THANKFUL FRIDAY

In my tweens and teen years, any time I went off to do some 4-H activity, Mom would send a camera with me and instructions to take pictures. At the end of the year all 4-Hrs filled out record books that were judged with awards often being scholarship money. The best record books earned the most money and the best record books not only contained a write up of all the things you did, but pictures proving that you did the things. Inevitably I would come home with zero pictures because I was too focused on doing the actual activity. Or even worse because it cost money to print rolls of film, I’d come home with a camera roll full of pictures of my camp lunches or a neatly made bed.

I wasn’t a camera person.

Then Chris gifted me a tiny sky-blue Sony SureShot and sent me off to New York for BlogHer and time with Talaura. I didn’t go with the intention of taking great pictures. I didn’t go with the intention of taking any pictures, really, but this was the trip that changed me and sent me down the photography path. Chris eventually upgraded my camera and I started reading manuals and attending workshops. I participated in photo challenges and I set photography goals for myself. I’ve researched lenses and I’m even renting one that I’m thinking of buying for a trip I’m taking in a few weeks. This practice has kept me curious not just about learning the technical aspects of photography, but also learning about other photographers. The photography section is usually my first stop when visiting any art museum.

I recently came across this quote from Dorothea Lange, the photographer and photojournalist best known for her portraits like Migrant Mother during the Great Depression:

The camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see without a camera.

I feel this quote in my bones. My camera has taught me to see the world around me but it has also opened me up to the perspective of seeing the world through the eyes of others. No one sees their surroundings in the same way as the person standing next to them sees it. I have been sharing my view of the world for a long time now, but tonight is my first ever artist reception centered around that work and I’m nervous. I keep thinking about all the what ifs that all seemed to be tied together with the not enoughs. Then Terry reminded me that this reception is for me to enjoy. It’s a celebration. The art work has been up for a month. My friends and family have been seeing my work in my online posts for years. The only difference here is that my work is tangible; it’s printed and framed and hanging on some walls.

I am grateful for this practice that has changed the way I see my surroundings. But I am beyond grateful for the love and support for this practice from my family and friends. You are the ones that make me believe that I am enough.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I have written and deleted three different versions of today’s Thankful Friday post. This either means I found an abundance of gratitude this week or I’m reaching to find much of any thing. I suspect the later. Michael is working with his school drama department as the assistant director for the Spring play. Recently, he received a certification to teach drama and debate and would like to eventually transition into teaching more drama and less math. Right now, he’s content with helping out as an assistant. The kids are performing Rumors by Neil Simon starting next Friday and so Michael has had many late nights as they work on being ready for opening night. Every evening, he’s sent me texts telling me when he was going to be home and each time he includes his gratitude for me being so supportive of this new venture he’s taken on.

While I appreciate his gratitude, I am a little surprised. My feelings are that of course I would support this. This is what people do in relationships. Unless it is racist, homophobic, trans-phobic, or general hate for those who do not look or talk like you, you support your partner. This also reminds me of just how different our past relationship(s) have been from each other. There are a number of things I learned from my parents marriage that discouraged me from wanting to be married. Then Chris came along and things changed. This also opened my eyes to the things in my parent’s marriage that were good. I saw how they often worked together as a team. When Mom worked late, Dad made sure I made it home safely from school and took charge of dinner. Dad worked early hours and Mom took over morning duties with making sure I had breakfast and was at school on time. While it didn’t always look like they lovingly supported each other, they were still doing the work together.

I am grateful for the lessons I have had in supporting the ones you love. Those lessons in return, I believe, have made me a better person, a better partner. It is important for me in my daily practice to have and find gratitude for things/people in my life. It is rare and somewhat difficult to accept gratitude from others. My instinct is to brush the gratitude aside and make less of the effort I have made to support or help that person. Deep down, I think I do not deserve the gratitude because my actions seem simple, like something anyone would do for another human. Everyday the news and general interactions with society reminds me that simple acts of kindness are not everyone’s normal. Self-help books and gurus all tell us that we are all deserving of love, but how often do we hear that we are deserving of gratitude? We are all deserving of gratitude for our conscious and unconscious acts of kindness.

The next time someone thanks you, don’t brush it aside. Simply say “You are welcome.”

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I’m not going to sit back and sugar coat a gratitude post for you today. This week has been mentally taxing and physically challenging. My body did not react well to that antibiotic I was taking for the whole gross cyst thing and I ended up covered in a rash and at the walk in clinic on Monday. At the walk in clinic, yet another sixteen year old boy calling himself a doctor looked at my rash and prescribed an extra strong antihistamine. I went to bed at 8:30 Monday night thanks to the new drug. A new set of harder exercises were added to my physical therapy routine and at my follow up exam with the bone and joint doctor, the doctor just told me to watch out for buckling in my knee. I’m ready to move forward and go scooter shopping, but every day this week someone at work has come up to me to express how sorry they were to hear about V. Also, I think we might be couch shopping again because a new email about our couch arrived with a new estimated delivery date of February of next year. By Thursday afternoon, I was feeling really cranky, which I’ll take right now because it’s better than feeling nothing at all.

Which was where I’ve been leaning ever since camp.

A series of minor illnesses has accumulated into a massive feeling of general unwellness that has left me contemplating cleansing diets and acupuncture, drinking more juice, eating more mushrooms. Falling for a fad, which is when I know I’ve reached desperation mode. At the end of each day, I promise myself to do better, be better because I know I’m not doing my best, but just repeat the cycle the next day. I’ve filled a pool full of my own expectations and standards in which I am barely keeping my head above right now. I’m drowning in a pool of my own making and from what I have been hearing from those around me, I’m not the only one. I think many of us have been holding onto some great expectations that this time this year would be different from this time last year and it is, but it isn’t.

So, how do you find gratitude when all what you really want to do is hide inside a blanket fort?

No…really, how do you do that?

There is gratitude in the ability to confess that you are struggling. For me, admitting that I’m struggling makes me feel like I’m whining or feeling sorry for myself. It is a sign of weakness and not allowed for someone who has tattooed “Je suis forte” onto their wrist, but that tattoo is not a statement. It is a reminder to myself on days of weakness that I am strong. With that reminder comes the knowledge that I am only as strong as my support system and if my support team doesn’t know I’m struggling, they can’t support me. Yesterday, I was holding two slide books in which I had balanced ten slide holders and had picked up the heavy metal structure all of those things go into. Then I went to open the door to carry those things to my desk so I could start loading slides and I had no hands available to turn the door handle. A coworker was walking up behind me at this moment and then seeing the mess I’d put myself into, asked “Do you need help?” And I hesitated. For a moment I was really going to say “No thank you, I’ve got this.” Hands completely full and precariously balancing all of the things, I still thought for a moment that I would find a way to open the door with my foot. Instead, I came to my senses and asked him to please open the door for me. My first instinct for everything is “I’ve got this.” Slap on a smile. Fake it ‘till you make it, but you know what? Sometimes your hands are full and you just need someone to open a door for you. And you have to be willing to not just accept the help but to admit that you can’t do everything.

This might be a stretch for gratitude, but these are the days that demand reaching. It’s worth the stretch.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Mom in camouflage on the beach in Dingle Ireland. Today, I wish we were back there, laughing at the cow (penis) some one drew in the sand. Happy Birthday Mom!

13 Likes, 0 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Mom in camouflage on the beach in Dingle Ireland. Today, I wish we were back there, laughing at the..."

My Mom asked me once what instrument I would want to play. It was obvious that I was not into the whole piano thing. Getting me to sit down and practice was a constant battle. I told my Mom that if I could play anything, it would be the cello. The cello makes a sound that resonates in my body and soothes my heart, but our little town only had band. No orchestra. No stringed instruments. My big brother played the drums and he’s cool. So, I picked up some sticks and settled into percussion. One day, while Mom was working at the Oklahoma Well Log Library, she heard a geologist talking about an old cello in his attic. Mom bought that cello from him for $75. It needed new everything, pegs, strings, bridge. It had a crack down one side. We spent another $300 in repairs. Mom found me a teacher who got me into a special youth orchestra. There wasn’t money for a case and I carried my cello around wrapped up in an old sheet until Mom made me a vinyl cello case. Yup. She MADE it. It was gray vinyl with floral print trim. The pockets for music and bow and the handles were made with the floral print trim. It was perfect and the envy of many in the youth orchestra. I played that cello for years. I stopped playing in college because I no longer played in an orchestra and the pegs no longer stuck in place to hold the strings in tune. I couldn’t justify the money for replacing the pegs. A new version of my life took over. Eventually, I sold the cello to help pay for yoga teacher training. I do miss it, though I don’t even know if I remember how to read music any more. Some times I think about buying another cello and maybe some day I will. But I will always be grateful for that first cello.

From the things my Mom has said over the years, I have a strong impression that she was never really supported in her passions as a child. I think that was her driving force behind doing everything to encourage us. When my brother showed an interest in art and an aptitude for drawing, she enrolled him in a prominent art class. When my sister wanted to dance, she put us both in a serious dance school. She drove us to dance class, art class, music lessons, and competitions. She made costumes. She did fundraisers. She spent money that Dad probably didn’t know she was spending. Mom did the best she could to provide us with the tools we needed for our creative outlets. Heck, she still does this; she gifted me a new journal at Christmas. I am reminded of Marmee March and how she encouraged her daughters in all of their endeavors even if those endeavors did not meet with societal propriety. My Mom was a Marmee March. It took me a long time to realize that not every kid had a Marmee March who would support their children in their creative endeavors. As grateful as I may be about that cello, I am even more grateful to have the kind of mom who supports creativity.

My Mom celebrated a birthday on Wednesday. And after a bit of a scary start to this year, I am also thankful that she’s here to celebrate another year of her life.