Mindful

Superlatives and Prophecies

Jeanna G4 Comments

At my high school, each graduating class would vote on who should receive the superlative titles of Class Clown, Most Talkative, and Best All Around, among others. I didn’t receive any superlative distinctions by my class. I should’ve been voted “Most Sure of Myself,” because I knew who I was and what I wanted in life. Even so, I was curious about what they (I assume the yearbook committee members were our prophets?) predicted for my future. I really just needed to make sure I’d been heard. And I had been. My Senior Prophecy was that I ‘will never pay off my chiropractor bills.’ It was a funny nod to the assumption that I would become a chiropractor – my career goal at that age – and would have a mountain of loans to pay off. What’s ironic is that I’m not a chiropractor, but I’m still paying bills for all of the chiropractic treatments I continue to receive, thanks to my exhausting life. I might now be superlative as “Most in Need of an Adjustment.” Somehow my Plan A disappeared, along with B and C, and now I’m on Plan D, which wasn’t a plan until about 6 years ago.

As the Yiddish proverb advises, “When you make plans, God laughs.”

As a kid, I had a grand plan. I knew what I wanted. I knew what was going to happen. I knew how old I’d be when I married and started a family, how many kids I’d have, what my career would be, even what my house would look like.

I wasn’t right about any of it. I’m now superlative at being “Most Gobsmacked.”

This revelation begs acceptance of what is, closely followed by a proposal to quit planning.

At church on epiphany Sunday, we all close our eyes and select a star from a basket. Each star has a word on it that we can contemplate for some time. My daughter chose “prophecy.” I chose “eagerness.” I nudged her in the pew and told her to hurry up and tell me what was coming my way. I couldn’t decipher her look; was she annoyed, or was she just thinking it best not to break the news?

I guess I’ll just have to be superlative as “Most Patient” and “Most Observant” for what is heading my way. I hope I don’t miss it while I’m busy making Plan E.

Your Carol

Jeanna G5 Comments

My daughter and I just finished watching Mickey’s Christmas Carol, and I couldn’t help but think of my blog’s theme. I spend a lot of time thinking about my past, and my conscience often joins me on those trips, but it might be cool if it were in the form of Jiminy Cricket one time. The giant ghost of Christmas present would be fun, too, but I’ll pass on the scary guy of the future.

Actually, I wonder where Jiminy would take me. What scene would play out that would explain why I am where and who I am today? And what is it about who I am today that will determine where I meet the ghost of a time yet to come.

Looking back, Scrooge plead, “Please Spirit! I can no longer bear these memories.” To which the ghost of Christmas past responded, “Remember Scrooge, you fashioned these memories yourself.” I have to give Scrooge credit for being honest with himself by remembering the mistakes he made. In the morning he was surprised that the spirits had given him another chance, but he knew just what he’d do with it.

In this time of reflection and resolutions, what will you remember about your past and how it relates to who you are today? If the spirits take you on a ride this Christmas Eve, will they give you another chance tomorrow? What will you do with it?

What Are You Staring At?

Jeanna G3 Comments

Back in the day, if you caught someone staring, you’d say, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer!” Now no one looks at each other, and all we do is take pictures. Like thousands of pictures. And I bet 90% of them are of the most mundane things!

In the grocery store the other day, my daughter was taking pictures of the shelves of pickles. I asked her, “Are you afraid you’ll forget this moment? Do you need this documentation for later reference?” She rolled her eyes. “It’s aesthetic, mom.” Aesthetic? I’ll show you aesthetic, child.

The next morning I dragged her out of bed and drove her to a state park. We hiked several miles through the woods to a waterfall. We sat and stared at the flowing water. I interrupted the serenity of the moment and said to her, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

I got a side-eye, but then she whipped out her phone and started taking countless pictures of our natural surroundings. Then, on the hike back to the car, she stared at all the photos she took, and tripped over several tree roots in the process.

Staring is often considered rude, but I say stare away. Stare at the clouds changing shapes. Stare at the ocean waves rolling in. Stare at the sun rays filtering through the canopy of rustling leaves. Stare at the hummingbird hovering over the feeder. Stare at the face of your loved ones. Stare at the moon and the twinkling stars. Stare at a field of wildflowers dancing in harmony. Stare at a horde of fireflies putting on a light show. And once your eyes get tired, take a picture so it’ll last longer.