213. Excellance!!!

Three days ago I made a visit to Grammy’s Chocolate and Fudge Parlor in Augusta, New Jersry. I’ve never been to such an establishment and as I entered the store I was met by the almost overwhelming aroma of chocolate! The chocolatier of the establishment was not there so I’ll need to go again and meet her. (I’ve never met a chocolatier.)

Let me give you a little background on my history with chocolate. I really, really love it. And for quite some time I was not very discriminating about the chocolate that I ate. My candy bars of preference were Snickers and Heath bar. But then I started boycotting Hershey and concentrated on buying Fair Trade chocolate (so that there is no child labor involved). Even so, it was always good to know that there was some chocolate in the refrigerator.

All of that changed on Monday. I went in thinking I would check it out—not necessarily buy anything. My absolute favorite is dark chocolate and Grammy’s Parlor had dark chocolate combinations in abundance. I got a half pound of dark chocolate bark and pecans, a quarter pound of dark chocolate caramels, and a quarter pound of dark chocolate turtles with pecans. I was also $18.00 poorer.

But on the way home as I sampled one of each, I discovered that I was not poorer after all—I was rich!!! I had two days of eating too much, but have now settled in to having two pieces a day and on a really stringent day only one piece. Candy bars are now no longer necessary.

I can hardly wait for Valentine’s Day!

212. I Have a Dream

In the period of time that I worked in the American Baptist Church in Nyack as their lay pastor, that church also housed the Montessori School. Around the time of Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday, I saw posters all over the church.

The children of the Montessori School had obviously been asked to complete the sentence “I have a dream…..” Some of their answers were:

—

I have a dream that we should not have giants in the world.

—that all the children in the world should have an imagination.

—that nobody in the world should punch other people.

—that all the children in the world should be able to draw as well as I do.

I have a dream that everyone should be gentle and not crush each other.

211. The Prayer of a Child

In 1969 or 1970 I became a part of a group called the Martin Luther King Singers. It was established not too long after the death of King. And it began as a group that would do a concert on his birthday, and then it expanded to be a group that did concerts throughout the year. It was composed of persons who were black, who were white, old and young, persons skilled in music and persons who needed to learn their part by rote. It was conducted by John Anthony, a professional musician, African-American, who pulled together an exciting concert time after time.

Each rehearsal of the Martin Luther King Singers ended in prayer.  Often John Anthony would start the group singing “We Shall Overcome,” sometimes just humming it and then would have one of the ministers in the group pray over the hum.

This particular time he started the group singing and then we went to a hum. But before he pointed to someone to pray, we all realized that the two year old who had come with her parents had not heard the direction to hum.  Her clear little voice rose over the hum as she sang each word and each note with a belief system already deep inside of her.

The choir hummed even more softly as she sang, “We shall overcome. We shall overcome. We shall overcome some day. Oh deep in my heart, I do believe we shall overcome some day.”

The prayer had been prayed!

210. Strange and Reassuring

I went to a workshop just outside of Boston years ago. It was titled “Death and Dying.” The most astounding piece of it, and consequently the part that I remember was the exercise in dying.

We were all seated on the floor and were given these instructions: Find a partner. One of you decide to go first. Lie down and listen to the visualization that is given. I found a partner, I stretched out on my back on the floor and my partner sat beside me. We both listened to the visualization.

I was relaxed and when the visualization was done, I felt myself there on the floor and then part of me lifted up off the floor, out of my body, and hovered in the space above me. I could see myself on the floor. I could see my partner. She seemed not totally relaxed. She seemed nervous about what she was doing.

I recognized that I was in the process of dying and couldn’t speak to her to reassure her. But up above as I looked down I wanted to say to her “Don’t worry—just stay there. I can’t talk to you right now. I’m busy…I’m busy dying. But please don’t leave me. Stay with me. Just take a breath and stay with me.”

I lost track of time. I’m sure it wasn’t a long, long time and finally I heard the instructor’s voice start to bring us back. I traveled from that space above myself where I had hovered and re-entered my body. When it was complete we had a few minutes to talk about it together, and I shared with her what I had experienced. Then we switched roles and I sat beside her as she died.

I have always remembered it clearly. And I applied it to my work as I visited people in the nursing home that seemed to be in the process of dying. My out-of-body experience seemed to assure me that I could relax and be present for them. I would accompany them as they did whatever they were needing to do.

I remembered what I was trying to tell my partner when I hovered above my own body: Stay with me. Don’t leave me. Just take a breath and stay with me.

209. Therapy and Good Things

Sometimes it has felt to me that in therapy there is a focus on the things that went wrong in your life, and on the bad things that happened. I have come to believe that often it is important to figure those things out, but not to the exclusion of the good things that have happened.

I have learned that some of my crazy childhood did in fact impact me greatly and had to be unlearned in order to lessen the impact. I have also learned that in the midst of that craziness, there were also positive things and people of strength and character, and that those things and those people are also good for me to recognize and to name, in order to let those strengths and that character continue in me.

The good is important too.

208. Therapy and Change

My work with therapists had its beginnings in Nashville. I went to see the pastor of our church, just to talk about some of my frustrations—Nelson traveling, four children under six. At some point, he said, “What do you want?” and I said, “What? Well…Nelson wants…” and he repeated, “What do you want?” and I finally answered that I didn’t know. He asked “Who are you?” and I answered with all my roles: Nelson’s wife; Donna, David, Debra and Dara’s mother; Carolyn’s daughter. He repeated “Who are you?” and I said I didn’t know.

This therapist (pastoral counselor) planted the seeds of questioning that eventually led to a series of therapists that accompanied me as I thought through both my past and my present.

I discovered that I was trying so hard to please everyone around me. And at some point I added the therapist to the list and tried to please that person too. It took a while to recognize myself—who I am, and what I want. I think it’s part of the life journey and my experience is that therapy is one way of sorting things out.

I have often talked through something and discovered the answer that works for me in the midst of my talking. Sometimes the therapist or the person doing the listening just has to be there—a support, a questioner, a listener. Because I have the answer. It’s within me and I can discover it.

207. Breathe

And I’m talking about conscious breathing. Part of my Jin Shin routine (see #187) is to take 36 conscious breaths each day. But once I started the breathing from the diaphragm, I found myself at other times in the day taking more of those deep, cleansing breaths.

What if….What if they were a key to health?

—

Sit in the silence

Calm every care

Listen for Spirit

Hovering near

—

Breathe from the deep place

Find treasure there

Call in the healing and

Pray

—

© Copyright 2008 by Ann Freeman Price

206. Each Day Begins

It used to be that as I drove to church on Sunday morning I would sing the tune to “When Jesus Wept.” It was a breath exercise for me and also a chance to get my voice tuning up a little. This short little tune has four phrases and that’s how I would start it out but then would see if breath-wise I could sing it in two phrases. Good exercise first thing in the morning.

It’s a song we use usually during Holy Week and as I drove along I could never remember the words. So I wrote new ones. Now I sing it any day as I drive and really think about the words. Same tune—When Jesus Wept—new words.

Each day begins and then each day ends,

And so our lives have endings too.

Look closely now at time you have

And use your moments to live the love.

—

© Copyright 2012 by Ann Freeman Price

205. Philosophy of Aging

It’s here in a rap—written when I was 62—and still true today. So tap your toe, get a beat going, and read it out loud.

—

Aging Rap

—

Well, we’re gonna do a little bit of aging rap

That talks about birthdays and such,

And all the different ways that society says

You gotta stay out of touch

With just how old you really are,

Oh please don’t say it out loud,

‘Cause the game says “Keep it a secret”

“Change the subject.” “No, don’t tell me you’re proud”

—

I’m getting older—every day older

I don’t need to pretend

‘Cause it’s really o.k. every day

So get out the flowers and send

Them to me—’cause I’m 62.

—

Now part of the game is that someone says,

“How old did you say you were?”

And I’m supposed to hem and haw

Or lie—”late 50’s sir.”

But never in a minute did he expect

That I would say “62.”

What a shock. He turns around

And then comes game number two.

—

‘Cause then he says with a gentle smile

“I never would have guessed!

Why you look about forty-seven,

Look at you—so spiffily dressed.

And I smile with a little more of a raucous smile

And say “Well I want you to know

That this is what sixty-two looks like

And it really is a go!”

—

My grandson Zachariah said one day

As we waited on line at the A&P,

“Now you’re sixty-two, isn’t that right?”

I said, “Right.” People turned around to see.

He said, “But grandma I’m six right now

But when I’m 37, what will you be?”

I said, “Let me figure—I’ll tell you sure.

Zack, I’ll be a hundred and three.”

—

I have three daughters and that’s been great,

But another of the games we know,

Is that when people look at us and say,

“I don’t believe it. Can’t be so.

You look like sisters.” Give me a break.

I laugh and say, “You should check your eyes.

They’re in their 30’s. I’m 62.

And you don’t win a prize for perception.

You just don’t win a prize.”

—

You add it all up and sideways too

Society is trying to say

That getting old just can’t be good

You have to hide it some way.

You have to pretend or use special goo

But don’t let anyone know

Exactly what your age is

Well, I don’t buy it—SO

—

I interrupt whenever I can

Just like I do all the jokes

That are racist, or sexist, homophobic or bad,

I interrupt the hoax

That age is something you have to hide.

It really isn’t you know

Let’s all jump on the bandwagon

And interrupt in order to show—

—

We’re getting older—every day older,

We don’t need to pretend.

‘Cause it’s really o.k. every day

So get out the flowers

And send them to us

‘Cause we’re 62 and 74 and 85

And it’s really all O.K.

—

© Copyright 1995 by Ann Freeman Price

204. To Shred or Not To Shred – Journals, That Is

I found myself a few weeks ago going back to my very first journal and trying to decide whether I should keep them with permission given to my children to read them if they wanted to, or whether I should shred them.

I remembered those times when my own mother came to came to live with me in 1982. I worked full time. She had a room in my Nyack house. And at one point she said to me, “I have thrown away my journals.”

At the time I was overwhelmed with working, getting her to doctor’s appointments, running a house and I think I only asked, “Are you sure that you wanted to do that?” And I really don’t remember what she answered.

After her death (in 1984 when she was 74 years old), my regret for those lost journals of hers increased dramatically. I wished I had reassured her that I was interested. I wished I could discern whether she threw them out because she was depressed at having to leave her Indianapolis life and friends. I felt like I didn’t know what I had lost—did they go back to her childhood? Did I lose pieces of history?

And now I am 79 years old and reading the old journals. Now I am the mother and imagining my children reading these journals. I now see Mother’s decision in a whole new light and don’t know whether my reasons are the same as hers, but it makes me think.

I’m shredding. And these are some of the reasons: 1) I write incompletely, and as I re-read them (1974 journals) I immediately see the entire scene. My children wouldn’t be able to do that. 2) Some of what I have written is my story, but at the same time, some of what I have written belongs to other people. It’s their story and not mine to tell or to share. 3) I really did write just for me and for no one else. It was private when I wrote it and it still is private.

When I look at those reasons and think back to Mother’s journals—there may have been very similar thoughts going through her head.