Patience, Please! - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

A Little Patience

A little patience
gets me through the days
when all around me
seems a grayish haze.
A little patience
helps me disengage
when my frustrations
stir up latent rage.
That dab of patience
helps me resurrect
and savour goodness
that I recollect.
A little patience
when it's hard to cope
can keep me seeking
'oft elusive hope.

By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 18, 2019

In an age of instant gratification, patience is often undervalued.

Think about the things that make you lose patience on any given day - drivers going too fast, or moving too slowly, long waits in the check out line, husbands/children and friends who aren't quick enough to do our bidding, and a mountain of problems that needed to be solved yesterday.

Patience is a concept I've struggled with my entire life - this notion that we might need to wait, gracefully even, for problems to sort themselves out, for answers to our burning questions, for understanding of ourselves and the people around us, for bodies, minds and spirits to be healed... for life to become more fulfilling.

In a world that is rife with tribalism, racism, violence, depression, aggression, and general frustration, we need patience more than ever - and it seems to be becoming increasingly elusive if and/or when we bother to look for it. It seems safe to say that many no longer understand why patience is important; that for many, the idea that some things are worth the wait seems outdated. Why should any of us have to patiently figure out what the best solution to our most recent crisis might be when we can just act impulsively? Society reinforces that we should all be people of action - just willing to do something - is it really important that we take time to mull things over, consider our best course of action, and work out the whys, whens, and hows before we dive in? I often have to remind myself that achieving balance between excessive thinking, and impulsive action, is an exercise in patience. I need to bite my tongue and try not to respond in anger when I feel provoked, I need to stop and consider how my next tirade might affect the other party before I find myself speaking in haste, and then feeling guilty, and needing to make apologies.

Without a doubt the world needs more love and tolerance, but I'm coming to the conclusion that what it needs first is patience. We can wake up determined to do better and be kinder every day, but if patience eludes us, there isn't much chance that will happen. We will have a hard time filtering out the intolerance and thoughtlessness around us if we have no patience, and this can affect our physical and emotional health over time.

I've become convinced that patience is a prerequisite to resilience, hope and happiness. Experience has taught me that when my patience runs thin, those other things seem to be out of reach. Without patience I can't "bounce back" from disappointments in my life; I have trouble maintaining my equilibrium when faced with any minor setback. When patience wanes, so does hope - everything seems impossible when I can't tame my desire for instant solutions and immediate gratification. And, without a doubt, my unhappiest times always correspond to those when I simply couldn't muster any patience for anything, or anybody.

Patience is what the world really needs. A lot of days we'll face struggles that will seem almost insurmountable, but if we can believe there are better days to come, we can muddle through. However, when we're anxious, lonely or depressed, a whole day that's wonderful can be an unrealistic expectation. We might need to set our sights lower, and patiently wait for good moments and good hours before entire days can be enjoyed. When we're patient, those happy moments give us hope, and if we're waiting patiently, expecting to be pleasantly surprised by an unexpected bright spot in our day, we're less apt to miss it if it happens. Then, when we're surprised by those happy moments, we relish them, we feel gratitude for them, and we see that our patience, in and of itself, rewarded us with something good and hopeful.

There will always be difficult days, and tears enough to fill them, but patience teaches us when to reign in our emotions for the sake of others, and when we can safely be vulnerable around others. When we patiently learn to gauge the reactions of those around us, we learn who we can safely be ourselves with - who has the ability to see us at our worst and still find things to love, and who will be patient enough with us to stick around when our own patience is in short supply. 

I've often thought that youth is wasted on the young - they have great reserves of physical stamina, but their patience has yet to be sufficiently tried; they lack emotional strength. When I was young everything felt like a calamity. It was hard to patiently build reserves of hope for better days when I felt completely miserable now - I hadn't yet learned that my better days would start with better moments and hours. I had trouble waiting patiently for better things to happen - in part because my worst experiences were all ahead of me. I didn't know, at that point in my life, that I could not only survive, but also thrive, despite plenty of disappointment, and some heartbreak and tragedy.

We grow older and experience all of those things. We grow wiser too - but some days wisdom is unreliable. It too, is affected by the constant ebb and flow of patience in our lives. We give in to anger, to hopelessness, to frustration - all because we're stymied by the one thing we need most - a little patience.

Trajectory - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Timeline of a Virus:

Sunday: A tickle and a few sneezes.
Monday: It's on and I hope it soon eases!
Tuesday: My lungs are about to explode.
Wednesday: My nose is expelling a load.
Thursday: I'm guessing I'll prob'ly survive...
Friday: Perhaps I'll be glad I'm alive?

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 27, 2019

That's the condensed version of how this virus has unfolded - and the hopeful version too, because as I sit here typing it's still Wednesday and my sinuses are trying desperately to clear themselves. The comparatively gentle sneezes that initiated this cockroach of a virus have been replaced by their mutant offspring. My eyes twitch, and my nose alternates between itching like my tissues are infused with poison ivy, and running until said tissues leave them chapped as they try to contain the toxic ooze. I decided to aim for a drug-free sleep last night, which was probably a mistake. After all, I laid on my bed in a pseudo-napping state for two hours yesterday, which, in my experience, is never conducive to a decent block of sleep. Sure enough, the first three hours my body relaxed (between coughing spasms), but my mind spun like Vanna's Wheel. The next three hours I cycled between coughing, sneezing and nose-blowing. My bedside table is the place old tissues go to die. Finally, between five and eight am, I napped...

Now I backtrack; my husband came home from a two day workshop on Friday night, feeling run down and saying he had a slight tickle in his throat.

Smug Sharon, who considers herself largely impervious to most "bugs" felt confident that IF she were to come down with something it would be nothing more than a minor inconvenience for 48 hours. Oh - how the mighty have fallen!

Saturday husband said, "Yes, I'm definitely getting a cold..." And off we went to run errands and mattress shop and look at antiques. Oh yeah - quality bonding time with a man brewing straight up sludge. And I still said, "No big deal. I'll be fine!"

Sometimes I'm an idiot.

A suddenly felt "tickle"  made its presence felt on Sunday, and I experienced those first subtle sneezes. By bedtime I was chilled to the bone and looked like I'd fallen asleep under a sunlamp. I slid my inflamed body between nice, cool sheets, only to discover that my internal and external thermostats were battling for the upper hand. The latter was victorious, and I reluctantly slid out of bed to find three more blankets and some Tylenol. I climbed back into bed, arranging a warmth-sealing nest of pillows around me and piling the extra bedding on top of it all. (Husband was downstairs in the "escape room", fighting his own germ-war.) Between the chills and the hacking, I managed to sleep five of the nine hours I laid in bed.

Monday the coughing and "aching everything" began in earnest, and the chills continued off and on for most of the day. I took my first serious afternoon nap in years, and awoke two hours later to a spinning head and a complete inability to concentrate. Gah! What an insensitive lout I felt like for thinking my poor spouse a ninny when he napped the day before! Karma, my friends, is one vicious female dog and she bit my butt on Monday! That evening, after ordering in pizza, my spouse dragged his germ-laden being out the door to his regularly scheduled meeting, while I stayed home to feel thoroughly disgusted by the fact that my virus timeline was following the exact trajectory that his was! At least I managed to channel my negative energy into a poetic Facebook update:

Virus

The virus made a sneak attack
and now I sneeze and ache and hack.
My head is heavy and I'm chilled;
I pray immunity will build.
I'm overtired, my muscles sore -
full of complaints I can't ignore.
I guzzle syrups, pills and teas
in hopes they'll cure this vile disease -
and moan until at last they do -
I'm quite affronted by this 'flu!

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 25, 2019

Having waxed poetic, I stayed up to make sure he made it home okay, and we toddled off to our respective beds. He barely slept, and I managed six of the ten I spent on the mattress.

Tuesday was cough 'til you drop day. And, much to my chagrin, sometimes cough 'til you "dribble" day too. (You know what I mean, ladies.) I took to carrying a paper towel with me to cough into because I was expecting to forcibly evict a lung at some point. Nevertheless I stoically walked to the post office to get the mail AND managed to clean three bathrooms. My spouse was understandably exhausted, but assured me the worst of it seemed to be passing, and he was fairly confident we'd survive to see another weekend. The chills were only intermittent for him now, and I was comfortable as long as I spent most of the day holed up in the Sahara region of our 125 year old house - my office. The kitchen is the Arctic Circle - but it couldn't be avoided altogether. I pulled a bandana over my nose and donned some disposable plastic gloves to throw together a pot of hamburger stroganoff and toss some dressing onto coleslaw from a bag. Husband went off to his choir practice like a trooper, and I laid low watching Netflix and drinking herbal teas.

That brings me to today. In spite of my varied sufferings, I managed a twenty minute walk - and the same amount of time in the basement tossing darts - almost as spectacularly badly as I did the day I took one of my mother's tranquilizers... Since drugstore medications and I have varying degrees of success together, I decided to go "cold turkey" in hopes of achieving more than three solid hours of sleep tonight. I am exhausted - but hopeful. So optimistic, in fact, that I'm about to vacuum the main floor of my abode without being utterly fearful of imminent collapse.

Update - It's now Thursday afternoon and I've been up for about an hour after tossing and turning until the wee sma's. Rest doesn't come easily for chronic insomniacs - even when they are literally "sick and tired". The coughing is back today but it feels less stressful on my musculature and my bladder. I'm a girl who does everything differently, so this is usually my day for socializing, but I've opted to do my fellow book clubbers and Toastmasters a service and stay home today. I may get ambitious enough to throw some clothes in the washer and finish the vacuuming that I ran out of steam doing last night. I still hold out hope that tomorrow will be the day I wake up well slept and feeling almost myself again.

What I've learned from this experience - or more accurately been reminded of - is that while my tolerance for pain is impressive, my tolerance for illness isn't. I'm more of a "man-baby" (and I agree that's a sexist term, by the way) than my husband is. (Which leads me to wonder if all those Facebook quizzes that identify me as male are tuned in to some part of my psyche that usually gets ignored.) Apparently I'm not invincible, and to make matters worse, I'm a complete whiner on those rare occasions when I do "catch something." It's been long enough that I'd forgotten that.

Perhaps it's illness, rather than drink, that sheds light on the parts of us that like to stay hidden - in my case the need to see myself as impervious to germ-warfare, and to be viewed - if only temporarily - as just another vulnerable human being. This concern that I'll be seen as "weak" if I admit to feeling badly is a truth that I struggle to accept with any degree of grace.

I'm grateful for the good health that I've always experienced, and that the reminder to be more mindful was a 'flu bug, and not a life-threatening illness. Many face trajectories that are dire, and months, years - sometimes a lifetime - of vulnerability.

I am not entitled to good health - and it's time for me to stop taking it for granted.

Blowing Off Steam - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Blowing Off Steam

Simmer down or ease up,
compose or decompress;
take a weight off your mind -
relieve a little stress.
Cool your jets and chill out -
release bad energy -
rid yourself of anger
and negativity.
When you're feeling irate
frustrations you must vent,
shed tears if you need to
and cry until they're spent.
Work it through; discuss it -
converse with those you trust;
assuage with loud music
and dance your woes to dust.
Clean your house completely,
indulge a primal scream -
Find your chosen method
and go let off some steam!

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 19, 2019

Are you feeling stressed?

We all experience stress in our lives. Major life changes like the death of a loved one, a divorce, a major medical issue, unemployment, or a move will cause anxiety for everyone.

Each person reacts differently to stress; some can handle major calamities while appearing calm and collected, while others seem to fall to pieces over trifling concerns. Part of the problem lies in how we perceive our problems - some seem to see every single problem they encounter as an insurmountable obstacle, while others are better able to see where the really big problems lie, and focus on those problems without being too distracted by the minor irritants in their lives.

Oddly enough, I think I tend to get more bent out of shape over the niggling concerns than the bigger problems in my life. If I were to write a list of the things in my life that cause me the most stress, a whole lot of people with real problems would shake their heads in disbelief. However, I don't think I'm alone, I think this tendency to "sweat the small stuff" is an epidemic that will send far too many of us to early graves.

Stress affects every aspect of our lives; our bodies, our moods and ultimately our behaviors are all impacted by the way we respond to the stressors in our lives. We can't avoid stress - life inevitably serves up unpleasant surprises that may trigger symptoms of stress. Our heart will race when another driver passes too close and almost collides with us. Our hands will shake when we are asked to stand and address an unfamiliar crowd. We might feel nauseated when we're extremely frightened, or when confronted with terrible news. Emotions move to the forefront when stressors make their presence known - we may experience anger, frustration, sadness, or a feeling of being overwhelmed by our circumstances, and these feelings can cause us to react, behaving in ways that increase our own stress levels, and create feelings of discomfort in those around us.

The only thing about stress we can control is the way we react to it. I often handle it all wrong - I dwell on the situation until I feel like I'm going crazy, I lose sleep, I get angry and I create an unhealthy cycle - my mind is on high alert, I can't sleep, so the next day I'm more anxious and preoccupied with the problem so I can't sleep the next night either - or the next, or the next... Understanding your own negative behavioral patterns around stress can help you find better ways to cope.

I still fall into those patterns far too often, but I've learned that what really works best when I'm feeling stressed out is to get the negative feelings out quickly and productively. And when I say "productively", I mean in a way that helps me formulate a healthy plan for dealing with the circumstance at hand, without producing a lot of grief for the poor people around me.

Thus I've learned how I can best "blow off steam" and help myself get into the best mindset for problem solving. I can't promise these methods will work for everyone, but here are a few I can recommend:

1) Talk to someone you can trust - if possible, someone who can somehow relate to what is bothering you. It's helpful to verbally work out our thoughts and feelings while getting constructive input from people who know and care about us.

2) Practice self-care by laying down for a bit and "digesting" the problem silently. Some people love to unwind with a bath, but I'd rather spend quiet time in my room than sit in a tub and wrinkle up while my brain is de-wrinkling.

3) Exercise. I'm a big believer in taking a walk to de-stress. If the weather is foul or it's too late to go walking on my own, I'll probably clean my house or shoot darts - both wonderful ways to release pent up aggression! (And- as an added bonus - your aim improves and your house gets cleaner!)

4) Keep a "stress journal" - or simply learn how to vent reasonably in a regular journal. Reasonable venting includes being able to write your feelings down in a rational way. If it looks like chicken scratch and reads like the ranting of a lunatic (and will be a source of embarrassment later), then you might be better off keeping a separate book, or writing on a piece of paper you can discard later. Some of us find writing down our stressful feelings very cathartic.

5) Listen to some music. For me, loud music drowns out anger and frustration, and soft music soothes sadness. Add stress-busting bonus points if you dance along.

6) Go ahead and emote! Cry. Growl. Punch something you can't hurt. Scream (but only if it won't alarm your neighbours and prompt them to call 911). Do what makes you feel better, as long as it doesn't upset or hurt anyone around you.

Sometimes we all just need to let off a bit of steam.

Snow Days vs. So. Over. Snow. - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Snow Day!

Sitting at my window now,
sipping cider warm;
getting tired of snow - and how!
Waiting out the storm.
Every week a freeze and thaw -
ice on snow on ice -
on the bit I tend to gnaw;
Spring would be so nice!

Winter, I would not complain
if you would be kind -
but with all this freezing rain
I'm losing my mind!
Everything's a slip and slide,
everyone complains;
it's not safe to walk or ride -
cabin fever reigns!

- Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Feb 25, 2018 (aka - Snow Day #8!)

This is the winter of my discontent. Seriously.

I've always been a robust, northern-spirited kind of girl - not one to complain about winter, chilly temperatures, or snow - but this year I've thrown my hands in the air. Sharon cedes defeat - Mother Nature wins! Yee haw! (NOT!)

I grew up in Sault Ste. Marie - in what qualifies as "northern Ontario". (My exchange students, from Italy and Brazil, don't think it looks all that far north on the map. When I explain that it's about a nine hour drive from where we live now, that puts things into perspective.) A lot of us probably glamorize our youth. When I think back on winters in my hometown I see mostly blue skies and fluffy white snowflakes. I know the temperatures are colder there than they are here, but I don't remember feeling terribly cold on all those days my mother pushed us out the door to play in the snow. Let me emend that last sentence by adding the words - "except for my feet". My feet, as I recall, were perpetually frozen. I remember skating at the outdoor rink in my schoolyard, hobbling home, and gingerly taking off my boots - often convinced that my toes would fall out when I shook snow out of them. But frigid toes never stopped me, and the following night I'd be back at the rink.

Southern Ontario winters chill me to the bone. It always feels damp here. There's more wind here than I remember experiencing in my childhood...but this can all be explained away by a few unpleasant facts. My bones are getting old, and I've become crankier with age. (And that, friends, is saying something!) Every other winter, of the past sixteen that I've been back in this area, I've been stoic about bundling up daily and taking a walk - or two. This year, a glance outside my window elicits a "meh", and crazy as it sounds I usually opt to walk on my treadmill instead.

You could say it's a protest. Mother Nature and I have been arguing about the correct chronology of all things weather related for quite some time. I firmly believe that snow should fall in December and  stick around until the beginning of March. She prefers a teasing approach to the white stuff - a good dump in November, when nobody's ready for it, and the merest smattering at Christmastime. I mean, why let the kiddies enjoy a toboggan ride or two, or some outdoor skating when they could just hang around the house all day playing computer games? No, argues Mother Nature, it's far better to let the snow fall - with gusto - once they're back in school! That way you can all enjoy...SNOW DAYS!

This winter we've had eight snow days in these parts. All the way through January, one of the students we had living here (from Brazil) wanted a snow day. He finally got one on the day he was supposed to write his final exam. And he got another on the day that he wanted to go into the school and say good-bye to his friends. Now that he's safely back in Brazil we've had six more snow days! (For the record, he feels ripped off.) Another student we're hosting is getting tired of snow days, which always seem to occur when he has assignments almost due and questions for his teacher.

I have mixed feelings about snow days. I am a creature of habit, and having extra bodies around the house through the day cramps my style. I like to get my "stuff" done in a nice, quiet house during daylight hours, and have my evenings free to chill with the menfolk. Snow days snafu my routine, and inevitably I end up having to be more social by day, and then spend more of the evening entertaining myself. It's usually a bothersome situation to endure. On the other hand, sometimes the stars align just right - I have no serious obligations that day - and the extra company is nice.

However, eight snow days is pushing it - even for the genuine snow day enthusiast. If these days resulted from a substantial overnight snowfall that forced us all to wait out the plow, that would be okay - we'd be able to cope. Walkers would climb over snowbanks and walk, drivers would shovel out their cars, wait for the plow to come by, shovel out the mess the plow inevitably left behind, and go about their business. But this year, nothing has been that straight forward.

For the past four weeks, this is our repeating weather pattern: First we get snow, then a nice warm front. Then the snow begins to melt, and the rain comes. Then we get a deep freeze to solidify all of the runoff snow and rain. After that, Mother Nature - while laughing maniacally - throws a nice blizzard our way. What could be more hilarious than a nice, fresh layer of the white stuff on top of the skating rink in your driveway?

Snowplows be darned - as a friend posted on Facebook a few days back, we need ice-choppers! We don't need good treads on our boots, we need cleats! We don't need snow tires, we need chains! Ugh! This tough, northern girl is throwing in the towel. Yes - the pastoral white scene outside looks beautiful through my window, but I can't get out and enjoy the view without feeling like I'm risking life and limb. I've had enough already! Cabin fever has set in, and if my "cabin" was smaller my mind would be entirely gone...(Note for those who know me well: Keep your commentary kind!)

I'm sending out an SOS - or four! Stop our snowfall! Save our sanity! Strengthen our shovels! 

Please, Mother Nature - enough already! Send our Springtime!!

Hearts and Sciences: In Theory, and Practice - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Hearts and Sciences

Is there science to attraction;
a look, a scent, a call to action?
Are we hard-wired to some response?
Can we explain what the heart wants?
Is logic part of this process -
or is it just looks we assess?

All I can say is what I've known.
I love the traits that can't be shown,
and surely less love all would gain
if we loved not with heart and brain.
I like to think as my looks fade,
that somehow still, he's glad he stayed.

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Feb 12, 2019

Valentine's Day - love it, or hate it - is all about celebrating love. Sadly, the emphasis is usually put on romantic love - the hearts and flowers, "buy your gal a diamond" kind of love. I've been married for thirty years, and I have to say that Valentine's Day sets the expectations a little high. It makes those of us who've been in a relationship for a long time feel like we're all washed up in the romance department. Somehow, if there aren't bouquets, serenades and expensive gifts on offer - according to the ads and hype that accompany this auspicious holiday (and for most of us, there aren't) - we're boring old fuddy duddys who've lost all sense of romance.

Puh-lease! Let me tell you this:

Single, dating or married, Valentine's Day has always been a big fat load of hooey. It's a holiday manufactured to sell flowers, diamonds, and chocolate. I'm happy enough to skip the first two products altogether, and I'm perfectly capable of obtaining my own chocolate fix whenever I require it.

As a singleton, this holiday totally tanked. There were always parties I wasn't invited too, and lonely evenings spent alone. The 14th of February was the one night that I simply couldn't distract myself from my loveless state. I always felt that that day was invented for the sole purpose of rubbing my nose in the fact that I was currently desired by no one. Ugh.

Once I was married the babies came along quickly. There was no money for fancy gifts or dates. We'd often lose track of the date altogether, or merely wish each other returns of the day at bedtime - one way or another - wink.

Primarily the hype of Valentine's is geared toward those who are in "dating and discovering" mode; those experiencing that big hormonal rush and first rosy flush of feeling loved and wanted - those sickening folk who think they invented the thrill of desire....ugh. These are the people who are still "experimenting" with love - the ones who have yet to prove a single doggone thing about it!

Nevertheless, since that's what, and who, this holiday celebrates, I decided to research whether there is any sort of science to physical attraction. Maybe some of what I've found will encourage those who hate this holiday as much as I did in my youth. So here's a sampling of what my desultory research uncovered.

It's Not All About Looks!

The younger generation seems entirely sold on the notion that the spoils of love fall only to the beautiful. Instagram feeds this craziness. Here are a few "beauty" facts that I unearthed in my explorations:

- Men are more apt to be blinded by beauty - in part because they have 25% more neurons in their visual cortices, and therefore put more emphasis on visual stimuli and cues.

- What people find physically desirable depends on where they live. In poorer countries, men gravitate toward larger hips (seen as desirable for child-bearing) while men in wealthier nations are increasingly drawn to slender bodies. Women in poorer countries seek out masculine looking men, while women in wealthier parts of the world prefer less rugged features.

-Symmetry is the standard for beauty - not a perfect body or exotic features. Next to a perfectly balanced face, what most of the participants in various surveys mentioned seemed to want more (at least in a long term mate) was "average-ness". It would seem that while most in the dating phase are happy to hook up with someone gorgeous, the extremely good-looking are not seen as marriage or commitment material.

 - While there is much talk about the "Halo Effect" - a theory that most of us will perceive the beautiful people around us as being nicer than they are, there are also studies that indicate that the opposite is also true - those we consider kind, honest and faithful will begin to look more physically attractive to us as time goes on.

The Nose Knows!

Our sense of smell detects pheromones, which are involved in sexual attraction. Our noses can also detect which potential mate is more fertile, and which has a stronger immune system. We can be attracted, or repulsed, by the way a person smells - and it doesn't all come down to how sweaty and stinky a person may be. In fact, pheromones are more easily detected on a sweaty body - so a little gym stink might actually speed up the attraction process. A nasty cologne, however - in my opinion - will always slow it down! Another odd fact I found was that our noses can sniff out symmetry.

Odd Bits of Information

Personal experiences change our preferences in odd ways. One study I read mentioned that how happy our childhood was influences whether or not we'll be attracted to someone with the same traits as our opposite sex parent. Another said that if our parents were young when we we born we're more attracted to youthful faces, but if we're born to older parents we'll be attracted to more mature faces.

With men especially, body language plays a key role in attraction. Men are apparently more attracted to girls who know how to flirt. (Personal note: This explains the misery of my youth. I was never hugely smiley, and had no idea how to flick my hair seductively, or use my eyes to "come hither" effect. And crossed arms definitely don't help) Not great at flirting either? Wear red. Red is strongly associated with fertility displays and sex.

Men - if you want to attract a mate, get a dog. Dog ownership proves that you can take care of those around you, and presents you in a more affectionate light. If you can't get a dog, growing a beard seems to have a similar effect on the ladies, who perceive bearded men as strong and protective -  and better potential fathers.

My Experience (for what it's worth)

Theories abound about love and how to find it, but I can only tell my readers what I've experienced in my own "laboratory of love". I dated men who varied broadly in terms of attractiveness. Some I swooned over because they met my definition of handsome, others I fell for because they were fun or smart, or won me over with their personality and decency. The young are stupidly taken in by appearances, but bad experiences with the jerky, good-looking people out there will eventually prompt them to fish in deeper ponds. (I can attest to the fact that the best catches are found there.)

If you are single and frustrated, take heart in knowing that you smell good, and are a kind, decent soul. You are not destined to life in the "friend zone", and nice people don't always finish last. I'm nice, and I managed to find someone. My husband and I were friends before we dated, so I can attest to the fact that the "friend zone" is a good place to find long term partners. It's easy to fall "in love" with people we already care about and respect.

If none of what I've written in this post convinces you that attraction isn't all about appearance, and you think Valentine's Day is likely to be an annual curse, consider this - love and romance are two different things. Romance is a fleeting phase of one particular kind of love. Love itself is what matters. Do whatever you can to make this day special for the people you love - and who love you back. Give your mom a hug. Smile at a stranger. Hold the door for the happy soul whose arms are full of flowers and chocolate - maybe his/her "luck" will rub off on you. Or maybe some other lonely soul will notice the gesture.

Whatever the day offers you - or doesn't - choose to love. Love might not be logical or easily explained, but to me it makes perfect sense that whatever love we give finds its way back to us.

Happy Valentine's Day from the Muse : )

Forty Years On - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

This Old Dog

A bitter pill to swallow -
the years are whizzing by -
a truth that won't stay hidden,
and one I can't deny.
Old dogs don't take to teaching,
at least that's what some say,
but somehow I'm still learning
with ev'ry passing day.
I'm not too old to listen
when I hear common sense;
This dog isn't too constrained -
I'm not chained up, or fenced.
This old dog still gets to roam,
exploring new terrain;
this old dog is not too old
to exercise her brain!
This old dog still has a chance
to grow, and to improve.
I've still got new tricks to learn;
old habits to remove.

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 24th, 2019

This past year I've spent a lot of time with seventeen year olds. Currently we're host parents to two international students who attend our local high school - one from Italy, and one from Brazil. My husband works two jobs and is involved in municipal politics - he's a pretty busy guy. Thus I spend a lot more time with our students than he does.

We call the boys we now host our "Dream Team". They're not perfect, but they come close. It amazes me that they became such close friends so quickly, and that each of them enrich our home in different ways. They're smart, kind and generous - you can tell they've been raised by good people. They make me laugh every day.

Some days playing Host Mom to these kids makes me feel incredibly old, and on those days they're usually kind enough to tell me that I don't really seem old at all. On the other hand, sometimes they make me feel young. They give me permission to let my inner goofball out - something all adults ought to feel free to do more often, in my opinion.

Sometimes I regale them with stories of my youth - and they're kind enough to listen. They tell me that a lot of things have changed in the past forty years, and the more I listen to them, the more apt I am to believe them. These kids are smart - probably a lot smarter than they give themselves credit for being. They get motherly pep talks, and they take it all in stride. At times they'll concede to the fact that I have years of experience that they don't - but they don't let me off the hook when they think I'm not seeing the full picture. I like the fact that they think for themselves, and won't blindly accept every gem of wisdom I offer without question.

I remember seventeen like it was yesterday. I didn't think I was particularly smart or pretty, and was amazed when my first boyfriend came on the scene and did his best to convince me that I was both. Those days of hanging out with my best friends, Donna and Jeannie, are indelibly imprinted in my memory. I had some of the best friends of my life when I was seventeen - and I'm fortunate to still have maintained ties with some of those people. I might have mixed feelings about social media, but staying connected - and reconnecting - with my old friends has made my life happier.

Our students have commented that I seemed pretty wise at seventeen. When I told them I'd never been overly impressed with looks or status in my youth, they told me that I was smarter than most. I told them that I was always mistrustful of the kids who were beautiful and popular - they understood what I meant. The "medium" kids were the ones that needed - and appreciated - my friendship. I've learned that's still true forty years on. I was becoming certain of who I was at seventeen - not willing to compromise what I thought was important for the sake of fitting in. I tried to be kind to others, and I could get along with most of my peers. My teachers liked me. When I look back at who I was then, I realize that I was usually too hard on myself. I really was pretty level-headed - and even wise - as a teenager. I'm grateful that through the conversations I've had with these boys, I've had the opportunity to look back on myself - at their age - and see the best in my younger self.

Experience has taught me that friendship comes in unexpected places and packages.You become a host parent, and you hope you'll have a good experience - and be able to provide a good experience in return. In my first serious conversation with these two, I applauded them for being brave enough to travel to another country and immerse themselves in a foreign language every day for months on end. They had no real idea who they'd end up living with - sometimes we see profiles far enough in advance to exchange a few emails, but other times we have no contact with each other until we pick them up at the high school, just off the plane at Pearson airport - tired, and undecided about whether they're more desperate for a shower or sleep. As their temporary "parents", we hope they'll be nice kids who will mesh with the family well, that they won't be too homesick for family, or too disengaged to want to spend time with you.

My expectations have been surpassed. These boys are my friends. They converse with me on every imaginable subject. They ask me how I slept. They don't complain about my cooking, and they compliment me on my desserts. And sometimes they return my maternal pep-talks and tell me not to be hard on myself, sharing the kind of wisdom that you might not ever credit seventeen year olds with having.

"Don't give me that 'I'm old and can't do it' garbage", said one of them recently. "You're too smart to say that! And no, 'I'll try' either. Do - or do not. Do I have your word?"

We shook hands in agreement.

I'm not too proud to refuse to accept wisdom from the mouths of babes.

Forty years on, I've learned to appreciate who I was at seventeen, to be grateful that I'm no longer that age, and to relish the experience of sharing friendship with kids who are experiencing life at  seventeen. With their encouragement, this old dog just might master a few new tricks!

It's Easy to Forget - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Missing Pieces

The sky was dark, the stars were out,
the night was ripe for romance.
She felt him lightly touch her hand
and claim her for the first dance.
One dance led to another one;
One evening led to more -
each began to sense emotions
that they'd never felt before.
One twilight with her hand in his
he got down upon one knee,
and with an earnest, pleading gaze
asked, "Will you please marry me?"
The memory is clear to him
while she recounts the story -
hopes kindled, she asks, "What came next?"
He can't remember - sorry.
Another piece of life has fled,
his peaceful mood upsetting.
She gently smooths his fretful brow
and mourns all he's forgetting.
He's losing pieces of himself -
so much is disappearing -
and someday he'll forget her too;
at least that's what she's fearing.
She grips him tightly by the hand
to keep his feet from straying,
and as she gently guides his steps
her heart continues praying.
She pleads for strength to carry on;
he needs her constant tending.
She knows he'll soon be lost to her -
their days together ending.
The pieces that are lost to him
she clutches desperately -
his charming ways, his witty quips
and his once infectious glee.
His history is filled with holes -
his thoughts scatter to the breeze -
she's grateful he still knows her touch
as he gives her hand a squeeze.
Now he's a puzzle to himself
with pieces time erases;
she tries to catch his straying thoughts
and fit them in their places.

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, April 2006 (For those with Alzheimer's, and those who love and care for them.)

Years ago there was a woman in my congregation at church who faithfully brought her husband to church with her each Sunday. Maybe she hoped that seeing familiar faces and engaging in the religious rituals of a lifetime would trigger fond memories or calm him down, or maybe she simply felt he should not be left at home with a caregiver. Maybe she could not afford a caregiver. I can't address her motivation for bringing him along, but I can tell you that watching the two of them together affected me deeply. The fact that he was completely lost was as evident as the love she felt for him. Sometimes he would get up and wander, and she would patiently bring him back to his seat. Sometimes his agitation would build, and she'd guide him out to the foyer. From afar I watched the emotions play over her face - love, devotion, and heartbreak over what they were both losing.

Once a friend whispered to me, "You should have met him years ago. He was such a charming, intelligent and vibrant man."

Her description of him almost made me weep - they had both lost so much to Alzheimer's.

January is Alzheimer's Awareness month in Canada, and so I thought I would post their story as an illustration of what Alzheimer's looks like and what it robs us of. What could be more painful to a smart and witty person than suddenly forgetting chunks of his or her life? What could be more painful to those they love than watching the destruction of that individual as their memories fade?

My mother-in-law lived in a nursing home for the last seven years of her life. Most of the "serious cases" of Alzheimer's were kept in a locked wing upstairs for their own safety and protection. Those in the early stages were usually admitted to her floor. One particular woman was quite young - only in her late sixties. When she came to the nursing home she was still quite engaged, even though her memory was challenged and her intelligence was only intermittently apparent. Within a year she was moved upstairs, her eyes vacant and her memories gone. I barely knew her, but she and my mother-in-law had struck up a friendship when she was first admitted to care, so she was someone I paid attention to. Alzheimer's was ruthless with her, and her decline was swift and terrible to witness.

I find it interesting that January was the month chosen to draw attention to a disease that makes us forget. The first month in a new year, a time when we're intent on looking ahead to meeting fresh goals and challenges, is the time our attention is drawn to a monster that robs people of the past. Perhaps that's exactly why this month was chosen.

For those of us lucky enough to have capacity to remember, forgetfulness can imbue its own pain in our lives if we aren't vigilant. It's easy to forget a lot of important things. We might forget why we fell in love with the person we're with. We might forget who our friends are. We might forget how much we have to be grateful for, how much we have to offer the world, or how wonderful the world around us really is. As we make resolutions for 2019, let's resolve to try harder to remember those things.

We all lose a little of our sharpness as we begin to age. We misplace our glasses and car keys, and we forget to buy toilet paper until only one bathroom in four has a few sheets on a roll. These are annoying little inconveniences compared to losing the relationships around us because we've grown careless in our efforts to remember; they're irksome trivialities compared to forgetting what used to bring joy into your life.

As we come into 2019 let's resolve to remember what's most important in our lives, and to build on those memories in the future. Let's resolve to find the pieces that are missing from our lives and put them back into their rightful places. We can't control the future, but we can better control what happens in our current lives if we hold firmly to the best pieces of the past. We won't cure Alzheimer's tomorrow, but we can offer comfort to those afflicted and offer assistance to their heartbroken and harried loved ones who bear the burden of all the lost pieces of shattered lives.

It's far too easy to forget - so let's try to remember those who can't, and remember for those who no longer can.