you. I hate you. I like you. I hate you. I love you. I think you’re stupid. I think you’re a loser. I think you’re wonderful. I want to be with you. I don’t want to be with you. I would never date you. I hate you. I love you…..I think the madness started the moment we met and you shook my hand. Did you have a disease or something?” Shannon L. Alder
Posted on by cheryloreglia · 18 Comments

Salvaging Our Sanity

It’s April, the landscape is bursting with color, we’re sheltering in place up at the lake as a way of salvaging our sanity, but in truth I’m here to engage the scenery and the silence, to come to the edge of my imagination, and to write. As Wayne Dyer claims everything that’s created comes out of silence. Your thoughts emerge from the nothingness of silence. Your words come out of this void. Your very essence emerged from emptiness. All creativity requires some stillness.

I stand on the deck admiring Mt Konocti, she had her face blown off during an eruption (11,000 years ago ~ give or take a few days), but she’s the most intriguing part of the view. Here we are, attempting to survive a virus that has erupted on our world, we’ve incurred major injuries (not just physical), injuries that have left scars on our souls, but will we be defined by the worst that has happened to us?

Can there be a greater purpose COVID-19 being in the world? Rumi says the wound is the place where light enters you. Perhaps this is how we were designed? I know what you’re thinking, I belong in a straight jacket? If the family doesn’t get here soon God knows what will spring from my mind and land on this page?

Vance Havner says, “God uses broken things. It takes broken soil to produce a crop, broken clouds to give rain, broken grain to give bread, broken bread to give strength. It is the broken alabaster box that gives forth perfume. It is Peter, weeping bitterly, who returns to greater power than ever.” Despite my inkling to weep bitterly the view is resplendently calming.

My sister got sick a few days ago and it just about took me down, buried emotions emerged from God knows where, and I sort of lost it. The good news is she has improved slowly throughout the week. I asked every damn day, some days several times, because I’m annoying, and I was dropping McDonald’s for Kenzie, so I had opportunity. I wanted her to rate her illness on a scale of 1 to 10, on our scale 10 is best, although Larry says we’re ass backwards? Anyhoo…she was a 1 on day one, a 3 on day two, a 6 on day three, a 9 on day four, but hasn’t returned to a 10 yet, she’s not as old as Mt. Konocti, but she’s old! Bahaha. We’ll give her some extra time because we’re in the middle of a pandemic.

We always bring Shaggy to the lake because he doesn’t have vocal cords, the perfect companion, teacher, protector. Shaggy is the ideal guest except for the foul delight he takes in rubbing on dead fish. He lays at my feet wherever I happen to be, looks me in the eye, and appears to instinctively calculate my emotion. If I am fearful he moves closer, if I am restless he gives me space, if I am lonely he gives me a lick, then grabs a ball and drops it at my feet. Play? Can you see the inherent value in this? Why can’t I learn to meet people where they are? To have the courage to look my worldly companions in the eye (when social distancing is no longer required), allow them their individuality, and then drop something in front of them that invites them to play? It’s so simple. The wisdom of dogs.

These are the random thoughts I find lapping at the edge of the lake along with the Canadian geese, grebe, osprey, and American white pelican. It’s feels prehistoric, okay that’s a slight exaggeration, but there is something very primitive about this setting, as if caught in the process of evolution, much like my thoughts.

It is quiet up here, too quiet for most people, but just perfect for writer types who like to vacation with their thoughts, spend time loafing around their interior spaces, where time no longer exists. As the outside world recedes, the things that come into focus are lofty notions like presence, being, joy, but also judgement, fear, and anger especially when it comes to our current world situation. “Our discomfort and our grappling is not a sign of failure,” America Ferrera says, “it’s a sign that we’re living at the edge of our imaginations.”

The grandkids will be arriving soon and they bring a different truth to this landscape. They come to explore, to play at the water’s edge, to eat Belgium waffles, to snuggle, to be seen, to move expressively, and might I add loudly!

Writing becomes a faint memory when the kids show up, because they become the cynosure of my attention, and the truth is I’m totally smitten. Audrey wants one on one attention, she likes to curl up together and watch a movie, read a story, talk about fashion, God, and nails. The twins play in tandem, recently their story lines have merged, which can be the source of conflict, and major unrest. They want the same lap, doll, puzzle, book, or hat, and they are very expressive when it comes to staking their claim.

I’m in constant search of twos, it’s rather revealing, see I’m a nine on the enneagram, and I prefer peace over the many advantages of learning how to resolve our conflicts if given the opportunity, which I frown upon. If I were mother earth their would be no fighting and lots of duplicates. I could learn a thing or two (no pun intended) from her, let them fight it out, or learn to share. This might be where darwinism comes into play.

I wonder if there will be a day when we are able to resolve our conflicts without ferocity? It’s as if we’ve remained adolescents, unable to matriculate, still confronting our differences with deeply embedded fears. Who am I to talk? When I was stopped by a cop the other day (before SIP), I wanted to jump out of the car, and completely lose my shit. You’ll have to trust my version of the story because the officer is not available for comment.

I’ll admit to making one tiny illegal maneuver, it’s been legal for fifty years, but now it’s considered criminal. Some time ago someone (a total nincompoop) decided we should no longer be allowed to drive straight across Leigh Avenue from Campbell Avenue, you must turn right, and drive three blocks out of your way to turn left, make your way around the block, and on to home. Who has time for that? There’s a sign posted and some annoying barriers. What ever. I sort of turned right, made this brilliant u-turn, and glided flawlessly down Campbell Avenue, it was gracefully choreographed, as if a ballet. But clearly these aesthetics were lost on the police officer, hiding in the shade, on a motorcycle, late in the afternoon.

“May I have your license please.” I dig it out of my wallet, furious but obliging, because I was taught to be cooperative when encountering authority. As he heads back to his bicycle to see if I’m a wanted criminal this is what I’m quietly thinking, “I wasn’t driving too fast, on my cell phone, or texting. In fact my hands were at ten and two on the wheel. I wasn’t balancing a cup of coffee, eating granola, or fishing my sunglasses out from under the seat. The street was completely empty, I was coming home from the grocery store not a bar for goodness’ sake, the radio wasn’t even on, and now I’ll be traumatized every time I think about food shopping (as if it isn’t hard enough to figure out one way isles and where the checkout line forms). There are new rules everywhere I go. In my thoughts there was a considerable amount of swearing. You can only imagine?

As he approaches my window he says, “this plate isn’t registered, LIVNGAP?” I say, “it’s new, we just picked it up at the DMV,” and I hand him the new registration. I decide to try a little dog wisdom, see him as a person with issues much like my own (except the ticket part), maybe I’ll drop some playful words. “I’m not good at this yet, like a puppy who pees on the floor, just take me back to the paper,” says Anne Lamott. I say as sweetly as possible (without a hint of hypocrisy), “thank you officer for the reminder about the new barrier. I bet you have a nice smile when your not pursuing dangerous criminals?” He pulls off his sunglasses, bends down, and looks in the window as if I were harboring a fugitive? I smile ever so relieved the car is tidy. Then he leans back and actually smiles, “consider this a warning (glancing down at my license) Cheryl, no more illegal turns, next time you will be ticketed.” All I can say is the wisdom of dogs.

I wander out to the deck, plop in one of the comfy orange chairs, wine in hand, dog at my heels, grandchildren clamoring onto my lap, only to be traumatized by all the rice flies and spiders. It’s as if they haven’t had people to terrorize for a while and they’re hungry little buggers. There are so many types of spiders at the lake, webs everywhere, and I’m a bit of an arachnophobic. I might have to call John Goodman? It’s the webs that grab my attention clinging to my arm when I pass too closely.

We are all part of the web of life (work with me people it’s all I got), delicately attached, but it’s sticky, and let’s not forget the black hairy Coronavirus lurking in every metaphorical corner. This web of relationships includes everyone, not only those we love, but police officers with nice smiles, even tax collectors. As Anne Lamott notes the conscious mind seems to block that feeling of oneness so we can function efficiently, maneuver in the world a little bit better, abide traffic laws (LOL), and pay our taxes on time. Let that stick with you for a while. Okay I’ll stop, plus I have to refill my wine.

After the children have been put to bed, I ignore the disastrous house, and sneak back out to the fire pit to peer at the stars, and SIP. Simone Weil says of stars and blossoming fruit-trees: utter permanence and extreme fragility give an equal sense of eternity. I ask myself because Shaggy’s not talking, what does eternity really mean? Spiritually the soul is considered indestructible, as if energy, which we know can be converted in form, but not created, or destroyed. So…does eternity have more to do with transformation, a metamorphosis if you will, one that takes on many forms, and those forms are ever changing? We could be on to something here…

Or I might need sleep.

I came across this poem today and thought it sort of tugged at my message or maybe it simply encompassed my thoughts at the moment. Anywho… I’m all fired up about the sheet of flame.

“There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive.

This ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living, comes to the artist, caught up and out of himself in a sheet of flame; it comes to the soldier, war-mad in a stricken field and refusing quarter; and it came to Buck, leading the pack, sounding the old wolf-cry, straining after the food that was alive and that fled swiftly before him through the moonlight.” Jack London

I stand at the edge of my imagination and grapple with the view of the future, the rising generations, the emerging story that I want to be part of, to meet them here at the lake, and rest in their presence. This is what joy looks like to me. There is joy in paying attention, observing silently, as Gary Snyder notes, ripples on the surface of the water were silver salmon passing under – different from the ripples caused by breezes. Sometime I’m so intrigued with the subtle nuances in this life that I fail to see the resplendent joy that lingers on the surface. I’m learning, but sometimes I fail, just take me gently back to the paper.

I’m Living in the Gap, lakeside, leave me something to chew on in the comments.

Anecdotes:

  • Paper is a metaphor for empirical, practical, hands-on
  • It turns out that culture is the most powerful force available to us. Culture comes from each of us, from the connections between. Doesn’t Seth Godin makes the obvious so powerfully clear?
  • The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider’s web. Pablo Picasso
Posted on by cheryloreglia · 10 Comments

Let’s Not Go Back

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Was it only four weeks ago when I’d fill my coffee mug and walk over to a co-workers desk to discuss curriculum? Five of us all crammed in one tiny office, we knew what each other ate for lunch, and how to diffuse most any situation with humor. I’d head home in the evening, deal with congested freeways, casually glancing at all the homeless encampments along the expressway.  Larry and I would grab dinner at Tomato Time, split a plate of pasta at the bar, catch up with friends doing the same thing.

Those times are over. Suddenly I’m confined to my house and spouse, flagging our territory with computer screens, and charging stations. I’m day caring my grandkids, constantly washing my hands, attempting to teach students with spotty wireless connections, and accept I will never be able to find everything on my grocery list. On top of that, we’re worried about getting sick, economic disaster, and running out of much needed supplies. We’re still under the same expectations to procure flex learning plans, lead teams, deliver results. It’s challenging to say the least.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the things I miss, but also about the things I’d prefer not to return to after this blasted quarantine is over. Jim Goudreau sent me this quote by Dave Hollis who asks, “in the rush to return to normal, use this time to consider which parts of normal are worth rushing back to?” Just because something was part of our past does not mean we need to drag it into the future. Chinonye Chidolue says it is mental slavery to cling to things that have stopped serving a purpose in your life.

For one I don’t miss mass shootings. I don’t miss hearing about some horrific bombing at a beloved marathon. I don’t miss students practicing for live shooter threats on campus. Today I was browsing through old blogs when I stumbled on a piece I wrote after the Las Vegas shooting at the outdoor concert and I wrote “I’m so tired of increasing body counts.” Across the globe we are not gathering at churches, schools, concerts, parades, marathons, bars, and cafes. The shooters have been completely thwarted. Let’s not go back.

It seems clear we have the ability to clean up the environment, almost overnight, if we work together. Who wants to go back to wasting precious time sitting in traffic jams, paying exorbitant gas prices, and auto insurance rates? Remember all the bad air quality days we used to have? According to a recent study, more air pollution means more deaths, even at low levels of air pollution, and short exposures to it. Let’s not go back.

Do we really need to commute to work everyday when working at home at least some of the time is sufficient? Do we have to fly across the country when a zoom call is enough to share information and strategize cooperatively? Can we accomplish just as much working remote as we did before sheltering in place became our new normal? I think we can make compromises that allow for spending less time commuting to offices and more time with the people we love. Let’s not go back.

Maybe we don’t need to fill in every minute of the day with tasks? We seem to confuse busy with important, busy as a morality, busy with our self esteem, but now that my life has powered down, I’m sort of enjoying the pause. Time to sit with my thoughts, a warm cup of coffee, a good book – and not feel guilty. I’m so leaving the guilt behind. Roy Bennett says if you want to fly, you have to give up what weighs you down. Let’s not go back.

I’m not worried about spit polishing my appearance every damn day (not that I ever gave it a lot of thought). I’m sort of loving these new minimal grooming requirements and knowing that no one is going to stop by! I admit, I miss the drop ins, I always enjoy a surprise visitor, but there is something appealing about the simplicity of not having to do it all. Maybe it’s time to reassess my grooming standards? Make-up, contacts, clean hair. Who needs all that?

We know a little more about educating on-line, attaining student buy in, and challenging our current educational system. Could this be our chance to revamp an antiquated system of tests, scores, grades into a genuine desire to learn, an enthusiasm for our own development, an education driven by individual needs instead of outcomes? Let’s not go back.

I’m seeing leaders rise up in places one would never expect, small restaurant owners offering a role of toilet paper with take-out, because their bathrooms are no longer in use. Grocery stores partnering with hotel chains to hire laid off workers as grocery store staff. Hardware stores hiring construction workers to help assist customers with supplies for home improvement projects which have quadrupled. Thousands of people are donating time and money to help organize and supply food distribution centers, establish emergency shelters, and counseling services for those in need. Let’s return to a time when we didn’t waste resources, people, skills, and our greatest asset ~ ingenuity. We’ve become complacent, let’s not go back.

Zoom has become my go to forum for communication, other than unexpected drop-ins, they have kept pretty good pace with all the demand. Disney plus is releasing children’s movies and programs ahead of schedule as a way of helping beleaguered parents entertain kids while working remote. Praise be to God. Retired nurses are putting on scrubs and returning to work to help out with all the COVID-19 patients.

Even though it feels as if much of life is out of my control, I still have free will, I can still make choices about the things that matter. Steve Maraboloi says, “incredible change happens in your life when you decide to take control of what you do have power over instead of craving control over what you don’t.” In many ways we are going to have to start over once all these restrictions are lifted. This is when choice is going to come into play. Are we going to slip back into our old ways of being in the world? Or are we going to hang onto these hard earned lessons and refuse to return to “normal.” There are times in life when people must know when not to let go. Terry Pratchett says balloons are designed to teach us this. I love that.

Life will most likely never be the same, we can’t return to the past as if Michael J. Fox, because everything we do matters. It took a virus to wake me up and open my eyes to the ways in which I was settling. Haruki Murakami says “most things are forgotten over time. Even the war itself, the life-and-death struggle people went through is now like something from the distant past. We’re so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the past are no longer in orbit around our minds. There are just too many things we have to think about everyday, too many new things we have to learn. But still, no matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone.” This is our Corona.

Of course I miss stupid things like having my nails done, my hair cut, my ergonomically designed office chair. I miss important things like eye to eye conversations, engaging with organically inspired topics with my students, reaching out when I know you are hurting or troubled, and offering a hug.

I miss being able to plan for my future, this includes trips to see the kids, walking the El Camino, celebrating milestones, staying at the villa in Italy with our gang, family dinners on the patio, spending time with my sister, meeting downtown for margaritas, playing games with the neighbors, wine tasting in SLO with Marta and Ken, standing shoulder to shoulder with 600 students singing the alma mater, holding on to that which is most important – each other.

Your future hasn’t been written yet. No one’s has. Your future is whatever you make it. So make it a good one. – Doc Brown

What do you miss? What will you leave behind?

I’m Living in the Gap, tired of not knowing what the future holds, feeling nostalgic, and slightly depressed.

Anecdotes:

  • Shut the door, change the record, clean the house, shake off the dust. Stop being who you were, and change into who you are. Paulo Coelho
  • “Don’t go through life; grow through life.” Eric Butterworth
  • “‎All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.” Henry Havelock Elli
  • “To ‘let go’ sometimes makes us feel like losers because it means giving up what truly we felt we had a right to. But true strength lies in resisting the urge to hold onto things and people that bring us down.” Chinonye J. Chidolue

 

 

 

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 4 Comments

Beholden

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The rain has been incessant this week, adding to the general gloom of quarantine, as if the whether were mimicking our mood. I’m slowly forgetting what it was like to get up in the morning, groom myself, and head out to work? It’s seems like another lifetime. I wanted to be efficacious during this furlough from life but instead I’m muddled, anxious, spacey (is that even a word).

I’m finding it difficult to remember if I brushed my teeth or not?

I assume I’m not alone in my apathy?

A close friend asked me to reflect on the deeper meaning of this pandemic, to consider if our current predicament could be the result of a radical “social distancing” from God, and if we’re living the reality we ourselves procured?

I see your hand going to the delete button. Don’t do it!

I thought this might inspire us to get out of our pajamas, wash our hair, fire up our brains? I’m kidding, let’s virtually fill our mugs, pull on those fuzzy slippers, curl up on the couch together, because groomed or not, I think this is worthy of our discernment.

For this to happen, I’ll need more then one point of view, don’t make me beg for comments.

We have to consider if our iPhone addiction, the time we spend on computers, and on our social media accounts has been a source of “social distancing” long before this was required? I don’t know about you but my hand is permanently curved to the shape of my phone, my head often bowed as if in prayer, but all I’m doing is wrinkling my neck.

What am I in search of?

I have to believe all the time we spend on our devices is giving us a false sense of connection?

I understand our definition of God will differ but what if we agreed that love was the elucidate idea here? What if God is manifested through acts of love, but if we’re all so busy worshiping our devices, we are in reality isolating ourselves from the very thing we most desire.

To love, to be loved, to belong.

Upon reflection one idea that surfaced quickly was just how connected we all are as human beings, we are truly one body, this has become inordinately apparent, or this virus wouldn’t have infected every corner of the damn world.

But I noticed something else that was spreading as fast as this virus ~ extraordinary acts of love.

I hear neighbors shouting to one another as they walk the eerily empty streets, “good morning, how’s the family, do you need anything?” It’s heart warming. As Elizabeth Gilbert notes resilience is our shared genetic inheritance.

It’s interesting don’t you think that our Lenten journey (representing the 40 days Jesus spent isolated in the desert, beginning on Ash Wednesday, ending Holy Thursday), has been a real “sacrifice” for all of us this year. We’ve had to desert our lives if you will, sacrifice our livelihoods, go without toilet paper, and most significantly each other. If ever our faith has been challenged, or strengthen, it has to be during this historic lenten journey of 2020.

Let’s take a closer look at these “extraordinary acts of love,” I’m talking about the people who “persistently and generously” assist others especially during this difficult time.

Seth Godin, a fellow blogger, author, community leader says, “it’s worth taking a second to think about people who are doing more than expected, more than they have to do, more than we can imagine,” under arduous conditions.

I’ve been handed the baton and I’m running with it.

I’ll start with my deep appreciation for all the healthcare workers out there on the front lines, risking their health to bravely attend to those who are sick, and most vulnerable. You are our heroes, I am ever so grateful for your generous, and brave service.

I type, you heal, see the difference?

There are the courageous souls who leave the safety of their homes every day because their work is essential. Here’s a shout out to our police, fire, and emergency crews. To those of you keeping the markets, gas stations, restaurants, and pharmacies open – thank you for showing up!

I want to thank my devoted colleagues who rushed to convert lessons into challenging flex learning on-line and found the time to connect individually with students who are reeling from this unprecedented shift in circumstance. To the faculty and staff of Notre Dame, I thank you, to the teachers and administrators across the globe, we are deeply indebted to you.

“Anyone who does anything to help a child in his life is a hero to me. ” Fred Rogers

Let us offer a hearty “here, here” to the tireless parents who woke up to a house full of uprooted kids, struggling to work remotely, or worse no work, taking on the arduous task of homeschooling, establishing new routines, and still caring for the needs of their extended families. They are employing both creativity and resilience to deal with more than we can possibly imagine. Hang in there, be good to yourselves, you’re managing much better than you think. Christopher Reeve says a hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.

We have to offer a big thank you to Zoom for handling an unbelievable increase in traffic without a hiccup in service. They are keeping us connected with students, friends, family, not to mention the virtual cocktail hours allowing us to stay home, sane, and social. Cheers!

I’m grateful for all the people who are delivering mail, food, and packages to an immobilized community, maintaining the essentials so we can stay informed, fed, and supplied. Bravo.

How about a shout out to the “elderly” community (yes, I qualify for early bird shopping, let’s move on), who bear a heavier burden, a greater risk, many not only sheltering in place, but many are doing it alone, with the pungent breath of depression breathing down their wrinkled necks, making isolation all the more isolating, and dismal. Stay the course, as you’ve seen before, this too shall pass.

Saving the best for last, a hearty thank you to everyone who is sheltering in place, maintaining a proper social distance, excessively washing hands, extending their kindness, and love in so many ways. I see you setting up beach chairs in the driveway, checking on neighbors, dancing in the street (six feet apart of course), singing from your balconies, drive-by happy birthday wishes, sharing much needed supplies, meaningful conversations, stretching your patience, and wallets, sweet notes from children on the sidewalk, walking your dogs, smiling, engaging, extending good-will, and empathy to complete strangers, who maybe have become friends. You know who you are and I love you.

I’d be remiss if I did not extend my deepest gratitude to those of you who read my blog, who enjoy wrestling with ideas that matter, we’ve been challenged here, and I want to thank you for leading, encouraging, and inspiring the best in each other.

I think we are greeting the unexpected with enormous love and faith, we are not failing, we’re kicking ass. My beloved friend Phyllis warns, “if we don’t have a true change of heart, a metanoia, the next crisis could be much worse.” I don’t think there is a question now about whether or not we will face another mega virus, we will, but has this experience prepared us to operate differently in the future?

Let’s not treat Corona like a fad diet, allowing our emotional weight to yo-yo, instead let’s break the frustrating cycle, make “love” our new norm. As Mike Alsford claims, “to be heroic may mean nothing more than this, to stand in the face of the status quo, in the face of an easy collapse into the madness of an increasingly chaotic world, and represent another way.”

I think grace comes to us when we realize the futility and temporary nature of all things, and although we resist this knowledge, we have to stop turning from one shiny new thing to the next, as if restlessness were our goal. The blessing comes when we discover how delusional it is to spend our days in search of something that never satisfies?

If we’re looking for a way in, and we thought it was embedded in our social media accounts, or an app on our phone, we were wrong. We’re not connecting, we’re confusing likes for belonging, distancing ourselves from the real source of love.

 “May you have the wisdom to enter generously into your own unease, to discover the new direction your longing wants you to take” John O’Donohue.

This is not God’s wrath or revenge, this is God doing what God has always done, she enters into our suffering, she takes horrible situations, people, circumstances and uses them for God’s own purposes, for the good of humanity. If COVID-19 is the vehicle currently in God’s employ, I say bravo, we got this. God is like a wave, she’ll keep coming, until our resistance to her charms has completely eroded.

What are we in search of?

I don’t have the answer, I can’t tie this up with a pretty bow, my friend Sue says, “end it like a woman, we don’t need to solve everything, we just want to engage.”

Don’t make me beg for comments because I will: Sue, Mike, Larry, Bonny, Deborah, Krista, Seth, Lori, Nancy, Rich, Vicky, Debbie, Kathy, Ron, Jim, Karen, Lynn, Amy, Claudia, Susan, Kim, Laurie, Sheila, Janel, Blair, Gail, Katie, karen, Colleen, Elaine, Cindy, Jane, Crystal, Stuart, Mary, Jill, Phyllis, Greg, Steve, Lauren, Cheryl, Georgia, Marta, Rachael, Terri, Tony, Kelley, Dante, Tim, Nic, Julie, Thilita, Judy, Kara, Charli, Christine, Dennis, Donald, Ellen, Melissa, Margaret, Janet, Pete, Ana, Lisa, Mic, Lynelle, Marcy, Nicole, Sherri, Ivon, Lily, Cynthia, Connie, Clair, Robin, Sally, Sarah, Lisa, and DeEnna.

I’m Living in the Gap, avoiding the news, counting my blessings.

Anecdotes:

  • “Someone needs to fight, someone needs to sacrifice, someone needs to inspire, someone needs to be a hero.” Amit Kalantri  
  • I realize we’re desperate to relieve our terror and despair, but don’t send a check to panic.com for some miracle tonic, it doesn’t exist, it’s a shame! Put the credit card back in your wallet, call me, we’ll browse Nordstrom’s spring line.
  • Try and maintain a safe distance from the toxic people who are purposely amplifying our fear, charlatans who are profiting from the panic and unrest that has seized our communities, taking advantage of those most vulnerable. I say shame on you.

 

 

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 14 Comments

Spilling the Beans

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It’s April’s Fools Day, happens every year on the first of April, and in addition to all this foolery, it’s my husbands 60th birthday. Happy Birthday Larry.

Seth Godin says fooling has become a business model, and so now, every day is April Fool’s Day. Something to consider…

Let me began by saying I’m not a fan of COVID-19 especially with all it’s concomitant obstacles. It’s like jumping hurdles just to get into a grocery, only to find the shelves are empty, and you have to touch a sticky keypad so you can bring home five more cans of  split pea soup, that you didn’t want, but felt desperate to grab something.

What is wrong with me? [That’s rhetorical Looney]

Not to mention that I’m spending way too much time with my spouse, I think we’re going on thirty-six years, no wait, that’s how long we’ve been lawfully wed. I’m having trouble remembering what day it is, let alone how long we’ve been sheltering in place, it’s been a REALLY long time, and my fear is it might never end?

I’m talking about the quarantine, not my marriage, try and keep up people.

Not that I’m complaining. Much.

We’re a complicated species are we not? All this togetherness can not be what God intended, but here we are, sheltering in place till Corona do us part. Alain de Botton says, “the emotionally intelligent person knows that they will only ever be mentally healthy in a few areas and at certain moments, but is committed to fathoming their inadequacies and warning others of them in good time, with apology and charm.” Sometimes we forget the apology and charm are just as important as the misdeed.

I’m only keeping it together because I have a seriously loving sister, loyal dog, devoted man, brilliant children, a fierce group of friends – and really strong coffee.” If that sounds needy, so be it. 

Something you might not know about me, I’ve been accused of obstinance, I prefer to call it dedication, but either way I’m ridiculed daily for carrying an open mug of coffee? It accompanies me wherever I go, when I putter around the house, on my drive to work BC (Before Corona), even strolling across campus. It’s a sacred practice, I use my mug to hail people, I call it my flagon salutation, and I think it’s cute.

I don’t have many superstitions, but I always travel with my coffee, it’s my emotional support plan. Please try not to judge that which you do not understand.

People say, “how do you do that without spilling?”

“It’s my gift,” I say.

David Letterman claims, “if it wasn’t for the coffee, I’d have no identifiable personality whatsoever.” #truth

But the truth is I do spill, part of the reason my husband insisted I order a rather ugly brown interior for my car, so the spills would be less noticeable.

I’ll only admit this to you, he was right!

I encounter bumps in the road, and when that happens the contents in my mug spills out, it’s physics, not talent.

I think we’re all like open mugs, when we get bumped, that which we are full of spills out.

The system is infallible, because you can’t anticipate turbulence, or curb your enthusiastic response, be it kind or foul, your truth is ruthlessly revealed.

This is what’s known as spilling the beans.

You know people who completely lose their shit when encountering obstacles because that is what they are full of.

Glennon Doyle says, getting bumped is inevitable, if we want to change what spills out of us, we have to work to change what inside of us.

I’ve been hanging out with myself for decades, and what spills out when I encounter an impediment is always revealing, and worthy of my continual care.

I’ve been observing Larry and I as if we were lab rats, placed in an inescapable maze, because that is the reality with which I am presented.

Here’s what I have noticed about me and my beloved:

  1. I talk to figure things out.
  2. Larry does not.
  3. I get on the phone with friends and we talk about our feelings.
  4. Larry gets on the phone and he talks about sports, the news, and working out?
  5. I eat when I’m bored.
  6. Larry walks the dog when he’s bored (we’ll not discuss who is and who is not gaining weight).
  7. I read books.
  8. Larry reads the newspaper (several of them).
  9. I enjoy the quiet.
  10. Larry likes the television on, even when he’s not watching.
  11. I’m sensitive.
  12. Larry’s often confused about my sensitivity?
  13. I’m tidy.
  14. Larry is not tidy.
  15. I’m perfectly happy spending the day thinking, reading, and writing.
  16. Larry is not happy unless he has a project in the works.
  17. I’m not shaving my legs while in quarantine.
  18. Larry’s not shaving his beard while in quarantine – he calls it his Corona Beard (his is more socially acceptable and I don’t care).
  19. I like to watch movies.
  20. Larry likes to watch series (guess what, we’re watching Tiger King).

I could go on and on, but you get the general idea, we’re different. Maybe that’s why it works? And I have observed how we both like to lounge in our pajamas, sipping coffee late into the morning, reading, sharing some scrambled eggs, and crispy bacon. We love hanging out with our adult children and grandchildren, spending weekends at the lake, gathering (zooming) with friends, trying new recipes because we both like to cook, eat, and enjoy a nice Tempranillo.

I suppose if there is any good to come of this virus it’s a deeper appreciation for our loved ones, for our health, for our precious lives before this radical virus was inflicted upon our predictable little worlds.

We’ve all had to step up our game. It will take years before we “get back to normal,” and it’s going to take everything we’ve got in the mug so to speak, if there is any chance of recovery.

This is what you might call a big bump, but we have big mugs, fill it up with kindness, get rid of the shit, because we don’t have any toilet paper to waste.

Stay strong, stay put, wash your hands, level the mug! Love to all, C

I’m Living in the Gap, trying to find my way around this new maze, could you put out some cheese?

What have you learned about those you’re sheltering in place with? Oh please add a few explicit observations to my list.

Anecdotes:

  • We’re living letters. Every act of kindness makes our faith a little more legible. Bob Goff
  • Remember, the most powerful words in the universe are the words you say to yourself. Marie Forleo
  • Because I haven’t yet learned the simplest and most important thing of all: the world is difficult, and we are all breakable. So just be kind. Caitlin Moran