Well, hello, there. Seems as if it's been a while...
And the deal is, I am discontinuing the blog. At first, there were several "reasons" I wasn't posting. First there were the holidays, then an episode with my back, then I got a cold that developed into a sinus infection. And all the while, I was feeling guilty about not writing on this blog. I defined myself as a writer; so why the heck was I not sitting down to write a blog.
So all this stuff was swirling around inside my head -- feeling guilty about not writing, feeling guilty about feeling guilty, feeling bad about feeling guilty...you get the picture.
Today I'm 59-1/2 years old, exactly. In six more months, I'll be 60. And in writing my personal pages today, I realized that I want off this merry-go-round, which isn't very merry at all. I want to stop feeling guilty about not writing for publication; I want to quit beating myself up for this. And you know, when I realized this as I was writing my pages, I felt a lightness in my chest and body that felt odd but also nice. In a definitely woo-woo kind of way, I feel relieved. I want to pursue other forms of creativity, things that I remember liking in the past, but stopped doing because, well, I'm not sure why, but I stopped doing them.
As one example, I've been taking zumba classes recently and finding that I really enjoy moving to music. So that's one of the things I want to do more -- dance, and probably dance badly, but dance. (That is one of the absolutely lovely things about getting older -- I really don't care what I look like in class!) I took jazz classes when I was younger and loved feeling like a dancer, but I stopped taking classes; again, I'm not sure why.
Perhaps it's the passage of time I'm feeling; perhaps it's the fact that I'll be 60 in six more months and realizing that the tally of years is shifting the other way. Whatever it is, I'm feeling it, and it's time to get moving, figuratively and literally.
So, love to you all, my Dear Friends -- it's not as if I won't be communicating with you; it will just be in different, and I hope in spending-time-together kinds of ways. I'm blessed by knowing each of you; each one of you has enriched my life in different times and in different places, and I am grateful that you are in my life.
Vaya con Dios,
Jan
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Thursday, December 22, 2011
A prayer for the innocents
I just read that because of widespread violence and unrest, the Peace Corps will be pulling their volunteers out of Honduras starting in January and that no more volunteers will be sent there until it's deemed safe.
My son, David, spent 27 months in Honduras serving in the Peace Corps from Feb. 2008 though April 2010. His experiences there changed his life in so many ways, and John and I are so very proud of his service.
We traveled there in 2009 and met his host mom and her family. Dona divorced her abusive husband and raised her four children on her own by cultivating a plantain field and eventually opening a tiny yet successful cafe in her village.
You need to understand that a husband beating his wife is more usual than not in that machismo culture, yet divorce is rarely an option because of economic and cultural constraints. So for Dona to have taken that step and successfully raised her children is a tribute to her personal fortitude and strength. She treated David as one of her own while he was here, and for that I am forever grateful.
That's why it disturbs me that the level of violence in Honduras has risen so much that the Peace Corps needs to remove those young women and men who spend two years of their lives there teaching and working.
While it is generally peaceful in Dona's village, reports of gun fights in neighboring towns occurred while David was still there. Who knows how far the violence will spread now from the big cities, who knows which innocent families will become victims.
And why? Because of cocaine flowing from South America through Central America to Mexico to the United States. The U.S. is the destination of the drugs that make the cartels so many millions of dollars that they don't care who gets killed in the process.
So at this time of holiday light and joy in our homes, please take a moment to remember the innocents elsewhere. The innocents who are trying to make a living, educate their children, and who want to celebrate this season as much as we do.
Thanks for taking a moment to read this.
My son, David, spent 27 months in Honduras serving in the Peace Corps from Feb. 2008 though April 2010. His experiences there changed his life in so many ways, and John and I are so very proud of his service.
We traveled there in 2009 and met his host mom and her family. Dona divorced her abusive husband and raised her four children on her own by cultivating a plantain field and eventually opening a tiny yet successful cafe in her village.
You need to understand that a husband beating his wife is more usual than not in that machismo culture, yet divorce is rarely an option because of economic and cultural constraints. So for Dona to have taken that step and successfully raised her children is a tribute to her personal fortitude and strength. She treated David as one of her own while he was here, and for that I am forever grateful.
That's why it disturbs me that the level of violence in Honduras has risen so much that the Peace Corps needs to remove those young women and men who spend two years of their lives there teaching and working.
While it is generally peaceful in Dona's village, reports of gun fights in neighboring towns occurred while David was still there. Who knows how far the violence will spread now from the big cities, who knows which innocent families will become victims.
And why? Because of cocaine flowing from South America through Central America to Mexico to the United States. The U.S. is the destination of the drugs that make the cartels so many millions of dollars that they don't care who gets killed in the process.
So at this time of holiday light and joy in our homes, please take a moment to remember the innocents elsewhere. The innocents who are trying to make a living, educate their children, and who want to celebrate this season as much as we do.
Thanks for taking a moment to read this.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Honoring my mom
Today is the 100-year anniversary of my mother's birth. What follows is the eulogy I wrote for her.
We are here today to celebrate the life--the 91-1/2 years of life--of Winona Barganier Ward Matthews.
Although Winona left this earth on the morning of July 1, 2003, look around you. You can see her in the children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and other loved ones who are here today.
She would be happy and proud of everyone who is here. Winona cherished her family, and her family cherished her. She loved her home, and she loved to be with her family--those were the two most important parts of Winona's life.
Winona was born on December 7, 1911 in Reagan, Texas...A brother and sister followed.
In the old photographs, we see in Winona the dark eyes that were one of her defining features, along with her bobbed short hair framing her expressive eyes. She was a child who grew up in the country, barefoot and playing outside in the hot Texas sun.
But when Winona was nine years old, tragedy struck. Her mother died suddenly of a heart attack. Winona's brother was four and her baby sister was just nine months old.
Winona then stepped into a role she would give the rest of her life to--caregiver and caretaker for those who depended on her. In fact, a relative once admonished her father into getting more help to take care of the baby because Winona was always toting her on her hip and the relative was worried that the young girl's spine could become curved from the baby's weight.
Eventually, Winona's father remarried and another sister was born.
So Winona grew up. She played basketball in bloomer pants and graduated from high school. On she went to the University of Texas and received a two-year teaching certificate. She then went back to the country and began teaching scrawny farm boys and shy schoolgirls. She even taught in a one-room school where some of the boys were larger than her, and in those times, possibly approaching her own age.
Then, circumstances and a blind date with one fellow changed her life. His name was Jake Ward, and he was everything Winona was not: big, brash, outspoken, and irreverent. Somehow, the unlikely combination grew into a relationship and then marriage in June 1936. The two were married in Jake's sister's living room in Dallas. The next day, they took in the Texas Centennial at nearby Fair Park. And so the two settled into married life.
A son, David, arrived in 1941; a daughter, Donna, followed in 1946; and another daughter, Jan, in 1952.
Raising three children and looking after Jake were the focus of Winona's life, and there were many happy years. Then, in 1974, Jake died, and Winona found herself alone at the age of 63. But she had her family around her and like the phrase in the picture that always hung in her home said, she "kept on keeping on."
The next years were full for Winona; there were many changes--most good and some not so good. But through it all, she had her family and for that she was grateful.
Winona had some trying times the last few years. In March 2002, she had to go to the hospital (the first time since the last baby was born) and get a pacemaker. But she got through it and recovered and returned to her apartment. She was extremely proud that she could still "do" for herself and managed well for the next year.
However, on March 1 of this year (2002), practically to the day of the previous year's hospitalization, she suffered a stroke and heart attack.
The last four months of her life were difficult for Winona and her family. She didn't like what was happening to her, and her family was torn by her struggle.
And so, on July 1, 2003, around the time of a glorious, colorful sunrise, Winona's spirit was freed from this world and is now at peace.
She would not want us to stay in our sadness and in our grief. She was a woman who "kept on keeping on" and she would want us to do the same. We take comfort in the fact that she is at peace now, among all those she loved who have gone before her.
We must take comfort in our memories of her--she loved her family, she loved pretty flowers, and by the way, she loved to eat. Who among us could forget her saying, "I only want a bite," and those bites would just keep coming. And how could we forget her fried chicken with gravy, her peach cobbler, and her lemon icebox pie. All of this, and much, much more was made and given in love by Winona.
We who are her family and friends are richer and more blessed for her presence in our lives. We will miss you, Winona, but we will celebrate your memories and your life and your love.
God be with you on your journey and with us as we continue ours.
Bless you, bless you, sweet Winona, and thank you for all your gifts.
We love you always,
Your family
We are here today to celebrate the life--the 91-1/2 years of life--of Winona Barganier Ward Matthews.
Although Winona left this earth on the morning of July 1, 2003, look around you. You can see her in the children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and other loved ones who are here today.
She would be happy and proud of everyone who is here. Winona cherished her family, and her family cherished her. She loved her home, and she loved to be with her family--those were the two most important parts of Winona's life.
Winona was born on December 7, 1911 in Reagan, Texas...A brother and sister followed.
In the old photographs, we see in Winona the dark eyes that were one of her defining features, along with her bobbed short hair framing her expressive eyes. She was a child who grew up in the country, barefoot and playing outside in the hot Texas sun.
But when Winona was nine years old, tragedy struck. Her mother died suddenly of a heart attack. Winona's brother was four and her baby sister was just nine months old.
Winona then stepped into a role she would give the rest of her life to--caregiver and caretaker for those who depended on her. In fact, a relative once admonished her father into getting more help to take care of the baby because Winona was always toting her on her hip and the relative was worried that the young girl's spine could become curved from the baby's weight.
Eventually, Winona's father remarried and another sister was born.
So Winona grew up. She played basketball in bloomer pants and graduated from high school. On she went to the University of Texas and received a two-year teaching certificate. She then went back to the country and began teaching scrawny farm boys and shy schoolgirls. She even taught in a one-room school where some of the boys were larger than her, and in those times, possibly approaching her own age.
Then, circumstances and a blind date with one fellow changed her life. His name was Jake Ward, and he was everything Winona was not: big, brash, outspoken, and irreverent. Somehow, the unlikely combination grew into a relationship and then marriage in June 1936. The two were married in Jake's sister's living room in Dallas. The next day, they took in the Texas Centennial at nearby Fair Park. And so the two settled into married life.
A son, David, arrived in 1941; a daughter, Donna, followed in 1946; and another daughter, Jan, in 1952.
Raising three children and looking after Jake were the focus of Winona's life, and there were many happy years. Then, in 1974, Jake died, and Winona found herself alone at the age of 63. But she had her family around her and like the phrase in the picture that always hung in her home said, she "kept on keeping on."
The next years were full for Winona; there were many changes--most good and some not so good. But through it all, she had her family and for that she was grateful.
Winona had some trying times the last few years. In March 2002, she had to go to the hospital (the first time since the last baby was born) and get a pacemaker. But she got through it and recovered and returned to her apartment. She was extremely proud that she could still "do" for herself and managed well for the next year.
However, on March 1 of this year (2002), practically to the day of the previous year's hospitalization, she suffered a stroke and heart attack.
The last four months of her life were difficult for Winona and her family. She didn't like what was happening to her, and her family was torn by her struggle.
And so, on July 1, 2003, around the time of a glorious, colorful sunrise, Winona's spirit was freed from this world and is now at peace.
She would not want us to stay in our sadness and in our grief. She was a woman who "kept on keeping on" and she would want us to do the same. We take comfort in the fact that she is at peace now, among all those she loved who have gone before her.
We must take comfort in our memories of her--she loved her family, she loved pretty flowers, and by the way, she loved to eat. Who among us could forget her saying, "I only want a bite," and those bites would just keep coming. And how could we forget her fried chicken with gravy, her peach cobbler, and her lemon icebox pie. All of this, and much, much more was made and given in love by Winona.
We who are her family and friends are richer and more blessed for her presence in our lives. We will miss you, Winona, but we will celebrate your memories and your life and your love.
God be with you on your journey and with us as we continue ours.
Bless you, bless you, sweet Winona, and thank you for all your gifts.
We love you always,
Your family
Friday, December 2, 2011
Who has my waistline? I want it back!
So today I worked out at a gym. Something I recently started. Prompted by the fact (at least in part) that my waistline is missing.
The last place I worked could be described as business casual with an emphasis on the casual. Which was fine with me. I wore suits (!) with heels and PANTYHOSE (?!?) for jobs in the '80s and '90s, so casual -- I was good with that. My "uniform" became black pants with whatever top I pulled off the hanger.
Until one day, an out-of-office presentation needed to be made, so I thought, "a skirt, I haven't worn a skirt and heels and PANTYHOSE (PH) in forever so I'll do that. Might be kind of nice for a change." Ha!
First, I discovered that someone had snuck in and replaced all my PH with smaller sizes as evidenced by the crotch part that would come up no farther than slightly above the middle of my thighs.
After much straining and cursing, I finally yanked those babies somewhere closer to where my waist should be. Then I pulled on my Spanx (one of the world's best inventions) over the PH in the hope that would keep the darned things up at least until I finished the presentation.
And then came the skirt...which immediately slid up above what should have been my natural waistline. Hmmm. Ok. Pulled it back down. Slid up again. This went on until I realized that my skirt did not fit the way it used to. My "buddha belly" prevented it. So, on went a long sweater to cover everything up and off I went, delivering a speech, all the while my waistband hovered what seemed like not too far from my armpits.
So it's been for several years...the belly and I, along with jiggly arms and thighs, were not at a good place. Although it must seem as if vanity is my name, it really isn't. I thank God every day that I have all my limbs and parts intact. I truly am grateful; I have friends who haven't been as lucky.
And so, for the sake of trying not to let myself go too far downhill and improve my health and fitness before I become totally decrepit, the gym with the elliptical and the stationary bike and the weight machines is becoming my acquaintance, not a friend yet but certainly not the enemy it was a couple of weeks ago.
It takes a lot of maintenance for us these days, as one of my dear Friends recently noted.
Here's to abundant health and joyous journeys for all of us. No matter how much maintenance it takes!
The last place I worked could be described as business casual with an emphasis on the casual. Which was fine with me. I wore suits (!) with heels and PANTYHOSE (?!?) for jobs in the '80s and '90s, so casual -- I was good with that. My "uniform" became black pants with whatever top I pulled off the hanger.
Until one day, an out-of-office presentation needed to be made, so I thought, "a skirt, I haven't worn a skirt and heels and PANTYHOSE (PH) in forever so I'll do that. Might be kind of nice for a change." Ha!
First, I discovered that someone had snuck in and replaced all my PH with smaller sizes as evidenced by the crotch part that would come up no farther than slightly above the middle of my thighs.
After much straining and cursing, I finally yanked those babies somewhere closer to where my waist should be. Then I pulled on my Spanx (one of the world's best inventions) over the PH in the hope that would keep the darned things up at least until I finished the presentation.
And then came the skirt...which immediately slid up above what should have been my natural waistline. Hmmm. Ok. Pulled it back down. Slid up again. This went on until I realized that my skirt did not fit the way it used to. My "buddha belly" prevented it. So, on went a long sweater to cover everything up and off I went, delivering a speech, all the while my waistband hovered what seemed like not too far from my armpits.
So it's been for several years...the belly and I, along with jiggly arms and thighs, were not at a good place. Although it must seem as if vanity is my name, it really isn't. I thank God every day that I have all my limbs and parts intact. I truly am grateful; I have friends who haven't been as lucky.
And so, for the sake of trying not to let myself go too far downhill and improve my health and fitness before I become totally decrepit, the gym with the elliptical and the stationary bike and the weight machines is becoming my acquaintance, not a friend yet but certainly not the enemy it was a couple of weeks ago.
It takes a lot of maintenance for us these days, as one of my dear Friends recently noted.
Here's to abundant health and joyous journeys for all of us. No matter how much maintenance it takes!
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Whew!
Oh thank you, dear Friends, who responded to what I wrote yesterday. I was so nervous as I pushed the button to send, with that negative, nasty little critic in my head chirping that this was stupid, who cares what you have to say, blah, blah blah. But I did it anyway, and it felt good (eventually). So, whew!
Have you had the experience of going into a retail shop, and the clerk there acts as if you are an interruption to her/his day? That happened to me today, and I just don't get it. Why in the world in this economy especially are retail people not falling all over themselves with kindness and helpfulness?
I've worked in retail, and it's a hard, foot-aching job. Some customers can be absolute nut cases, agreed, but in my limited retail experience I found that most people are nice and respond ever so much more positively (i.e., likely to purchase) if you smile and are genuinely pleasant to them. Whenever I'm in a store now, and clerks are rude-ish, I often just leave instead of buying there. Sadly, this is likely to happen in small, local shops just as frequently as in bigger stores. It seems like common sense to be nice to customers, but perhaps that sense isn't as common as it could be.
***
"If you could only sense how important you are to the lives of those you meet: how important you can be to the people you may never even dream of. There is something of yourself that you leave at every meeting with another person."
--Mister Rogers
Have you had the experience of going into a retail shop, and the clerk there acts as if you are an interruption to her/his day? That happened to me today, and I just don't get it. Why in the world in this economy especially are retail people not falling all over themselves with kindness and helpfulness?
I've worked in retail, and it's a hard, foot-aching job. Some customers can be absolute nut cases, agreed, but in my limited retail experience I found that most people are nice and respond ever so much more positively (i.e., likely to purchase) if you smile and are genuinely pleasant to them. Whenever I'm in a store now, and clerks are rude-ish, I often just leave instead of buying there. Sadly, this is likely to happen in small, local shops just as frequently as in bigger stores. It seems like common sense to be nice to customers, but perhaps that sense isn't as common as it could be.
***
"If you could only sense how important you are to the lives of those you meet: how important you can be to the people you may never even dream of. There is something of yourself that you leave at every meeting with another person."
--Mister Rogers
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
What's It Like Productions
Day One of blogging. Figuring out a name could have taken me days with second-guessing and trying to get the perfect name. In fact, I've put off doing a blog for quite a while because I couldn't come up with a creative enough name. Finally, I decided to pick a name and go with it because really, the point is writing, right?
However, I've always liked the concept of "what's it like" because it seems as if that's always been a driving force for me -- I've always wondered what's it like to be this or that; for example, what's it like to be a nurse or a teacher, two of my earliest career aspirations that I eventually discarded because (a) blood makes me nauseous and (b) becoming a teacher was what my parents thought I should do so that was out early on, thanks to my rebellious nature.
For as long as I can remember, I've felt the curiosity of wanting to know what's it like -- what's it like for other people to be who and what they are -- what's it like, what's it like, what's it like. I drove my parents crazy by always asking questions -- they were not the communicative type, to put it kindly.
So I turned to writing at a young age to express my feelings. Word got around school that I could turn out a pretty fair unrequited love poem of the "oh why doesn't he love me, I am so blue" genre that I eventually was asked to ghost-write poems for my friends that they would later pass in class to teenage boys who could give a **** about love -- they only wanted to get laid.
Even so, my poems were popular, plus I received some admiration for my work. Thus began my writing career. And now, after years and years of writing for a living, writing about everything from heat pumps to health insurance to hot tea, I've decided to come back to finding out again what's it like -- what's it like for me, a 59-year-old woman to be living and feeling and doing. Thanks for coming along on the journey.
However, I've always liked the concept of "what's it like" because it seems as if that's always been a driving force for me -- I've always wondered what's it like to be this or that; for example, what's it like to be a nurse or a teacher, two of my earliest career aspirations that I eventually discarded because (a) blood makes me nauseous and (b) becoming a teacher was what my parents thought I should do so that was out early on, thanks to my rebellious nature.
For as long as I can remember, I've felt the curiosity of wanting to know what's it like -- what's it like for other people to be who and what they are -- what's it like, what's it like, what's it like. I drove my parents crazy by always asking questions -- they were not the communicative type, to put it kindly.
So I turned to writing at a young age to express my feelings. Word got around school that I could turn out a pretty fair unrequited love poem of the "oh why doesn't he love me, I am so blue" genre that I eventually was asked to ghost-write poems for my friends that they would later pass in class to teenage boys who could give a **** about love -- they only wanted to get laid.
Even so, my poems were popular, plus I received some admiration for my work. Thus began my writing career. And now, after years and years of writing for a living, writing about everything from heat pumps to health insurance to hot tea, I've decided to come back to finding out again what's it like -- what's it like for me, a 59-year-old woman to be living and feeling and doing. Thanks for coming along on the journey.
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