I think that's one of the most loaded comments I've ever heard. I want you to be happy.
You have to listen to it in context. Possible qualifiers include:
Because you're not making me happy, but...
Because I can't figure out why you're doing this, but if you can live with the outcome...
Because I just don't get you at all...
Or, most inncently, I know you're not happy now, so... do what will make you happy, because...
I want you to be happy...
I think part of the reason I find the comment so loaded is because it's common for me to gauge my happiness by how others feel. In other words, if the people around me are comfortable and happy, so am I. Does this sound like the perfect recipe for becoming a doormat? Maybe. I think for me, it has become a way to give control to others for something I don't feel I can figure out on my own. What makes me happy? Darned if I know. Am I supposed to keep walk away from things that don't make me happy until I find what does?
I don't think so.
I think finding out what makes you happy involves shifting that energy I've used listening to others and listen to myself. Do I like the job I have, for example? Why? Why not? If the people at work are happy with you, that doesn't have to mean that you're happy. If your employer doesn't want to have to find or train another You, that shouldn't be reason enough to happy with your job. It would make sense that by now, they are comfortable with you. While you may not be a perfect fit for them either, you're filling the role you're supposed to fill. So, entertain the idea that there's someone out there who's a better fit for that role, and there's something out there that you'd be happier with too.
I'm getting closer each day to making a happiness move. It's been hard to stick it out until I could do so without putting myself in financial jeopardy. The rewards, however, have been significant. I hope they will be longlasting and fruitful.
I want to be happy, not because everyone else around me is happy with me. For myself.
-Laura
Monday, May 10, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
mothers
I post today with possibly the worst headache I've had in ages. On Wednesday, as I stood outside at my newly revealed fenceline, I remember a tingling feeling along my legs. I told my mom I thought a bunch of spiders bit me.
I was wrong. I need to learn to distinguish spiders from the first sign of an allergic reaction to poison ivy. Which I got all over my face and neck. And into my left eye, which caused some major congestion. On Saturday at the After Hours clinic, I was given a cortisone shot for the immediate problem, followed by a round of antihistamines and prednisone.
It will get worse every year, or I will get better at recognizing the difference between a spider bite and a reaction. Those are about my only choices.
I'm also writing this at the conclusion of a memorable visit with my mother, who is possibly the neatest old lady I know. For two weeks, she gave me a gentle sorting out. And I liked it. Gardens were weeded, herbs were planted, vegetables and flowers were planted, branches were burned, potting soil was purchased, along with raised beds. Conversations were enjoyed, food was cooked, my kitchen was reorganized for a short person.
Memories were made. My mother even had a few slumber parties with friends here.
I think should have had stayed another week if she hadn't wanted to see the new floors back home (tile and hardwood).
So Friday night, I took her home. Saturday morning, mom and dad drove me to get my shots, and Saturday afternoon I crapped out in the guest bedroom, drugged out of my mind.
And now I'm home. And it's a little lonely. But I am definitely much better sorted out than before. I have my mom to thank for it. So to her and to all the other gentle sorters out there - Happy Mother's Day from those who gratefully accept your minstrations.
--Laura
I was wrong. I need to learn to distinguish spiders from the first sign of an allergic reaction to poison ivy. Which I got all over my face and neck. And into my left eye, which caused some major congestion. On Saturday at the After Hours clinic, I was given a cortisone shot for the immediate problem, followed by a round of antihistamines and prednisone.
It will get worse every year, or I will get better at recognizing the difference between a spider bite and a reaction. Those are about my only choices.
I'm also writing this at the conclusion of a memorable visit with my mother, who is possibly the neatest old lady I know. For two weeks, she gave me a gentle sorting out. And I liked it. Gardens were weeded, herbs were planted, vegetables and flowers were planted, branches were burned, potting soil was purchased, along with raised beds. Conversations were enjoyed, food was cooked, my kitchen was reorganized for a short person.
Memories were made. My mother even had a few slumber parties with friends here.
I think should have had stayed another week if she hadn't wanted to see the new floors back home (tile and hardwood).
So Friday night, I took her home. Saturday morning, mom and dad drove me to get my shots, and Saturday afternoon I crapped out in the guest bedroom, drugged out of my mind.
And now I'm home. And it's a little lonely. But I am definitely much better sorted out than before. I have my mom to thank for it. So to her and to all the other gentle sorters out there - Happy Mother's Day from those who gratefully accept your minstrations.
--Laura
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
need a new religion
I respect the old adage about never discussing politics or religion in mixed company. I think I avoid both for the same reason -- I don't expect humans to be perfect, so I don't make promises for others. I don't boast about how good OTHERS are. I know how hard it is to be good myself.
Having said that, I'm Roman Catholic. I converted over 10 years ago.
And I'm writing because my church disappoints me. I know there are plenty out there who'd respond with, "it took you long enough." To that, I would only ask for some deference; if you know me, you know that I do not push beliefs on others, so I think it's reasonable for me to request the same. In the past, the church has been a source of comfort, instruction, community and support for me. Would I have those things without it? Possibly. As it happens, I don't need to find out.
However, when you love someone but never hold them accountable for their actions because you fear how that would impact the relationship, that's not love. The element of fear unbalances it. By the same token, for some time now I have been attending my local church, taking communion during weekend mass, yet feeling so dismayed by the Roman leadership. It's time to say something. Perhaps past time. But it is my obligation. So here goes. I disagree.
I disagree... with my church's stance with Protestant and other christian churches, denying them both equal status and us the promise of intercommunion. I disagree... with my church's stance with Jews and Muslims, discounting all history not fitting neatly into the church's view of itself... with the church's position in Africa, toward contraception and HIV/AIDS... with the church's position on evolution and stem cell research.
The church is turning in on itself, an embattled entity circling the wagons. More ominously, a snake swallowing its own tail. Truly endangered, I think, is the ability to call for or enact reform. A body which does no self-examination, no self-reflection, is destined for corruption. And as a result, I disagree with the terrible isolation this is creating for the thousands of priests and religious who operate in a vacuum everyday, overtaxed and under supported emotionally, financially and spiritually.
My church isn't headed for corruption. It is there. We are not living a a new era of conservatism. I may not agree with the basic tenets of conservatism, but I can respect it. It holds an internal consistency and logic. It stands for something. What is happening is something different, operating under the guise of comforting conservatism, but with no consistency, operating solely for the purpose of protecting and preserving itself.
That description is strikingly similar to the one you'd use to describe a cornered animal.
Hans Kung calls this a collapse of trust. He is right. He is right.
You may be asking why I'm writing about it, and why I don't just leave. If you don't like cable, you cancel your subscription. Here's the thing though, my faith isn't just about what it does for me. It's about what I do with it too, and what expressing my gifts does for both the greater good and myself. Walking away says I don't care. And I do care. I'm ashamed of all this crap, quite frankly. Having people in my life to hold me accountable makes me a better person. So why is my church exempt? Why is it hellbent on the desire to cut itself off from all who would call its actions into question and hold it accountable? We were supposed to be on this trip together. When did the Vicar of Christ remember his other nickname: God's Unworthy Servant?
So here's the thing. I'm saying something, to express frustration, to learn if I'm the only one out here who feels this way. I'm saying something because the church is wrong. I'm saying something because saying something is right.
If you don't care about the topic, I appreciate your patience, and thank you for listening. If you care, I hope you will tell me that too -- whether you agree with me or not. I need community.
--Laura
Having said that, I'm Roman Catholic. I converted over 10 years ago.
And I'm writing because my church disappoints me. I know there are plenty out there who'd respond with, "it took you long enough." To that, I would only ask for some deference; if you know me, you know that I do not push beliefs on others, so I think it's reasonable for me to request the same. In the past, the church has been a source of comfort, instruction, community and support for me. Would I have those things without it? Possibly. As it happens, I don't need to find out.
However, when you love someone but never hold them accountable for their actions because you fear how that would impact the relationship, that's not love. The element of fear unbalances it. By the same token, for some time now I have been attending my local church, taking communion during weekend mass, yet feeling so dismayed by the Roman leadership. It's time to say something. Perhaps past time. But it is my obligation. So here goes. I disagree.
I disagree... with my church's stance with Protestant and other christian churches, denying them both equal status and us the promise of intercommunion. I disagree... with my church's stance with Jews and Muslims, discounting all history not fitting neatly into the church's view of itself... with the church's position in Africa, toward contraception and HIV/AIDS... with the church's position on evolution and stem cell research.
The church is turning in on itself, an embattled entity circling the wagons. More ominously, a snake swallowing its own tail. Truly endangered, I think, is the ability to call for or enact reform. A body which does no self-examination, no self-reflection, is destined for corruption. And as a result, I disagree with the terrible isolation this is creating for the thousands of priests and religious who operate in a vacuum everyday, overtaxed and under supported emotionally, financially and spiritually.
My church isn't headed for corruption. It is there. We are not living a a new era of conservatism. I may not agree with the basic tenets of conservatism, but I can respect it. It holds an internal consistency and logic. It stands for something. What is happening is something different, operating under the guise of comforting conservatism, but with no consistency, operating solely for the purpose of protecting and preserving itself.
That description is strikingly similar to the one you'd use to describe a cornered animal.
Hans Kung calls this a collapse of trust. He is right. He is right.
You may be asking why I'm writing about it, and why I don't just leave. If you don't like cable, you cancel your subscription. Here's the thing though, my faith isn't just about what it does for me. It's about what I do with it too, and what expressing my gifts does for both the greater good and myself. Walking away says I don't care. And I do care. I'm ashamed of all this crap, quite frankly. Having people in my life to hold me accountable makes me a better person. So why is my church exempt? Why is it hellbent on the desire to cut itself off from all who would call its actions into question and hold it accountable? We were supposed to be on this trip together. When did the Vicar of Christ remember his other nickname: God's Unworthy Servant?
So here's the thing. I'm saying something, to express frustration, to learn if I'm the only one out here who feels this way. I'm saying something because the church is wrong. I'm saying something because saying something is right.
If you don't care about the topic, I appreciate your patience, and thank you for listening. If you care, I hope you will tell me that too -- whether you agree with me or not. I need community.
--Laura
Monday, May 3, 2010
the zuraw wagon
One of the most prestigious displays at the Foxfire museum, the Zuraw wagon is documented as the only surviving wagon to have traveled the Trail of Tears in the late 1830s. Some facts about the wagon:
- It was built in the 1700's (don't you wish your car lasted that long)
- It's known as a Pennsylvania Dutch freight wagon
- It's also known as a Tar Grinder, because wooden wheel hubs were lubricated with a tar-line substance made from pine sap
- It measured 9 feet, 6 inches long
The first recognized owner was Green B. Daves (1803-1880). A North Carolina native, Daves moved to Sevierville, Tennessee as a child. As an adult, he moved to Fannin County, Georgia. Later, he contracted with the U.S. Army to move the Cherokees from Georgia on the Trail of Tears.
The wagon traveled all the way to the Rocky Mountains before being permanently retired in Georgia. Upon Green's death, the wagon passed to his son, Joseph Daves (1831-1908). Joseph's daughter Alice inherited the wagon. She was the wife of Landon Pickelsimer, and they moved to Cartersville, Georgia, where they lived into the mid 1950's. Their son, John, inherited the wagon when Landon died. When John moved from Cartersville to Atlanta, he gave the wagon to Retta Pickelsimer Zuraw, who was Landon's niece. In 1975, she donated the wagon to the Foxfire Museum.
According to Cherokee records, 701 wagons were used on the Trail of Tears. This wagon and others were most likely used to haul supplies, or transport those too young, too old or too sick to walk on their own. More than 14,000 people were part of the six-month, 2,200 mile journey that began in October of 1838. More than 4,000 people perished.
---Laura
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