Cindy on February 27th, 2009
“Silly is you in a natural state, and serious is something you have to do until you can get silly again.” — Mike Myers
Who knew? Who knew that in the midst of a grim recession, someone would dream up a bizarre blanket with arms and other people would actually buy it? Yeah, I’m talking about the Snuggie. Everyone in my family has a wonderfully warped sense of humor. For weeks my son and I have had fun mocking the Snuggie infomercial, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when he mailed his dad and me a mystery package containing two sage green Snuggies.
On my Facebook profile, several friends goaded me into posting a photo of myself in my new Snuggie. But since I have no pride whatsoever, I’ve decided to share it here with everyone. My only regret? I don’t have the red Snuggie, which would surely make me look like a member of the Emperor’s Royal Guard in Stars Wars. Maybe I’ll order one, and while I’m at it, I’ll get myself a Shuffles Shoe Mop. — CL
Cindy on February 26th, 2009
How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were? — Satchel Paige
Whether we use Nice ‘n Easy to hide our graying temples or refuse to show our drivers’ licenses, most of us secretly hope to appear younger than we are. But why is it so hard for smart women to age honestly? Last month, I polled several of my middle-aged female friends and colleagues, asking if they lie about their age. Since I promised not to use their real names, the answers that came back to me were candid â and as eye-opening as Olay’s best anti-wrinkle serum. Read more in this week’s MIDPOINT column in The Oakland Press.
Cindy on February 24th, 2009
There are two things people want more than sex and money — recognition and praise. –Mary Kay Ash
Everyone’s talking about the Oscars this week — the clothes, the stars, “the winners.” And over at Whole Latte Life, Joanne DeMaio recently asked what it means to be rewarded, honored, or crowned in some way for the work we do. She got me thinking.
A few years ago, when my son was a child, he heard me talking about the annual press awards for local newspaper writing. A couple of days later he presented me with a “World’s Best Mom” certificate that he’d made with his crayons and markers. I think I was working a little too hard at my writing career in those days. So that handmade “award” from my son was both a sweet reminder and a wake-up call, not to mention a tremendous honor. I still can’t think of a prize that could ever top that one. –CL
Cindy on February 22nd, 2009
Waiting is the yeasting of the human soul. — Sue Monk Kidd
One of my favorite traditions at our local church is the silent meditation service held during the Lenten season. The midweek candlelit service is organized by church members, and sometimes an organist provides soulful background music.
The service is offered during Lent because it is, as T.S. Eliot wrote in his poem, Ash Wednesday, âa time of tension between dying and birth.â It is the perfect opportunity for reflection; a time to meditate on the fearsome darkness of the tomb and the pending miracle of Easter.
While a silent service is simple enough to plan, it isn’t as easy to carry out. Few of us are comfortable âbeing stillâ in a sanctuary with other people sitting near us. We expect to be enlightened, educated, entertained, preached to, or otherwise distracted from the white noise in our heads. Meditation makes us fidgety.
As Sue Monk Kidd notes in her midlife memoir, When the Heart Waits: Spiritual Direction for Life’s Sacred Questions, one of the guiding principles of American culture is âAll lines must keep moving.â Even when we’re home alone, we rush to fill the void with mindless activity or television. Kidd says we resist getting quiet because we’re afraid to confront our own darkness.
Yet real miracles occur during moments of being still â and waiting in the dark. Spring bulbs do their hardest labor underground before blooming. Our minds sort out conflicts in dreams while we’re sleeping. Likewise, the work of spiritual growth and healing is done in silence.
The time I woke up alone in a dark hospital room immediately comes to mind.
It was just past midnight, a few hours after my second hip-replacement surgery. Barely conscious, I awoke to discover my legs were strapped to a large foam wedge to keep me from moving. While I realized this was essential to my recovery, I still felt trapped and terrified. Equally scary was the sensation of waking up alone in a strange room. (I didn’t recall being wheeled in after surgery.) And while most hospitals are buzzing with activity during the day and evening, the earliest hours of the morning are eerily quiet.
Breaking the silence, I shouted for help and pushed every button within reach. It was the first time I’d experienced a full-blown panic attack. When my nurse arrived, she explained that my panic was probably triggered by withdrawal from the anesthesia. She promised to check back periodically. Meanwhile, I kept a light on above my bed. Afraid to fall asleep, I kept vigil until daybreak.
By the time the sun rose, my drug-induced paranoia had worn off, and I accepted my temporary state of immobility. And in a luminous moment of grace, I suddenly knew I’d been given a second chance. I knew that I would heal and walk again. It would take time, but everything would be okay. And it was. Three days later, I was released early from the hospital to recover in bed at home.
A week before that last surgery, my friend Jenny had sent me a note of encouragement, which included a quote by Patrick Overton. Here’s how it begins:
When you come to the edge of all the light you have and must take a step into the darkness of the unknown, believe that one of two things will happen to you: Either there will be something solid for you to stand on, or, you will be taught how to fly.
I’ve posted that quote where I can see it on my desk every day. It’s the one I like to remember when I’m stumbling in the dark or feeling stuck — or waiting impatiently for a new season to begin. — Cindy La Ferle
–This essay appeared in slightly different form in The Daily Tribune (Royal Oak, MI) and is included in my essay collection, Writing Home–
Cindy on February 19th, 2009
Dreams are renewable. No matter what our age or condition, there are still untapped possibilities within us and new beauty waiting to be born. – Helen Keller
Have you ever found yourself in a position of extreme vulnerability — when you had to rely on others to help you navigate even the most ordinary routines? Most of my life, I’ve struggled to appear self-reliant and capable. My first hip-replacement surgery changed all that. You can read more about it in this week’s MIDPOINT column in the online edition of The Oakland Press.
âIf you missed the introductory âMidpointâ column in The Oakland Press, click here.â
