I spend a lot of my time feeling frustrated with myself.
If misery really "loves company" I guess I can take comfort in the fact that there are plenty of other people in this world who are as impatient with themselves as I am. After all, in an age where everything happens quickly, it's understandable that so many of us crave instant gratification on the self-improvement front. We want to be bigger, stronger, faster, smarter and more attractive - and doggone it - we want it all NOW!
The media inundates us with commercials featuring beautiful people, and stories of meteoric success. Many become discouraged by the small increments of progress that they may (or sadly, may not) notice in themselves.
"Why do I keep trying?" many of us ask ourselves. "Wouldn't it be easier to stop all this striving for improvement and settle for mediocrity?"
As one who has "settled" for being average most of my life I can tell you that nothing is more soul destroying than not challenging yourself from time to time. There's no need to go into flat-out "beauty pageant mode" and try to be the winner, but it's important to keep plugging away at those self-improvement projects, even if at times you feel as exposed as a reluctant beauty queen teetering around in high heels, sash and bikini.
You may be struggling to keep going to the gym when your cellulite is telling you that you're wishing on the moon, but hang in there! You didn't put on the extra weight over-night, and it won't miraculously melt off by tomorrow morning either. You may be trying to get ahead in your career and feeling pushed aside or ignored at every turn, but you can't afford to give up. Persistence always pays off, one way or another.
Creative endeavors can be the most challenging to pursue. Some will be quick to tell you that you can succeed, but just as many (probably a whole lot more!) will sneer at your artistic aspirations or give you pitying glances behind your back. Write, draw, paint, act anyway. Do what speaks to your soul.
In the past I've made the claim that my children are my ultimate creation. I gave them life, but they create themselves, and re-create themselves on a constant basis. Therefore it follows that I am my own ultimate creation. Here a bit, there a bit I improve on my self portrait or my autobiography. Some day I may have a masterpiece to show for my efforts...
For now I'm a work in progress.
In Progress - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (August '08)
I am a work in progress,
unmolded, unbaked clay -
meant to be bent and twisted
until it's fired one day.
Like plasticine or putty
I'll set but not cement -
I'm not ready to harden
to any great extent.
Creation is a process -
a moth in a cocoon
won't survive to fly away
if wings are freed too soon.
Paint daubs upon a canvass
are patiently applied -
built up 'til art emerges
before the paint has dried.
If like unfinished portrait
I seem too smeared and blurred -
or like unfinished sentence
I seem to lack a word -
my wings are not yet ready,
my story not complete;
my portrait isn't painted -
It's not cause for defeat.
I'm still a work in progress -
roughly sketched - unfinished,
but 'though I am imperfect
my worth is not diminished.
Friday, 21 October 2011
Monday, 19 September 2011
Center Stage - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about what's important to me. There have been a lot of changes in my life these past several months, and each change reminds me of how many more changes will inevitably come as my sons leave home to pursue their own lives and their own dreams. Oddly, contemplating the changes in my life has made me more aware of the things that remain constant.
Every now and then someone manages to cut me to the quick with a thoughtless comment. Last week, I felt that someone was accusing me of being materialistic. (In reality, it was probably just a case of someone having a bad day and over-reacting to something I said first.) Nevertheless, it made me think.
I was raised by a steel-worker and a telephone operator. We lived comfortably because my father insisted on frugality. I was nicely dressed as a youth because my mother was a gifted seamstress. I learned that money has its place - it is a necessity in everyone's life. It provides comfort and security, but it truly cannot buy happiness. I lived one step above abject poverty when I left home. At a few different points my parents, worried about my dire financial straits, tried to convince me to move home. I staunchly refused. The satisfaction I felt at being able to survive "on my own" (no matter how uncomfortably) mattered more to me than the financial security that my parents could have provided for me. I wanted to stand on my own. Independence brought me satisfaction.
During my first decade of married life the "lean years" continued. Todd endured three periods of unemployment and a series of low-paying jobs. Our finances were sometimes shaky, but our happiness as a couple, and a family, remained constant.
When we lived in Quebec, my husband was viewed as an "up and comer" by his employers. As news spread that he was planning to move back to Ontario (a move our family desperately needed) several co-workers advised him to send his family to Ontario, and remain behind. That advice, we both felt, wasn't even worthy of consideration. Instead, Todd accepted a demotion so that we could move to a place where we could be happier as a family. There are some losses that money just can't compensate for.
We consider ourselves fortunate to be enjoying financial security in an era where the economy is unsteady and many around us are experiencing hardship. We have a healthy appreciation for all that we have, and a healthy fear that it will all disappear. The reality is that the "success" (and I use the term loosely) that we presently enjoy could "turn on a dime." We're trying to plan wisely for an uncertain future. But if we are poor again tomorrow, we will still have love in our family, we will still strive to improve ourselves, and we will continue to have faith in each other.
I related what I'd perceived as a slight on my priorities to my younger son, who is away from home. I asked him what he felt he'd learned from us. (I wanted to be reassured that I hadn't inadvertently preached the "Gospel of Materialism" to him.) This was his response:
"Money doesn't make me happy, and accolades don't thrill me. What satisfies me is knowing that I've done my best and I've become a better person for it. I think that's what our family is all about. I'm quite confident that you and Dad feel the same way."
My older son said recently. "I don't aspire to ever live in a house any bigger or nicer than this one." It warmed my heart to hear him say that.
Amen to both of them. A "good life" isn't a life of decadence or fame. Success is measured in satisfaction, in the knowledge that you're doing your best and making some sort of progress on a daily basis. I'm glad that my sons somehow heard and understood the messages my husband and I tried to convey.
This month's poetry selection is one that I feel illustrates my philosophies on money, success, and life.
Center Stage - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (September'07)
A man's worth more than the amount
of dollars in his bank account.
His worth lies not in what is seen,
but what he's done and who he's been.
How did he act, what did he say;
what graciousness did he display?
When he stood out at center stage,
how did he with the cast engage?
Did he shine in his starring role
or use position to control?
In lesser roles, how did he act?
(For this determines worth, in fact.)
All men can shine when light are hot,
but worth's determined when they're not
and how a man acts in the wings
illuminates a lot of things.
By how he acts there we can know
what is for real, and what's for show.
Most men can prosper and seem bright
when they are upstage in spotlight,
but stars are born when lights are out
and there's no audience about.
All do perform for better cause
by acting well, without applause.
Every now and then someone manages to cut me to the quick with a thoughtless comment. Last week, I felt that someone was accusing me of being materialistic. (In reality, it was probably just a case of someone having a bad day and over-reacting to something I said first.) Nevertheless, it made me think.
I was raised by a steel-worker and a telephone operator. We lived comfortably because my father insisted on frugality. I was nicely dressed as a youth because my mother was a gifted seamstress. I learned that money has its place - it is a necessity in everyone's life. It provides comfort and security, but it truly cannot buy happiness. I lived one step above abject poverty when I left home. At a few different points my parents, worried about my dire financial straits, tried to convince me to move home. I staunchly refused. The satisfaction I felt at being able to survive "on my own" (no matter how uncomfortably) mattered more to me than the financial security that my parents could have provided for me. I wanted to stand on my own. Independence brought me satisfaction.
During my first decade of married life the "lean years" continued. Todd endured three periods of unemployment and a series of low-paying jobs. Our finances were sometimes shaky, but our happiness as a couple, and a family, remained constant.
When we lived in Quebec, my husband was viewed as an "up and comer" by his employers. As news spread that he was planning to move back to Ontario (a move our family desperately needed) several co-workers advised him to send his family to Ontario, and remain behind. That advice, we both felt, wasn't even worthy of consideration. Instead, Todd accepted a demotion so that we could move to a place where we could be happier as a family. There are some losses that money just can't compensate for.
We consider ourselves fortunate to be enjoying financial security in an era where the economy is unsteady and many around us are experiencing hardship. We have a healthy appreciation for all that we have, and a healthy fear that it will all disappear. The reality is that the "success" (and I use the term loosely) that we presently enjoy could "turn on a dime." We're trying to plan wisely for an uncertain future. But if we are poor again tomorrow, we will still have love in our family, we will still strive to improve ourselves, and we will continue to have faith in each other.
I related what I'd perceived as a slight on my priorities to my younger son, who is away from home. I asked him what he felt he'd learned from us. (I wanted to be reassured that I hadn't inadvertently preached the "Gospel of Materialism" to him.) This was his response:
"Money doesn't make me happy, and accolades don't thrill me. What satisfies me is knowing that I've done my best and I've become a better person for it. I think that's what our family is all about. I'm quite confident that you and Dad feel the same way."
My older son said recently. "I don't aspire to ever live in a house any bigger or nicer than this one." It warmed my heart to hear him say that.
Amen to both of them. A "good life" isn't a life of decadence or fame. Success is measured in satisfaction, in the knowledge that you're doing your best and making some sort of progress on a daily basis. I'm glad that my sons somehow heard and understood the messages my husband and I tried to convey.
This month's poetry selection is one that I feel illustrates my philosophies on money, success, and life.
Center Stage - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (September'07)
A man's worth more than the amount
of dollars in his bank account.
His worth lies not in what is seen,
but what he's done and who he's been.
How did he act, what did he say;
what graciousness did he display?
When he stood out at center stage,
how did he with the cast engage?
Did he shine in his starring role
or use position to control?
In lesser roles, how did he act?
(For this determines worth, in fact.)
All men can shine when light are hot,
but worth's determined when they're not
and how a man acts in the wings
illuminates a lot of things.
By how he acts there we can know
what is for real, and what's for show.
Most men can prosper and seem bright
when they are upstage in spotlight,
but stars are born when lights are out
and there's no audience about.
All do perform for better cause
by acting well, without applause.
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
Superior - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
When I was a toddler my father dragged the entire family to a remote area in behind Goulais Bay. As the story is told it was dusk when we arrived, and the mosquitoes were beginning to swarm. My parents picked their way through the trees and brush to the waterfront. The view that awaited them didn't disappoint. The sand on the shore was fine and light, and the sun setting over Lake Superior was breath-taking. Land was quickly purchased, and a cabin erected.
In Southern Ontario people say, "I'm off to the cottage." But we Northern Ontarians say, "I'm going to camp."
I don't remember what it was like to not have a camp. When I was small, our cabin was a rough unfinished shell with tarps strung up over two-by-fours to divide the bedrooms the kids slept in. (Only my parents' room had walls.) Our meals were cooked at a wood stove, which also provided heat if summer nights grew cool. We had no plumbing. My father would row far out into the lake to fill buckets of drinking water. Our wash basin and dish pan were filled at the shoreline.
There were rituals at camp...Mornings began with my father yelling, "Up and at'em!" and hustling us all down to the beach, where the basin would be waiting on a large stump. We'd all wash faces and hands, and head back inside for breakfast. I have great memories of eating breakfast at camp, which usually consisted of bacon, eggs, pancakes, and hot chocolate. Food always tasted better at Nil's Bay.
In the evenings after admiring the sunset from the picture window in our living room, we'd play cards or board games by lamp light until it was time for bed. "Last call for the outhouse!" my mother would tell us. "If you don't go now you'll have to pee in the pot!" The old chamber pot was too undignified for most of us to want to risk, so off we'd file to take turns in the out-house. Mom usually went first, after giving the side of the plywood structure a good whack - "to scare off the critters". (At one time or another most of us entered that outhouse to find it occupied - snakes, skunks and even porcupines sometimes found their way in.)
Days were spent outside, unless the weather was foul or you had a wicked sunburn. (Those days were spent inside reading ancient issues of Reader's Digest and Good Housekeeping, or the dusty old books and readers that filled the bookcase.) Otherwise, you spent the day on the beach and in the water OR playing in the woods behind the cabin. (We built a community of forts back there, with the highly original name of "Fortsville"). Some days we took long treks along the shore "beach combing" and hauling back "pretty rocks" and buoys and chunks of driftwood. Other times we'd hike along the back road, stopping to pick raspberries wherever a good patch presented itself.
As I child I loved it out there, but as a teenager I balked - preferring to spend time with my friends. When I was in my late teens the cabin got electricity, which I thought kind of spoiled the romance of the place. My husband jokes that he arrived on the scene at the perfect time - the cabin got an indoor toilet earlier that summer. The annual trek to camp has been a tradition for the two of us and our sons, and I have had the satisfaction of seeing my boys enjoy the same pastimes I used to - jumping the waves, building sand castles and taking rowboat rides.
The cabin has been sold, and I'm about to help my mother pack up the remaining belongings and clean the place out for its new owners. (I have the sinking feeling they will bulldoze our cabin, and build a home there.) I am not looking forward to this last visit.
My father grew up on Cockburn Island, and he loved being near the water. I'm grateful that he gave us the opportunity to enjoy the simple pleasures of his youth, and to build memories on the shores of Lake Superior.
Superior - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March '06
Fortresses upon her shores
my small hands built with skill,
and hands grown larger dipped the oars
into her waters still.
Treasures that she offered me
I carried in my hands -
peace offerings, strewn carelessly
upon her sodden sands.
I've seen sun's fiery orb subside
into her silent deep,
and rhythmic movements of her tide
were prelude to my sleep.
She was the backdrop on our stage
through acts of youthful play -
dramatic was her stormy rage
upon our sheltered bay.
Romantic feelings she'd invite
beneath a dazzling sun -
though she'd oft' seduced by moonlight
the lovers that she won.
I long for her untamed beauty
whenever we're apart,
but memories she's given me
I cherish in my heart.
(RIP "Sunset View" 1963-2011)
PS - Family members have visited our old stretch of the beach since we sold the cabin, thanks to the generous offer of our former next-door neighbour. The cabin still stands, with a few improvements and a nicer deck. From what I've observed, even most of the trees survived the new owner's chainsaw! - SFK, 2014
In Southern Ontario people say, "I'm off to the cottage." But we Northern Ontarians say, "I'm going to camp."
I don't remember what it was like to not have a camp. When I was small, our cabin was a rough unfinished shell with tarps strung up over two-by-fours to divide the bedrooms the kids slept in. (Only my parents' room had walls.) Our meals were cooked at a wood stove, which also provided heat if summer nights grew cool. We had no plumbing. My father would row far out into the lake to fill buckets of drinking water. Our wash basin and dish pan were filled at the shoreline.
There were rituals at camp...Mornings began with my father yelling, "Up and at'em!" and hustling us all down to the beach, where the basin would be waiting on a large stump. We'd all wash faces and hands, and head back inside for breakfast. I have great memories of eating breakfast at camp, which usually consisted of bacon, eggs, pancakes, and hot chocolate. Food always tasted better at Nil's Bay.
In the evenings after admiring the sunset from the picture window in our living room, we'd play cards or board games by lamp light until it was time for bed. "Last call for the outhouse!" my mother would tell us. "If you don't go now you'll have to pee in the pot!" The old chamber pot was too undignified for most of us to want to risk, so off we'd file to take turns in the out-house. Mom usually went first, after giving the side of the plywood structure a good whack - "to scare off the critters". (At one time or another most of us entered that outhouse to find it occupied - snakes, skunks and even porcupines sometimes found their way in.)
Days were spent outside, unless the weather was foul or you had a wicked sunburn. (Those days were spent inside reading ancient issues of Reader's Digest and Good Housekeeping, or the dusty old books and readers that filled the bookcase.) Otherwise, you spent the day on the beach and in the water OR playing in the woods behind the cabin. (We built a community of forts back there, with the highly original name of "Fortsville"). Some days we took long treks along the shore "beach combing" and hauling back "pretty rocks" and buoys and chunks of driftwood. Other times we'd hike along the back road, stopping to pick raspberries wherever a good patch presented itself.
As I child I loved it out there, but as a teenager I balked - preferring to spend time with my friends. When I was in my late teens the cabin got electricity, which I thought kind of spoiled the romance of the place. My husband jokes that he arrived on the scene at the perfect time - the cabin got an indoor toilet earlier that summer. The annual trek to camp has been a tradition for the two of us and our sons, and I have had the satisfaction of seeing my boys enjoy the same pastimes I used to - jumping the waves, building sand castles and taking rowboat rides.
The cabin has been sold, and I'm about to help my mother pack up the remaining belongings and clean the place out for its new owners. (I have the sinking feeling they will bulldoze our cabin, and build a home there.) I am not looking forward to this last visit.
My father grew up on Cockburn Island, and he loved being near the water. I'm grateful that he gave us the opportunity to enjoy the simple pleasures of his youth, and to build memories on the shores of Lake Superior.
Superior - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March '06
Fortresses upon her shores
my small hands built with skill,
and hands grown larger dipped the oars
into her waters still.
Treasures that she offered me
I carried in my hands -
peace offerings, strewn carelessly
upon her sodden sands.
I've seen sun's fiery orb subside
into her silent deep,
and rhythmic movements of her tide
were prelude to my sleep.
She was the backdrop on our stage
through acts of youthful play -
dramatic was her stormy rage
upon our sheltered bay.
Romantic feelings she'd invite
beneath a dazzling sun -
though she'd oft' seduced by moonlight
the lovers that she won.
I long for her untamed beauty
whenever we're apart,
but memories she's given me
I cherish in my heart.
(RIP "Sunset View" 1963-2011)
PS - Family members have visited our old stretch of the beach since we sold the cabin, thanks to the generous offer of our former next-door neighbour. The cabin still stands, with a few improvements and a nicer deck. From what I've observed, even most of the trees survived the new owner's chainsaw! - SFK, 2014
Friday, 29 July 2011
What Monkey See From Lofty Tree - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg - Oct. '07
This poem is a pretty straight forward fable that speaks to the importance of experience. We all learn from our mistakes - right? "Monkey" certainly learned a thing or two about friendship, kindness and humility when his usual dexterity failed him and he tumbled out of his tree!
What Monkey See From Lofty Tree-Sharon Flood Kasenberg-Oct. '07
A monkey sat within a tree,
and much to his delight -
not many problems did he see
that he could not put right.
No faults could escape detection
from his sharp little eyes
and there was no imperfection
he did not criticize.
It never once to him occurred
that most obviously
no trials had he yet endured,
so well ensconced was he.
From his lofty perch he chattered
advice both day and night.
With false confidence he nattered;
he thought it was his right.
How could those silly creatures miss
their glaring huge mistakes?
And rashly, he concluded this:
"They don't have what it takes.
With just a fraction of my wit
they'd see where they went wrong -
root out the flaw and fix it
before too very long.
Their poor eyes cannot comprehend
the broader scope mine do -
'cause if they could they'd see the end
of ills they're going through.
If their brains were as sharp as mine
they'd have things all worked out - "
Thus did our little friend opine -
he knew all, without doubt.
When from his tree by tail he'd swing
sometimes quite far below
he'd hear the other critters sing
as he swung to and fro -
and he'd criticize their chorus,
boasting, "It's very clear
that nobody in this forest
is gifted with my ear."
And if another creature fell
and landed on his face,
the monkey would be sure to yell
that no one had his grace.
Time and again from lofty height
he arrogantly bragged
and thumped his chest with all his might
upon a branch that sagged
until it couldn't bear his weight
and then it simply snapped -
and when the monkey met his fate
some forest creatures clapped.
These creatures knew what he did not -
the perils of the ground
and that a fall could hurt a lot,
could muddle and confound -
and so they clapped - not out of spite
because he slipped and fell -
but with relief he was alright
and lived the tale to tell.
The animals he'd so abused
came swiftly to his aid -
his criticisms were excused,
and friends were swiftly made.
The monkey sat upon the ground
and rubbed his swollen head.
He marveled at friends gathered round
who could have shunned instead.
When past behavior he reviewed,
he saw he'd been unkind.
His observations had been skewed
to faults and failings find.
He now saw challenges they faced -
like struggles to find food -
and soon compassion had replaced
his prior attitude.
From treetops he saw far and wide
and dangers could detect -
he realized he should have tried
to help and to protect.
His friends urged him to bide his time
and keep them company,
but Monkey knew he had to climb
once more into his tree.
It seems because he slipped and fell
some lessons he has learned -
no longer does he brag or yell
since higher he returned.
His eyes are now much more aware
of perils down below -
his store of food he'll gladly share;
protection he'll bestow.
His ears have learned their songs to love -
now as they chorus raise
all they will hear from up above
are kindly words of praise.
That little monkey sits there still,
and forever chatters -
but since the day he took a spill,
he has learned what matters.
He understands he needs good friends
and kindness he must show -
superior behavior ends
once we've fallen below.
Respect from others must be earned.
It comes to those who care,
and who from their own trials learned
how to compassion share.
Now Monkey knows a better way
and does things differently -
since once upon a fateful day
he fell out of his tree.
What Monkey See From Lofty Tree-Sharon Flood Kasenberg-Oct. '07
A monkey sat within a tree,
and much to his delight -
not many problems did he see
that he could not put right.
No faults could escape detection
from his sharp little eyes
and there was no imperfection
he did not criticize.
It never once to him occurred
that most obviously
no trials had he yet endured,
so well ensconced was he.
From his lofty perch he chattered
advice both day and night.
With false confidence he nattered;
he thought it was his right.
How could those silly creatures miss
their glaring huge mistakes?
And rashly, he concluded this:
"They don't have what it takes.
With just a fraction of my wit
they'd see where they went wrong -
root out the flaw and fix it
before too very long.
Their poor eyes cannot comprehend
the broader scope mine do -
'cause if they could they'd see the end
of ills they're going through.
If their brains were as sharp as mine
they'd have things all worked out - "
Thus did our little friend opine -
he knew all, without doubt.
When from his tree by tail he'd swing
sometimes quite far below
he'd hear the other critters sing
as he swung to and fro -
and he'd criticize their chorus,
boasting, "It's very clear
that nobody in this forest
is gifted with my ear."
And if another creature fell
and landed on his face,
the monkey would be sure to yell
that no one had his grace.
Time and again from lofty height
he arrogantly bragged
and thumped his chest with all his might
upon a branch that sagged
until it couldn't bear his weight
and then it simply snapped -
and when the monkey met his fate
some forest creatures clapped.
These creatures knew what he did not -
the perils of the ground
and that a fall could hurt a lot,
could muddle and confound -
and so they clapped - not out of spite
because he slipped and fell -
but with relief he was alright
and lived the tale to tell.
The animals he'd so abused
came swiftly to his aid -
his criticisms were excused,
and friends were swiftly made.
The monkey sat upon the ground
and rubbed his swollen head.
He marveled at friends gathered round
who could have shunned instead.
When past behavior he reviewed,
he saw he'd been unkind.
His observations had been skewed
to faults and failings find.
He now saw challenges they faced -
like struggles to find food -
and soon compassion had replaced
his prior attitude.
From treetops he saw far and wide
and dangers could detect -
he realized he should have tried
to help and to protect.
His friends urged him to bide his time
and keep them company,
but Monkey knew he had to climb
once more into his tree.
It seems because he slipped and fell
some lessons he has learned -
no longer does he brag or yell
since higher he returned.
His eyes are now much more aware
of perils down below -
his store of food he'll gladly share;
protection he'll bestow.
His ears have learned their songs to love -
now as they chorus raise
all they will hear from up above
are kindly words of praise.
That little monkey sits there still,
and forever chatters -
but since the day he took a spill,
he has learned what matters.
He understands he needs good friends
and kindness he must show -
superior behavior ends
once we've fallen below.
Respect from others must be earned.
It comes to those who care,
and who from their own trials learned
how to compassion share.
Now Monkey knows a better way
and does things differently -
since once upon a fateful day
he fell out of his tree.
Thursday, 30 June 2011
Perspective - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
I think most of us go through those reflective periods in our lives where we spend some time reviewing the past. Sometimes those backward glances provide incentive to make the most of today, and propel us into a more vibrant future. I had a strange experience a few months ago, when someone I used to know suddenly started to intrude on my thoughts in a somewhat uncomfortable way. I can't say I appreciated it much, but the digging it prompted me to do into the experiences of my youth was enlightening.
There are times when I look back on my younger self and shudder at my past stupidity, but this wasn't one of those experiences. Instead I learned that I was actually better in those days than I gave myself credit for. I was stronger, smarter and more self aware than I believed at the time.
It's interesting that these revelations all came to light smack-dab in the middle of a personal mid-life crisis. I was at a cross-road, wondering which direction to move in and what to do next. I was doubting my ability to make a positive contribution to the world when my detour down memory lane made me realize how skewed my vision was in those long ago days. I suddenly recognized the fact that the younger me had been gazing at myself in some distorted fun house mirror, and that I was once again staring into a warped looking-glass.
"For now we see through a glass darkly; but then we see face to face: now I know in part: but then I shall know even as I am known." (1 Corr. 13:12)
I always liked that scriptural passage, and now finally I'm beginning to understand it. We all get hung up on the image we see in what I'll call "the social mirror". We see ourselves the way we think the world brands us - "middle-aged housewife, past her prime" - in my case. When I looked back on my younger self I saw more than I expected to see. So could it be that my vision of myself was lacking some clarity NOW? It's pretty easy to get hung up on the minute details and miss the broader picture....
I think this poem explains the importance of perspective fairly well.
Perspective - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (July'06)
What used to be is finished now
and cannot be recaptured -
would I return there if I could
and find myself enraptured?
My mind and heart have edited
the memories of my youth;
somewhere between what I recall
and what you would tell, lies truth.
The "now" a portrait by Seurat
viewed too closely to make sense -
we can't put into perspective
what is seen in present tense.
Too intent on just one detail,
one small solitary dot -
that separated from the whole
doesn't really mean a lot.
Only in the distant future
might we clearly see the past
when the dots all meld together
in coherence at long last.
Both art and life in broader view
invite interpretation
that changes as our lives progress
through every incarnation.
I've no desire to see ahead
and for the past no yearning.
Today's the day I have - to live
the lessons I am learning.
There are times when I look back on my younger self and shudder at my past stupidity, but this wasn't one of those experiences. Instead I learned that I was actually better in those days than I gave myself credit for. I was stronger, smarter and more self aware than I believed at the time.
It's interesting that these revelations all came to light smack-dab in the middle of a personal mid-life crisis. I was at a cross-road, wondering which direction to move in and what to do next. I was doubting my ability to make a positive contribution to the world when my detour down memory lane made me realize how skewed my vision was in those long ago days. I suddenly recognized the fact that the younger me had been gazing at myself in some distorted fun house mirror, and that I was once again staring into a warped looking-glass.
"For now we see through a glass darkly; but then we see face to face: now I know in part: but then I shall know even as I am known." (1 Corr. 13:12)
I always liked that scriptural passage, and now finally I'm beginning to understand it. We all get hung up on the image we see in what I'll call "the social mirror". We see ourselves the way we think the world brands us - "middle-aged housewife, past her prime" - in my case. When I looked back on my younger self I saw more than I expected to see. So could it be that my vision of myself was lacking some clarity NOW? It's pretty easy to get hung up on the minute details and miss the broader picture....
I think this poem explains the importance of perspective fairly well.
Perspective - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (July'06)
What used to be is finished now
and cannot be recaptured -
would I return there if I could
and find myself enraptured?
My mind and heart have edited
the memories of my youth;
somewhere between what I recall
and what you would tell, lies truth.
The "now" a portrait by Seurat
viewed too closely to make sense -
we can't put into perspective
what is seen in present tense.
Too intent on just one detail,
one small solitary dot -
that separated from the whole
doesn't really mean a lot.
Only in the distant future
might we clearly see the past
when the dots all meld together
in coherence at long last.
Both art and life in broader view
invite interpretation
that changes as our lives progress
through every incarnation.
I've no desire to see ahead
and for the past no yearning.
Today's the day I have - to live
the lessons I am learning.
Monday, 6 June 2011
Fair Winds - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
This poem is very close to my heart. It's about the unconditional love that mothers have for their children.
I have a confession to make. In my youth I seldom thought about having children. They were just part of some package deal - you got married; you had kids. When I was expecting my older son I was filled with fear and self doubt. Motherhood seemed like a huge looming responsibility, and it frightened me. My pregnancy was difficult, and my son was born five weeks early. As a first time mother I felt overwhelmed at times, but for the most part I was simply filled with awe. I'd look down at his little face in amazement - my son!
Soon (too soon!) I was expecting another child. I was healthy as a horse (and as big as one!) the second time around, but filled with anxiety and more self-doubt. How would I juggle the needs of two babies? (My sons were born less than 13 months apart.) Sam was a very busy toddler - barely walking, very demanding...I was a bit resentful over the "bad-timing" of my second child. I remember worrying that I might not love "the baby" as much as I loved Sam.
Dan was born two days past his due-date. I told everyone at the end of my pregnancy that I just wanted the baby OUT so I could hand it to someone else. But as soon as Dan was born, I was smitten. After a long labour I was exhausted, but when I tried to sleep I couldn't - until he was nestled in the crook of my arm.
My sons are grown now. Dan is on a mission for his Church, and has been away from home for six months. I miss him every day. Maybe I was an over-protective mom, too clingy and hovering... Certainly I've learned that I need my sons as much as they've ever needed me. When they were teenagers I would stand and look at their sprawled forms before I roused them from sleep, and I'd still be amazed that they were mine.
Sam gets a kiss good-night every night. (He was warned that he'd need to put up with extra affection when his brother left, and is a good sport about it.) Sometimes I ask him, "Do you have any idea how much I love you?" To which he answers, "Mom, you never let me forget!!"
The way I see it, if they never forget that I love them, I've done something right.
Fair Winds: (By Sharon Flood Kasenberg-March 2008)
Sometimes I miss the person
that you were yesterday -
who wanted my attention
and pestered me to play.
Your childhood needs were simple -
at least as I recall;
I gave you what you needed
when you were very small.
These days it's not so easy
to know what you require -
to anticipate your wants
or know your heart's desire.
Whoever you're becoming
I hope you'll always know -
I'll love you forever
no matter how you grow.
The tree grows as the twig's bent
and buffeted by gales;
a sailboat glides on water
when a fair wind prevails.
How will you be affected
when billows gain in force?
Will you bend, but never snap
and keep your ship on course?
Storms all must surely weather -
have I prepared you well
to survive the elements
and fearfulness to quell?
Perhaps I'm no example -
my exploits have been tame -
to stay in calmer waters
has always been my aim.
I'd shelter you forever
to keep you from harm's way -
but to ensure your freedom
I risk the chance you'll stray.
No matter how you're tempted
I hope you never doubt -
both heart and door stay open -
I'd never lock you out.
I pray that winds of fortune
and strong tides bear you home
to bask in my affection
however far you roam.
May you sail in fair breezes
whenever we're apart -
and let them blow you homeward
to the harbour of my heart.
I have a confession to make. In my youth I seldom thought about having children. They were just part of some package deal - you got married; you had kids. When I was expecting my older son I was filled with fear and self doubt. Motherhood seemed like a huge looming responsibility, and it frightened me. My pregnancy was difficult, and my son was born five weeks early. As a first time mother I felt overwhelmed at times, but for the most part I was simply filled with awe. I'd look down at his little face in amazement - my son!
Soon (too soon!) I was expecting another child. I was healthy as a horse (and as big as one!) the second time around, but filled with anxiety and more self-doubt. How would I juggle the needs of two babies? (My sons were born less than 13 months apart.) Sam was a very busy toddler - barely walking, very demanding...I was a bit resentful over the "bad-timing" of my second child. I remember worrying that I might not love "the baby" as much as I loved Sam.
Dan was born two days past his due-date. I told everyone at the end of my pregnancy that I just wanted the baby OUT so I could hand it to someone else. But as soon as Dan was born, I was smitten. After a long labour I was exhausted, but when I tried to sleep I couldn't - until he was nestled in the crook of my arm.
My sons are grown now. Dan is on a mission for his Church, and has been away from home for six months. I miss him every day. Maybe I was an over-protective mom, too clingy and hovering... Certainly I've learned that I need my sons as much as they've ever needed me. When they were teenagers I would stand and look at their sprawled forms before I roused them from sleep, and I'd still be amazed that they were mine.
Sam gets a kiss good-night every night. (He was warned that he'd need to put up with extra affection when his brother left, and is a good sport about it.) Sometimes I ask him, "Do you have any idea how much I love you?" To which he answers, "Mom, you never let me forget!!"
The way I see it, if they never forget that I love them, I've done something right.
Fair Winds: (By Sharon Flood Kasenberg-March 2008)
Sometimes I miss the person
that you were yesterday -
who wanted my attention
and pestered me to play.
Your childhood needs were simple -
at least as I recall;
I gave you what you needed
when you were very small.
These days it's not so easy
to know what you require -
to anticipate your wants
or know your heart's desire.
Whoever you're becoming
I hope you'll always know -
I'll love you forever
no matter how you grow.
The tree grows as the twig's bent
and buffeted by gales;
a sailboat glides on water
when a fair wind prevails.
How will you be affected
when billows gain in force?
Will you bend, but never snap
and keep your ship on course?
Storms all must surely weather -
have I prepared you well
to survive the elements
and fearfulness to quell?
Perhaps I'm no example -
my exploits have been tame -
to stay in calmer waters
has always been my aim.
I'd shelter you forever
to keep you from harm's way -
but to ensure your freedom
I risk the chance you'll stray.
No matter how you're tempted
I hope you never doubt -
both heart and door stay open -
I'd never lock you out.
I pray that winds of fortune
and strong tides bear you home
to bask in my affection
however far you roam.
May you sail in fair breezes
whenever we're apart -
and let them blow you homeward
to the harbour of my heart.
Wednesday, 18 May 2011
I Fight...by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
In this electronic age we can reconnect with old friends at the push of a button. We can "find" people we lost touch with. Sometimes, when timing and luck are on our side we get to arrange " realtime facetime" with people we haven't seen in years.
Yesterday I had the opportunity to meet up with an old friend from my youth - to see him again after a couple of decades and meet his wife. Funny how lost years can fade. Though we are both older and wiser, we found that at heart we were still the same people - good friends who just lost touch for a while. I had a similar experience a few weeks back with a friend from high school. The two of us will also be reuniting face-to-face as soon as we can arrange to.
But at times we aren't so lucky with our online searches. Sometimes the people we look for are beyond seeking. Some of those we miss continue to live on only in our memories. We may find only online "evidence" that these friends once lived - a photograph, an obituary; a name on a quilt.
I've lost a couple of people who really mattered to me over the years to deaths that could have/should have been prevented. Both died too young - their deaths haunt me. When I think of the years those friends lost, and the experiences they missed, it spurs me on in my fight to make this crazy world a little more user-friendly...
Life is too short. We don't have time to be unforgiving or hold grudges. We need to fight harder to be inclusive - there are a lot of lonely people out there, and people who don't think, act, or live their lives the way we do. Battle your inner demons - the ones that might tell you that you're excused from caring about those deemed "too different" or "too damaged". Love them anyway. Be prepared to fight for the underdog and the unloved, the abused and the depressed.
Today, I dedicate this poem to those who lost battles, and to those who, like me, continue to "fight the good fight".
I Fight
I fight constant temptation
and battle with my will -
I fight to rein in temper
when patience has its fill.
I fight my inner dragons -
the demons of my soul;
and struggle with inertia
when I have set a goal.
On battlefields aplenty
I've stood with sword and shield -
waged war on foe unnumbered,
and still refused to yield.
Through minefields of opinion
where mercy was not shown
I've skirmished pride and ego -
sometimes it was my own.
I've felt arrows of malice -
and aimed my share as well -
seen comrades stained with envy
and known its putrid smell.
I've tried to rally soldiers
who could no longer fight -
and stood among the fallen
who felt death's icy bite.
And though 'oft disillusioned
by what those battles cost,
I'll cede no territory -
my cause is not yet lost.
I'll fight to keep believing
in love and hope and peace -
I'll fight for truth and reason,
and strength - 'til battles cease.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, 2011
Yesterday I had the opportunity to meet up with an old friend from my youth - to see him again after a couple of decades and meet his wife. Funny how lost years can fade. Though we are both older and wiser, we found that at heart we were still the same people - good friends who just lost touch for a while. I had a similar experience a few weeks back with a friend from high school. The two of us will also be reuniting face-to-face as soon as we can arrange to.
But at times we aren't so lucky with our online searches. Sometimes the people we look for are beyond seeking. Some of those we miss continue to live on only in our memories. We may find only online "evidence" that these friends once lived - a photograph, an obituary; a name on a quilt.
I've lost a couple of people who really mattered to me over the years to deaths that could have/should have been prevented. Both died too young - their deaths haunt me. When I think of the years those friends lost, and the experiences they missed, it spurs me on in my fight to make this crazy world a little more user-friendly...
Life is too short. We don't have time to be unforgiving or hold grudges. We need to fight harder to be inclusive - there are a lot of lonely people out there, and people who don't think, act, or live their lives the way we do. Battle your inner demons - the ones that might tell you that you're excused from caring about those deemed "too different" or "too damaged". Love them anyway. Be prepared to fight for the underdog and the unloved, the abused and the depressed.
Today, I dedicate this poem to those who lost battles, and to those who, like me, continue to "fight the good fight".
I Fight
I fight constant temptation
and battle with my will -
I fight to rein in temper
when patience has its fill.
I fight my inner dragons -
the demons of my soul;
and struggle with inertia
when I have set a goal.
On battlefields aplenty
I've stood with sword and shield -
waged war on foe unnumbered,
and still refused to yield.
Through minefields of opinion
where mercy was not shown
I've skirmished pride and ego -
sometimes it was my own.
I've felt arrows of malice -
and aimed my share as well -
seen comrades stained with envy
and known its putrid smell.
I've tried to rally soldiers
who could no longer fight -
and stood among the fallen
who felt death's icy bite.
And though 'oft disillusioned
by what those battles cost,
I'll cede no territory -
my cause is not yet lost.
I'll fight to keep believing
in love and hope and peace -
I'll fight for truth and reason,
and strength - 'til battles cease.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)