Bare Walls

I’m not a minimalist, but I play one on TV.  Ha!  My daughter doesn’t like my naked walls.  She declared the other day ‘when I have a job and a house, I’m going to buy a lot of art and put it all over my walls.’  I think she says that because the only thing up in my house is a large mirror –    N-O-T-H-I-N-G else.  I like simple and uncluttered spaces.  I’m not a very fussy person; and my style is very plain.  I would like to say that I’m a minimalist, but I’m not.  As a matter of fact, I have too much.  Right now I’m sitting on a few boxes in my bedroom and many boxes and bags in the garage.  All full of stuff.  Don’t ask me what stuff.  Okay, stuff I brought back from different trips.  Stuff I bought just in case someone has a baby.  Stuff to give to someone at church.  Stuff to send to Goodwill.  Stuff for a garage sale; and stuff I have to go through and maybe throw away.  My kids are teens, but I still have a play table full of Legos, army men and other trinkets.  I also have coloring books and boxes of crayons and coloring pencils.  I keep them because when my nephews and nieces come over…..well, you know.  I also have to cull my books and pick through the sets of silver.  I have clothes in my closet I haven’t worn in years.  I have beach purses I’ve never worn to the beach.  My linen closet has too many ‘just in case’ towels.  Just in case what?  I decide to host the Rangers overnight?  I’m just not ruthless when it comes to discarding things; but I do have empty walls.  Maybe someday I’ll find great art to put up on my walls, but for now, I love those bare walls. 

 

 

 

9/11

I was at home with my mother, my two-year old son and one-year old daughter.  I was recently unemployed and newly separated.  It was a tough day.  My mom was watching the kids while I racked my brain and tried to figure out how I would pay for my mortgage, my car, my bills, groceries and everything else two toddlers would need.  Then we got the call.  We immediately turned on the TV and the images left us speechless.  I remember vividly how the children, so young and unaware, kept playing around us while my mother and I could only watch in stunned horror.

My family immigrated to the United States via New York City.  We grew up in the Upper West Side.  We lived there for 14 years and it was our home until we moved to the South.  But having grown up in New York made us New Yorkers.  We didn’t believe we were immigrants, didn’t feel like we were immigrants - we were from New York.  And, as everyone knows, New York is a state of mind.  So that was us.  Being raised in New York meant that our roots, our friends, family and our hearts were still there.  When the cowards hit 'our' towers, it was as if they had bombed one of our homes.  We were directly impacted.  Fortunately for us, none of our friends or family members were hurt or died during the bombings.  But so many others were.  Thousands.  And our hearts ached.  We could not feel anything other than we were part of this catastrophe.  Experiencing the disaster from a distance didn’t spare us from the grief.  For days we were like zombies.  The pictures of the devastation running over and over in our minds. It was all anyone could discuss in sadness and disbelief.  We prayed and watched the news and reports incessantly.  We marveled upon hearing the side stories of near misses – the employee who woke up late and didn’t take his regular train, the flight attendant who switched routes with another at the last minute, the heroic efforts of so many police officers and firefighters.  This event forever changed the lives of so many in New York City and around this country.  The unity felt during those days was palpable.  We all felt like New Yorkers.  We all felt like Americans.

Today I remember all the beautiful souls who died in 9/11.  And I give thanks for their lives, each of their names, and their legacy.  We will never forget. 

Clean Slate

I don’t know anyone who likes moving.  I haven’t moved in the past 16 years, even though I have been tempted several times.  I’ve seen a lot of friends and family move over the years and it’s always a tedious, boring and stressful process.  With the culling of clothing, books, kitchenware, tools and taking the time to get rid of years of stashing and maybe even a little hoarding.  It’s not always easy to weed through meaningful family treasures and mementos or souvenirs from vacations of long ago!!  They all bring back memories. 

But a move forces you take a critical look at your possessions and helps in the downsizing.  Nobody wants to take unwanted or unneeded stuff with them.  Who doesn’t like the idea of a clean slate?  When you move, you always have a fresh start.  No matter where.  Whether it’s an apartment, a house, or even an office, you have the great opportunity to begin anew.  Thankful for the prospect of a new beginning, a new launch, or even the probability of a new creation.  But it’s still a lot of work! 

Always an Opportunity

I doubt anyone, except lawyers and judges, feels comfortable in a court of law.  Although my case was not without its repercussions, it was not as ugly or contentious as others I heard that day.  The cases were mostly family issues tended by a judge who was either too tired of her job or going through some serious issues herself.  She was not pleasant, patient or kind.  Far from it.  She scolded everyone for the most minor things, such as not speaking clearly or not giving her the documents she asked for as quickly as she wanted them.  Her behavior was perfunctory, rude, impatient and unfeeling.  I suppose I expected a little different from her since this was family court after all.

A woman in her late 50s approached the bench.  She felt lucky, she told the judge, because the judge spoke Spanish.  Obviously I understood her.  She told a very exasperated judge that her daughter and son-in-law were in jail and would not be out for seven years.  She needed to take custody of her granddaughter.  The judge kept barking questions at her: ‘why did you bring the child with you?’ ‘Because I had no one to leave her with.’ ‘Where are your orders?’  ‘I don’t know what that means.’ ‘Do you think your daughter will contest this?’ ‘Ummm, no, she’s in jail for at least seven years.  I’m the only family my granddaughter has.’  Then she barraged this humble lady with more questions that she didn’t have a clue how to answer.  ‘Do you have an attorney?  Are you going to get one?  Did you notify your daughter?  When did you do that?  You have to notify her again.  Do you have new orders?  Do you know what orders are?  If you don’t know someone needs to tell you what they are.  You have to get them from the library.  You can’t come into my court without orders.’  The woman was reduced to nothing; didn’t have a thing to say.  The judge handed her a piece of paper telling her a court date had been set.  As she walked away holding her little granddaughter’s hand I couldn’t help but feel compassion for her.  She needed help.  I handed her my name and telephone number on a piece of paper and told her she should call me and I would explain to her what she needed to do.  She smiled at me through her tear-stained face and just said, ‘I will call you.  My name is Juanita.’ 

Today I’m grateful that, if we ask Him, God always gives us a tender heart and the opportunity to help others. 

 

Strength

I have met a lot of people in my life that I considered to be strong.  I’m not talking about brute strength, but strength of character, dignity and resolve.  For various reasons, they just seemed strong; were strong, are strong.  Like the single mom of eight children abandoned by her ex-husband.  When we met, she had been alone for many years; yet her children were the most well-cared-for kids I knew at the time.  The most polite, clean, well-dressed, kind and friendly.  She seemed to permanently wear a smile on her face; a genuine smile.  And when she greeted you with a hug and her ‘my love,’ ‘my sweet,’ or ‘my baby,’ you just knew she meant it!   She embraced you as if she hadn’t seen you in years.  She always had a word of encouragement for others.  Whenever I was invited or crashed at her house for lunch, she always served me a special plate taking care to give me exactly what I wanted to eat.  When she spoke, her words were a boost, a lift, so soothing:  ‘tell me how you’re doing precious, and how is God blessing you today?’  It really made me forget about whatever nonsense was going on.

Conversely, I have met a lot of people who seemed strong and were far from it.  Like the handsome guy in New York.  He was not only tall, dark and handsome; he was also smart, sensitive, and kind.  A guy anyone would want to go out with; except me.  We talked a few times.  It seemed to me that he tried too hard, thought too highly of himself and his good looks, his sensitivity, his kindness.  He thought we clicked; I didn’t.  And then I really had to tell him I wasn’t interested in a relationship.  Oh boy.  Things fell apart quickly.  He stopped talking to me, completely – understandable to a point; except we hung around in the same circles and went to the same church.  He immediately started dating a pretty girl we both knew.  And then….he started calling again, and again, and again.  Aaaarrrghhh!

There are many qualities I appreciate and admire.  But strength is a big one.  We all know people whose strength is undeniable and true.  I can give thanks I have known many in my life. 

 

Copyright

She was a ‘friend,’ and we were discussing a very difficult situation I was experiencing.  She immediately went on to tell me that my ‘thing’ was nothing compared to what she was going through.  She one upped me.  Apparently, I had a little problem, while she had numerous, gigantic and intricate issues.  I didn’t know how to react.  It wasn't a competition.  Which led me to think - no one has a copyright on problems.  We all have them.  Big or small.  Some of us have them often.  Some of us have them often and a lot of them.  Sometimes we throw ourselves a pity party and think about our huge struggles.  We view our situation as the biggest, baddest, ugliest crisis.  No one on earth could be going through this.  No one!!!  We would like to assume that having somebody else’s ‘easier’ problems would be better for us.  We look at others who might not be going through the pain or the discomfort that we have and think we would be better off.  We could handle THAT problem quickly; easily.  But would we?  Could we?  Sometimes you hear people comparing problems – it’s like a contest – ‘you don’t get it, my problem is bigger, uglier, and more constant than yours.’  In the end, I don’t think any of us would really trade our problems for someone else’s.  We would like to think so, but if we were to assume the whole problem, and all the people involved, and all the consequences, we would surely always choose our own problem.  We would know how to handle that!  Thanking today that God gives me the grace and strength to handle my own problems. 

Dichotomy

Alcatraz Island Penitentiary was the first maximum security federal penitentiary housing the worst criminals of that era; including world-famous Mafioso Al Capone.  From 1934 – 1963, Alcatraz was designed to hold prisoners who continuously caused trouble at other federal prisons, a "last resort prison" to hold the worst of the worst criminals who had no hope of rehabilitation.  None of the staff were trained in rehabilitation, but were highly trained in security.  The prison itself was ‘escape proof’ with its full metal doors and surrounded by frigid waters and high currents.  Prisoners were counted 13 times a day in tiny cells that were 9 feet by 5 feet tall.  These cells were bare but for the diminutive beds, toilets and washbasins.  A small metal board protruding out of the wall served as a desk.   Alcatraz was touted as the toughest and most fearsome of prisons.  Prisoners complained about brutal punishments and inhumane conditions.  They had to obey a strict code of silence; and were only allowed to speak quietly during their 20 minute meal times.  If a prisoner was in isolation, he was relegated to his cell, ate his meals there, and had no other privileges but to be let out one hour a week in the courtyard – always alone.  On weekends, most prisoners were allowed to play for a few hours in the courtyard.  Favorite past times were softball, handball and checkers. 

What was so interesting to me is that, the penitentiary workers - guards and their families also lived in this very small island. Their living quarters were primarily four buildings of fully remodeled apartments for families, and single rooms for bachelors.  There were a few houses for senior officers.  At one point, there were 52 families living on Alcatraz Island, including 126 women and children of all ages.  The workers also had a social hall and club.  It was a venue for the guards and their families to unwind.  The club had a small bar, library, large dining and dance floor, billiards tables, ping pong tables and a two-lane bowling alley.  It was the center of social life on the island for the employees of the penitentiary.  It regularly hosted dinners, bingo events, bowling tournaments, and movies on the weekends.  The club was responsible for organizing numerous special events on the island, anything from ice cream and watermelon feasts to Halloween and Christmas parties.

Prisoners and guards and their families all lived on the same island. The guards and prisoners even ate the same food during the day; but with obvious vast differences in lifestyles - the imprisoned and the free.  While former prisoners recall the horrors of isolation, strict rules and punishment, the families of prisoners remember their days on the island as quiet.  The children’s lives were as normal and free as can be – days spent going to school, playing games all over the island, and fun parades. 

Alcatraz closed decades ago and is now a tourist site run by National Park Service.  It is visited by over 1 million people a year.  But learning a little about it made me realize the stark differences of the captured and the free.  I give thanks for our freedom today.