Wish Upon A Star

“Star light, star bright;

First star I see tonight;

Wish I may, wish I might;

Have the wish I wish tonight.”

And then we’d shut our eyes and make a wish.  Right?

I think each of us grew up with that little poem, those hopes, those dreams.  Those wishes. 

I wonder sometimes how many wishes I’ve made looking up at the stars in my lifetime.  Stretched out in the backyard.  Sitting on the dock at the lake.  Around the campfire while we stuffed ourselves with s'mores.

My daughters, Hannah and Emily and I decided that the brightest star nearest the moon was their grandfather . . . my dad . . . watching down over us.  Just keeping a watchful eye. 

I know that I’ve spent some nights in silence as I considered him watching us, wondering what he thought of me, my life, my family.  I wish my dad would have been around for my kids.  How they would have loved him, and he, them.  But he had passed on well before I met my wife and we had our kids.

And, about those wishes . . .

As a kid, my wishes were simple.  Kid stuff.  All about me, as most kids’ wishes tend to be.

As I got older, the wishes were more like bargains.  You know the kinds where we’d say something like, “If I get this, then I’ll . . .”

And then as I got older yet, and after Kim and I had children, my wishes became about them.  Keeping them safe.  Having them grow up strong and confident.  Finding someone to love and more importantly, someone who will love them.  Someone to take care of them.  Keeping them from harm. 

Wishing for their happiness.  That their lives be fulfilling.  That their dreams would come true.

But the thing about a dream is that it doesn’t happen on its own.  Dreams must be pursued.  Dreams must be worked for.

I mean, if wishes just happened because you saw a star and made a wish . . .

No, wishes like dreams, have to be worked for.  There should be some sort of effort.  A plan. 

Wishes are like life . . . they have to be lived.  Any wish worth having is like a goal . . . gone after, pursued. 

Otherwise, wishes like dreams, are just hopeful and happy thoughts.  In time, forgotten.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

My Favorite Room

My Favorite Room is our downstairs family room.  Hands down favorite. We just painted it in a warm tan, almost but not quite adobe.  The color embraces you, welcomes you. 

It’s decorated with Navajo art.  Sand paintings, small and large.  Painted tiles of pueblos and a desert ranch.  A peace pipe.  A large painting of a native women gazing at a pueblo dwelling from a balcony.

I’m not sure why or how I’ve come to love the Navajo culture.  I think it was early on when I’d read Louis L’Amour westerns.  My dad had a large paperback library and I’d snatch them after he’d read one, sometimes rereading the same one over and over.  My dad knew I was reading them, so every now and then, I’d find one on my dresser or my pillow.  He and I liked the Sackett adventures the most. 

Later on I started reading Tony Hillerman and it was he who introduced me to Jim Chee and Joe Leaphorn and the Navajo culture and country.  Since then, I’ve read and studied a bit on my own.  And our downstairs family room is our . . . my . . . tribute to those people.

My Favorite Room is peaceful.  Cool in summer.  Warm in winter.  Restful. 

I can think.  Imagine.  Watch a movie.  Rest and sometimes take a nap.  Write a little . . . okay, a lot.

It’s my sanctuary.  My get away.

My Favorite Room.

I think each of us has a place where we go when we need to.  We need a place to go.  To recharge.  Retreat.  Regroup.  To think and plan.  Perhaps quietly celebrate.  Maybe lick our wounds.  Sometimes alone.  Sometimes with others.  Mostly alone.

Each of us needs a place like that.  Without it, we run out and get used up like a battery that loses its power or energy.  Without it, we wind down and can’t wind back up.  Without it . . .

I suggest you discover one of your own. 

Within your house like mine.  Maybe outside of your house.  The back deck facing a woods.  A riverbank.  A route you take for a walk or for a ride on your bike. 

Make it your own.  Use it when needed.  And perhaps, even when it isn’t needed.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

 

Take A Different Road

I’m pretty much a creature of habit.  Perhaps we all are.

When Emily and I drive to school, I take one of three ways, usually the same way.  Hannah and I took the same route.  I guess I’ve always done this sort of thing.

I remember as a teacher in Wisconsin, one of my department mates was amazed that I had lived in the same community for five or six years, but didn’t really know my way around.  Mark would say, “Just get in your car and drive sometime.  Really, just drive!”

But I didn’t. 

Instead, I’d ask him for directions, take out a map (way before GPS was born) and otherwise get lost a lot.  As I stated in a previous post (I, Compass), I suffer from Anti-Directional Lewis Syndrome.  It is a malady that affects most of us in the family.

So as a result, I stick to mostly the same route each day, day after day . . .

My wife, Kim, knows the county much better than I do.  It could be because she teaches in a school that is the furthest North in the county so she had to find different ways to get from home to school and back again because of the volume of traffic that exists in the D.C. Metro and Northern/Central part of Virginia. 

I think Kim knows the county better than I do partly due to the fact that she teaches Behind The Wheel (Driver Education) so the kids take her all sorts of places.  Mostly Behind The Wheel is safe, except for the time a young lady drove up over the curb and into the woods (yes, really!). 

But because she allowed kids to drive her places, she’s seen more, knows more routes, and can get around much easier than I can. 

Got me thinking . . .

What if I . . . we . . . experimented a bit with our routine?  If we broke out of our norm?  If we stepped out of our pattern?  Stretched a bit?  Explored a little?  Opened ourselves to new experiences?

If we decided to take a different route, a different road, a different path, it might not be the fastest or the quickest and could actually take us longer.  It might make us uncomfortable.  It might test our patience.

But . . .

It might make life . . . our life, our world more interesting.  We might see a little more.  We might learn a little more . . . about our world . . . about ourselves.  About life.  Something to try.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

 

 

Searching For Light

Searching For Light 

About four years ago, some friends gave us a potted orchid as a housewarming gift.  We placed it on the windowsill above our sink and it eventually bloomed into a pale lilac flower.  We keep it in the sunlight and water it every other day.

Next to it is a dark red or burgundy plant that our youngest, Emily, got about four or five years ago to conduct a science experiment on. It doesn’t take as much water, but like the orchid, loves the sun.

They sit side by side on the windowsill soaking up sun and taking in the water we give to them.

In the four or five years we’ve had them, they’ve grown bigger, together, so Kim had to transplant them into bigger pots.

As the plants grow, the stalks or flowers reach out to the sun Searching For Light.  Eventually, they push against the screen, so I turn them to give the plants more room.  But in a day or so, the stalks and flowers are again pushing up against the screen, so I turn them once more.

On and on, over and over. 

It doesn’t matter how often I turn the plants, they continue Searching For Light.

When I lived in Southern California, one December it had rained for all or part of twenty-seven or twenty-eight days.  As I recall, the first several days were no big deal.  But as the days stretched onward, we became restless, irritable, and in general down in the dumps.  When the rain finally stopped and the sun reappeared just like it does most every day in Southern California, I saw people stop and stare up at the sun, me included. 

We became happier, more content, and our mood lightened.

Searching For Light.

People, like plants, seek out the sun.  We Search For Light.  Not only in the literal sense, but also in the figurative sense.  Living in darkness isn’t normal. I know it happens.  I know we need to recharge our ‘batteries’.  We need down time.  We need peace and quiet.

But we need light.  Like plants, we seek it. We Search For light.

And I contend that we must bring light to each other.  There are those who shine so brightly, who we enjoy being around, who just make us happy.  We seek them out.  And, unfortunately, there are those who bring darkness to us.  Who sap strength, happiness, and joy from us.

So, as you Search For Light, do you extend that light to others?  Do you bring joy and happiness to those around you?  As others around you Search For Light, do you shine it back to them?  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!   

The Power Of Touch

I sort of always knew, at least intuitively, that touch is important.  In some ways, touch is as important in communication as words and gestures are.  At times, so much is conveyed with a touch that words become superfluous.

I remember back in undergrad in one of my psychology classes talking baby monkeys.  In one experiment, they were separated from their mothers and placed in cages with only a terrycloth puppet monkey to cling to.  Obviously cruel even though we did learn much from that study.  There were developmental setbacks in comparison to other baby monkeys who had a mother and siblings with which to grow. 

There was a study about an orphanage in a foreign country whose children were not thriving, even dying, because of a lack of contact with other human beings.  Finally a doctor instructed nurses and aides to hold the children for periods of time throughout the day and night.  Kids began to thrive.

The Power Of Touch.

My wife teaches middle school and she’ll come home and complain that “the kids just can’t keep their hands away from each other.  They’re always touching, grabbing, or poking someone!”

Little kids come by it naturally and honestly.  Visit a Kindergarten class at story time.  Kids sit so close to one another and to the teacher that they’re almost on top of one another.  Middle school kids can’t just hold hands or sling an arm around another’s shoulders innocently without provoking thoughts of sexual innuendo.  So, they poke.  They grab.  They touch.  Safer that way.  No one can ‘accuse’ them of inappropriate contact.  Of something sexual.

Sad.  Really sad.

It perpetuates what I call “Skin Hunger”.

We are made to touch, to hold, to caress.  There are those among us who don’t have this opportunity.  No one touches them.  No one holds them.  No one caresses them.

“Skin Hunger”.

My kids tell me from time to time to keep my hands to myself.  I’m a toucher.  A holder.  My kids will never wonder about that existential question: “Do I Exist?” because I touch them often.  I hug them and I kiss them for the heck of it.  Whether they need it or want it or not.  Maybe mostly because I need it.  But I also know it’s good for them, too.  And good for me. 

When they were babies, I’d hold them.  A lot.  With Hannah, I took the late, middle of the night feeding because it was just Hannah and me in the rocking chair.  With Emily, she’d seek me out, crawl up on my lap and fall asleep.  I was her teddy bear. 

I have to admit, I miss those times.  Miss them a lot.

I grew up in a family of touchers, huggers and kissers. It’s in my DNA.  It’s the way I’m wired.  I didn’t grow up in a cage with a terrycloth puppet to cling to.  I didn’t have to worry about growing up without anyone touching me, hugging me or kissing me.

The Power Of Touch.

Kids, big and small, young or old need to touch and be touched.  Obviously, there are appropriate ways and appropriate times.  I get that.  But it doesn’t lessen the need or the impact of what a simple touch can convey.  It communicates so much.  The love we have for one another.  The importance we place on one another.  So, I give you permission to give The Power Of Touch to others.  Tell them, “Lewis said so!”  They might not understand, but they’ll like it nonetheless.  And you will too.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

All In The Planning

There are some things we do in life that don’t need a lot of planning.  Choosing a movie.  Where to go out to eat, unless it’s a fancy restaurant that needs reservations. 

Sometimes where you go on vacation.  I have a family member that just packs up the car and takes off with only a vague idea of direction or destination.  I find that a bit adventurous for my taste, maybe a bit scary, but if it works for them- and so far it has- great!

There are some things that need planning and practice. 

Jumping out of an airplane is one that comes to mind. 

First of all, I’ve never done that and I can’t picture myself ever doing that unless the plane is taking an unfortunate nosedive and is out of control.  But for the jumper, the chute has to be packed just right and I would suspect the back-up as well.  I would think the jumper would have some instruction and perhaps some practice.  The jump-site would need to be scoped out and someone would have to tell the jumper when to jump. 

All of that takes a fair amount of planning.

I would think a rock climber needs to plan and practice.  First of all, one needs to be in shape. For some of us, that can take some time.  Perhaps practicing on small hills and bluffs with a slight incline might be in order.  The climber has to plan each hand-hold, each foot-hold.  Unless the climber is free-climbing, a safety harness and the special hooks and clamps and guide rope have to be chosen for the best possible location. 

For the climber, the results of not planning, not practicing could be tragic.

There is a multimillionaire who, a long time ago before he was ever considered rich, wrote two goals on a piece of paper.  What he wanted to achieve in life.  He folded it in a nice, neat, tidy square and to this day, still keeps it in his wallet.  When he doesn’t feel like getting out of bed in the morning, he pulls out that tattered square, unfolds it, reads his two goals, and then gets up.  Those two goals are his reason for getting out of bed.  Those two goals are his purpose.

Do we have a plan?  Do we have a purpose?

Do we just jump into life and head off with a vague idea of where we’re going and the direction we’re headed in?  Do we dare jump out of a plane without checking the chute?  Do we climb hills and mountains without practice, without positioning our hands and feet just right lest we fall?  Tragically?

I think there are times in life for “chancing it”.  There are times when we can just “wing it”.  There’s a time and a place for that.

There are other times when we need to plan. There are times when we need to practice.  Most of the time, we need to have a goal and a direction.  Without it, like the climber who didn’t practice, who didn’t plan, who didn’t watch where a hand or foot was placed, we fail.  We fall.  Often, tragically.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Knots And Tangles

Remember Slinkys?  I think every kid had one at one time or another. 

I couldn’t ever get one to work right.  I mean, I’d put it on the top stair and start it down the next and instead of doing its “Slinky thing”, it would tumble down in a lump.  Without the grace and agility shown in the commercials.

Perhaps I was doing it wrong, but I don’t know if it’s even possible to do a Slinky wrong.

Hannah was about three or four when she handed me her Slinky.  It was a tangled mess.  She said, “Daddy, can you fix this?”

Hmmm . . .

I held it in my hand and stared at it, wondering where I might even begin.   Hannah must have recognized my consternation, so she said, “Just give it to William.  He can fix it.”  It should be noted that William is her big brother, about eleven years old at the time.

Another hmmm . . .

I felt my “daddy-hood” slip a bit.  I mean, daddies can fix just about anything, right?  Well evidently, not this one.

Knots, on the other hand, I’m pretty good at.  Big or small.  String or even fine jewelry.  I usually get it.  I see it as a challenge.  A puzzle.  I find that surprising because I’m not particularly patient and my fingers are stubby and fat.  My thumbs don’t work like they once did.  A little pain here and there.  But all in all, I can handle knots.  I like them actually.

Got me thinking.

Some days, even some weeks go by and life is pretty good.  No problems.  No worries.  We breeze through.

No Knots.  No Tangles.

Then there are other days, even some weeks, maybe even months, where there is one Knot after another.  One big Tangle we can’t unravel.  Sometimes the more we try, the worse it gets.  We pull one end and the Knot gets tighter.  Pull a different end, and the Tangle becomes worse.

In Hannah’s case, she couldn’t untangle her Slinky by herself.  She asked me, her dad, who failed without an attempt.  So, she chose someone else, someone she trusted and believed could help her.  She went from one to another until she got the help she needed. 

Persistent and pretty resourceful for a three or four year old.  She knew she couldn’t do it by herself, so she sought help.

Asking for help takes a bit of courage, don’t you think? 

I mean, it’s admitting that you need help.  That we can’t do it by ourselves.  That we’re not as self-sufficient as we thought we were.

On the other hand, asking someone for help gives us a new pair of eyes with which to see the Knot or Tangle.  Another pair of eyes might help us see it more clearly.  Perhaps give us a new start.  A new beginning.  A way out.  And help guide us through it.

Nothing wrong in asking for help.  Nothing wrong with admitting we can’t do it by ourselves.  Nothing wrong with another pair of eyes.  With another set of hands.  Nothing wrong with that at all.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!