Spirit Animals

I was running along the bay in San Francisco the other afternoon. It was a crisp, overcast but not foggy day. I was on the flip side of an 8 mile out and back, just going down the hill above Fort Mason that I had climbed on the way out, when a huge thing swooped next to me and alit on the branch of a cypress to my left.  I stopped, having identified it as a bird of prey. A red-tailed hawk, I believe.
It was not as if I had never seen such a hawk before, but the way it swooped in so close and landed there, then eyed me, in the middle of a city? That was different.

Hawk, SF, October 2016

Next morning, I ran before sunrise. I was running up Lombard and hit that weird dead end at the top at Kearny where you have to either break into someone's gated stairs down the big hill near Chinatown or run further up a hill around the corner to God knows where, and as I stopped to ponder what to do next I saw just ahead of me, in the middle of the street, a coyote. My head lamp made its eyes glow and I was not particularly scared. Just a little thrown off. Too thrown off to snap a photo. It finally trotted away after eyeing me for awhile. I am surprised it did not try to eat me. God knows I have enough meat on me these days to keep it hale for a good week. I turned around and found my way back to a feasible route. Headlamp was also helpful to avoid stepping on any of the homeless folk sleeping on the sidewalks.

I never get used to that. I bet they don't either.

I used to work for a mobile medical clinic in San Francisco, back in residency. We would search out the homeless in their various haunts (i.e. places they felt safest). I remember coming to work at clinic on that day we call 9-11 now. But clinic was cancelled, which I could just never quite figure out. The city was eerily quiet that day. Maybe the lack of airplanes flying over, and people just sort of huddling close together indoors. At least the people that had indoors to huddle within.

While driving home along the 101 today, there was a golden retriever in a truck. But not in the flatbed like you are picturing. He was in the cab with his people, sitting on his haunches but facing backward, and the middle back window was open. He had his paws up on the window frame and his head sticking out with the biggest smile on his face.

I count that as 3 spirit animal sightings in 3 days. Now I have always considered the whale my personal spirit animal. I seem to have intense dreams involving whales whenever something big is about to happen in my life. But I am open to the idea that we are constantly being offered messages from the world around us. We are mostly too busy with our nose in our iPhone screen to notice them. I am guilty as anyone of this. I also often stop to wonder what would happen if you plated out a culture from everyone's iPhone screens. But I digress, into potentially award-winning middle school science fair projects and my own insecurities thanks to my medical school infection and immunity professor. I only ever flush the toilet with my elbow, thanks to him.

According to my highly dubious sources, the hawk may represent being able to see meaning in ordinary experiences. Also seeing the bigger picture, having vision and intuition. It might be telling me to step back and look at a difficult situation with a new perspective. The hawk is telling me to pay attention. So I tried to ask it for more details, as I am a scientist and I want some details gorramit, but this is what it said:



I interpreted that as "See ya, sucker. You ask too many questions. Now go finish that run."

The coyote made me so happy. Apparently it is meant to make you stop taking yourself so seriously. It might be time to let go, and get on with things. Irony and a trickster spirit are its specialities. Wisdom and folly go hand in hand, and, for heaven's sakes play more often.

I told a friend about my sighting and she said if I see a roadrunner next she is calling a doctor for me.

That dog in the truck, well it could mean letting go of doubt, as there is plenty of knowledge, skill and support to achieve my goals. Also,  it is telling me to let go of material things and stay focused in the present moment.

OK I buy that last part. Has anyone out there ever in your entire life met a Golden Retriever not focused on the present moment? Or any dog, for that matter? OK, my dog Miles is often focused on getting to the beach, which is often in the future and past, but he is also an avid fan of television and likes to hump 12 year old Zoe the golden doodle in the window for all to see. So, Miles may not be the best example of the deep wisdom or spiritual awareness of dogs. He likes the Warriors (even after last night!), hates the Simpsons, and patiently watched the presidential debates. He prefers long beach runs to food, likes to lay on his back and stretch his front legs out as far as they go. He burps, snores and irritates the hell out of my teenaged daughter. He chews on good literature (literally) and doesn't mind butting my hands with his curly head in the middle of a technically difficult piano piece. He gets upset if the family plays raucous games with each other and likes to sit on our feet and lean against our legs till he slides over onto the floor. Mainly because he, like most other standard poodles, has no ass.

Tomorrow I board not one but 3 planes to go and see my beloved GodMom get married. She is just the best GodMother ever. I know for a fact she and my Mom used to hide in the bathtub, fully clothed, drinking coffee and chatting while 7 kids pounded on the door at various times looking for whatever it is kids look for from their ever-suffering parents. But aside from bath tub escapes, she, like my Mom, always has shown up. Shown up with spirit and tenderness and humor. Plus she rode on the Harry Potter ride with me at Universal Studios in Orlando a few years back. I thought I was going to have a heart attack, but she took it all in stride.

It has now been over 20 years since my Mom died. A few years after her death I found myself at a mindfulness retreat along the coast of California. I was out walking on a silent day, and there was a small wooden shed in the field on a cliff overlooking the Pacific ocean. I went in, and found it to be a shrine of sorts, with an altar and various significant pieces set there by many people over what appeared to be years. Some found, natural objects. Some photos and icons and treasure of sorts. As I sat there, I suddenly felt my Mom's presence. And then a small songbird flew in and fluttered about this small space while I sat there. It finally came to rest and we sat together for awhile. Then it spread its wings and sailed away from me.

Pay attention.
See the extraordinary.
Do not take yourself too seriously.
Consider play important, and material things overrated.
Sit quietly, and see what happens.
Show up for those whom you love, and those you don't love and those you don't even know.

Stop asking so many questions.

Finish the damn run.

The Blog Before the Storm

My dogs will not leave my side tonight. I am not sure why. There is a storm brewing. It has been brewing all day. I did my house calls early in the day for fear that weather would preclude reasonable travel later. A smattering of rain, some bit of wind. No major storm yet though. It is sitting there in the air, like an about to be lit stick of dynamite. I feel like it is inevitable that things will explode, so please, just touch the lighter to the wick already.

My dogs may sense the storm. They may know of a "big one"coming. They may think I am a big piece of bacon. It is hard to say for sure.

Maybe they read the news. What is happening in the world is certainly scary enough. And the coming election is like being stuck as a character in To Kill a Mockingbird. Racism is over, right? Nope. Sexism is passé, yes? Nope. Unwanted sexual contact is illegal, YES????

When I was 16, I was on a bus to the Vatican in Rome. It was packed. A man came from behind me and as I held onto the hand rail above me for dear life, he grinded into me from behind. I was horrified. It happened again in Venice, on a gondola. When I was 18, I was in college, walking home from a café at night. A man followed me, I quickened my steps, he followed closer, I got to my destination and nervously got inside. I have a dozen more similar stories. I hardly get through a day, much less a week in my profession without a comment on my appearance. It is not OK. It is not OK.

It is not OK, because I am human. Not because I am a Mom, a wife, a daughter, an Aunt, a sister.

I like to run. I like to study. I like to play piano. I like to read. I like to think I can walk in the wilderness alone. I like to travel. I like to be a Mom of daughters and also of sons.

Here is what I have been told:
To run is to be thin.
To study is geeky and not lady-like.
To play piano is to wear the right dress and to be presentable.
To read is to like chic lit.
To walk in the wilderness alone is dangerous.
To travel, as a woman, is also dangerous.
To be a Mom is to be perfect. To be an example of hard work, morality, and to make the best cookies in town (which I do, if I do say so myself). And to work but not too much. To be present at every major developmental stage. To keep your kid out of jail, and send them to a big name college. To be presentable, perfect, kind, adaptable, and pretty.
Be pretty most of all. It might become law if The Donald becomes president.

My dogs are probably mistaken. Nothing big ever happens when we expect it. But I respect their commitment to me, or my perception of their commitment. They love me, for sure. They are not filled with hate or prejudice or misogyny. They just like a good run, a soft place to sleep and the knowledge that they are part of a pack that matters.

I think my pack matters. I love my family, my community. I welcome the coming storm. I run from nothing. I run to everything. Everything that matters.

And, please, Michelle, can you run for president?

Big Business

I have read Runner's World magazine for most of my adult life. And why not? Every month there is a whole cover to cover magazine dedicated to the best sport ever! Granted, it does seem like there is a finite amount of things that can be said about putting on shoes (or not--barefoot running is in, after all) and going out the door to run. They always come up with something good though. And now there is even a new set of running magazines dedicated to trail running.

Trail running is becoming big business. There are hundreds of trail races all over the world, many of them ultra-marathons. People are starting to dope for them, so you know they are real competitions. They now have dogs sniffing the granola and gatorade at rest stops to ensure everyone is following the rules. Not really, but they might have to start doing this. They could have the athletes pee in a cup at mile 72, but their impending renal failure might preclude that, so dogs are probably the best option. I have long suspected that gatorade IS urine, derived and purified from the bladders of the athletes who advertise for them. It is magical and tastes a little like sucking on distilled kidney stone juice. Disclaimer: I am not getting any kickbacks from Gatorade corporation.

I love trail running. I am sort of bummed it is turning into such a thing, but I guess maybe I should be happy or at least a little pleased because it gets folks outdoors and has more people passionate about protecting our environment. They might be less likely to have the bumper sticker I saw this past week on a truck in front of me: "Environmentalism is a disease". When I pulled into work I immediately when to Harrison's Principles of Internal Medicine to read up on the disease of environmentalism. It kept talking about how hurting the environment can be linked to the rise of certain diseases. Maybe that's what that guy meant with his/her bumper sticker? Anyway, trail running is a big business now. All the shoe companies make "trail running shoes". I used to think this was stupid till I ran the Headlands Marathon a couple of years ago, and was slip-sliding on these steep single track sandy, rocky, slick trails. I could of used some serious traction.

These days my running is pathetic. I am too sad about my son to run much, and have slowed down considerably. I suppose I will get it back at some point. I probably just need to drink more magical Gatorade.

I did visit my son, in jail, today. He is on day 61 or so. He has not seen the light of day except through a distant window. He does try to exercise during rec time. For awhile, he balled up papers to play basketball, as they had no ball. He also walks laps around the room. It takes 35 steps to circle the room. I may be choosing not to exercise as much, but honestly cannot imagine being barred (literally and figuratively) from moving my body, and from being outdoors. I get people in jail and prison are being punished, but I wonder exactly how helpful it is for making an 18 year old with addiction into a better person?

Prisons are a big business. Our president helped move along the phasing out of private federal prisons. This is a good step. The more profit in it, the more prisoners there will be, and prison is not always the right answer. Also, if you profit from someone being in prison, why would you want to rehabilitate them? I never pictured myself having a personal stake in this whole issue, but therein lies the rub. We need to care about stuff because it could affect others in our community, and maybe one day us. I think Jesus' whole thing about visiting the prisoners and tending to the sick is akin to doing the same for Him should be reason enough for the Christians in our country to give a shit about healthcare and justice equity. But I digress, and too many Christians see profit as a God-given right. Bah humbug.

Nursing homes: big business. Locally, we are facing the closure of 3 of 5 of our nursing homes, because they are not profitable. The mission of a nursing home should be rehabilitation (sound familiar?) and for those not rehabilitatable (now there is a mouthful), a place to be housed, fed, cared for, loved, kept clean, kept safe. How, exactly, should profit fit into this? I work for a program, PACE, that serves people at risk of losing their independence due to health issues and frailty. The nursing homes, under the company The Devil--oops I meant Rockport, decided last year they did not want to work with us because we "take away business from them". We found a solution to care for people who needed temporary or longer term placement for support and rehab. But my eyes were opened to the absolute folly of making care of other humans a profitable endeavor. Some things can be big business: running shoes, cell phones, um.....hold on. Do I want 10 year old in China making my running shoes or my iPhones? Dang, it is hard to be a good person in this day and age.

It is certainly an opportune time for our community to rethink how we care for seniors. I wrote about it a bit in my column this month on person-centered care. Maybe money is not the most important thing. I know Mother Teresa supposedly said "without money, there is no mission" but truth be told, the money to do good works is not nearly as much as the money it takes to please a board of directors to a big business. A community can decide to support a good cause. A community can help create change.

I am a preacher's daughter, as well as the niece of 6 other preachers, so forgive me if this is getting preachy.

Take home points:
-Environmentalism is not actually a disease. I looked this up.
-Trail running is awesome and does not take a magazine to tell you how to do it.
-For profit institutions meant to rehabilitate people are a really bad idea.
-The Netherlands gets it right. See below, if you don't believe me. This is well worth 20 minutes of your life to watch.
-I need to get back to my running.

Objectify Lesson

Today was the Fifth Avenue Mile. Jenny Simpson won. She and 4 others were just in Zurich. Let'sRun.com has it here:

"Four-time Fifth Avenue champion and Olympic 1500m bronze medalist Jenny Simpson; training partner and Olympic steeplechase bronze medalist Emma Coburn; British national record holder and 1500m Diamond League champion Laura Muir; American 800m national champion Kate Grace, and 2015 world championships steeplechase finalist Stephanie Garcia all will depart Zurich this morning –albeit a bit tired– and are ready to run down Fifth Avenue."

Man, they were fast. I mean, for women. 
Actually the press coverage of Fifth Ave is pretty balanced. Unlike the olympics. 

I might be a little touchy on this issue today. As a doctor, I am in a still male-dominated field, although that is changing when you see the breakdown of medical school classes by sex. And by sex I mean gender, not what happens in every call room every day during every episode of Grey's Anatomy.

Today on call, I was soundly treated with disrespect by both a physician (man) and nurse (woman). All while protecting and caring for a dying patient who was in agony but now has symptoms controlled. After I cooled down a bit from the idiotic discussions I had, I realized the following:

1) No one would EVER speak to a man doctor like that

2) Patient well-being is something I have to fight for on a regular basis, because if you want to do something right, you have to be able to take shit from others who are perhaps following the party line without one ounce of subtlety or compassion

3) It does me no good to get all upset about these things

4) I miss Matt Miller, who always had my back

Being a female physician who is bald and not particularly beautiful does not help the situation. 

Still, I know my stuff. I put patients first. And I can run faster than a lot of "boys" my age. Also, I have a kid in jail so I am totally bad ass.

It is actually too soon to joke about that, but I am trying to keep my chin up and be tough. 

I recently attended a wilderness medicine course (a very testosterone-heavy field, btw). I took a half day session on women in the wilderness, from an amazing nurse in her 60's who is a back country skier and can find her way around with a compass and map. No GPS needed. Anyway, I learned some great skills, including how to pee standing up without pulling down my pants, and while writing my name in the snow or dirt or whatever. This nurse is part of a team leading a medical mission trip to Guatemala next February, and my youngest daughter and I plan to go. My youngest daughter, age 15, is thinking she wants to be a general surgeon someday. She has the toughness, the dexterity and the work ethic for it for sure. I cannot wait to travel with her on our first medical mission trip together. That is, if I survive this call weekend.

Toughness: inherently male? Maybe. Though I do remember giving birth and that was pretty gnarly. Also, I remember being told my worth was based on prettiness, not how I moved through the world with others. Also, I recall that I cannot get through a single day at work without someone commenting on my looks, usually a patient. It is tiring, actually. I sometimes fantasize about looking like Cristina on Grey's Anatomy, thinking then everyone would love me for my looks AND my toughness.

Then I recall how my 15 year old Chinese-American daughter has to deal with assholes discussing her eye shape, or her skin tone, or "where she is from". So maybe Meredith is the better choice, though being blonde and slight probably carries its own struggles, when trying to be a serious player in the world of male professionals. .

Yeah, I definitely would go with Cristina. 

Or Jenny Simpson. Especially if I could have her 4:18 mile pace.

Here is the thing. Michelle Obama gets criticized for wearing no sleeve dresses. Hillary Clinton is ridiculed for wearing pants suits. Malala Yousafzai gets shot for trying to go to school. France wants Muslim women to wear bikinis at the beach. College women are taught how to avoid rape, instead of college men being taught how to not rape. Crazy.

I could write a list a mile long about the injustice and the idiocy and my righteous indignation. 

None of us should be objectified. None of us should be disrespected, afraid, or shamed. 

Now excuse me while I dismount from my high horse and share my absolute favorite moment from any olympics ever, with the coolest running cat in all history. First time the women were allowed to compete in the marathon in the olympics. I think it is (about damn) time for some other female firsts too.

Reading

I just finished listening to Middlemarch by George Eliot (AKA Mary Ann Evans) on audible.com. If you do not know what audible.com is, go Google it immediately. Basically, an app on my phone where I download books and listen to them while driving, or biking. I commute to work on my bike not infrequently, and I put one ear bud in, leaving the other ear bud out to hear the approach of the guy about to mow me down in the bike lane. My ear bud pours stories into my right ear. I hope my left ear is not too jealous. Maybe I should start alternating ears?

If you have not read Middlemarch, but are a fan of "Downton Abbey", I recommend you stop everything you are currently doing and go to your local independent bookstore and read this book. Or load it on audible.com which I do not have stock in, but if you drive or bike or run a lot, this is a good thing. I sometimes do long runs listening to novels.

I like to hold a book in my hand and read too, so while listening to one book, I am always reading another. Currently that is The Best Care Possible, by Ira Byock. He is a medical doctor, a palliative care specialist, and a philosopher of sorts. He talks about how to improve care during complex illnesses and toward the end of life. It sounds all heavy and stuff, but should be required reading, along with Being Mortal by Atul Gawande and Flight of the Wren by Atthys Gage.

The latter is my husband but he is a damn fine writer, so please read his books, if you have any sense in your brain at all.

My son, now in jail, was never "in" to reading. He sort of rebelled against us in this way, because husband and I were always sitting with our face shoved in a book. Teenagers are supposed to eschew the passions of their parents. It is, like, their job. I would not say that there is a direct correlation to my son being in jail and not reading, but there may be some argument for it, as reading opens your mind to seeing the viewpoints of others, and also challenges you to rethink what you hold as true. Crime and Punishment comes to mind, which my eldest daughter once wrote a brilliant essay on. One day I came home from work to hear her and my husband discussing this book, but she and he had renamed all the characters as Sponge Bob characters, as the Russian names were too hard to remember and pronounce. This argues for a nice healthy balance between TV and books. And a trivia point: the original creator of "Sponge Bob Squarepants" was a guy who attended the college in our home town.

My son in jail is now reading a lot. Because jail offers little else to do. Video games? Nope. Television? Nope. Drugs? Well, I certainly hope not. A glimpse of the outdoors? Nope. Yes, an 18 year old, scared kid who made bad choices is stuck without any sun exposure for months on end. I am sure this will be the key to a healthy reentry into polite society. But.....at least he is reading.

Reading while running seems natural to me. I mean, you cannot actually read while running, though maybe you can if running on a treadmill, but you can run while listening to someone reading to you. Just like music. Or the sound of one hand clapping, which the purists would probably prefer. Reading while in prison seems essential. And reading at all is a rare thing in our society. Apparently about 10% of people read regularly. And we wonder why Trump is a serious candidate.

All snarky comments aside, I do have some observations to make.
1) Prison is inhumane.
2) Reading is a luxury that we take for granted.
3) If my son hangs for poor choices made at age 13-18, but Donald Trump becomes our next President, then no book in the world can explain to me the logic of the Universe.

Our local bookstore sells a bumper sticker. If you do not like swearing, please look away:

Read a Fucking Book.

Apples and Oysters

Once long ago I said to a friend that I felt stupid complaining about my suffering, because in the world there was such profound examples of suffering and mine paled by comparison. She said: "Well, that is like comparing apples and oranges. Who is to say that your suffering is less than that of anyone else? Does it matter? Suffering is suffering".

Apparently, this saying, "like comparing apples and oranges" originally was "as an apple to an oyster," like in Taming of the Shrew when Biondello does an eye roll when being compared to Tranio's father, and says out of the corner of his mouth "as much as an apple doth an oyster..."

Pointless comparisons aside, there is plenty of suffering in the world.

Recently, California passed the End of Life Option Act, which makes it legal for a physician to prescribe a lethal dose of medication to someone whom is likely to die in the next 6 months and whom requests it and whom 2 doctors certify as terminal and whom is in their right mind. This has been law for awhile in Oregon, Washington, Vermont and Montana. Oregon was first, and the main reason people participated there was not pain or other physical symptoms, but rather loss of dignity and dependence on others.

I cannot say how much suffering is or should be tolerable for any one person. I do know that I cannot personally end a life, at least not as my primary intention.

Hear are a few things I have learned about suffering in my life to date:
1) It is universal
2) We do not like to talk about it
3) It will only get worse if we elect Donald Trump as POTUS

In Amsterdam, there is an ubiquitous symbol, on flags, on man holes, on sides of buildings, on billboards: XXX. This is not an allusion to the debauchery of this City, which, truth be told, although is a place for tourists to smoke pot and visit prostitutes, is one of the more kind and unassuming places I have ever visited. Triple X refers to the cross of St Andrew. It is the official symbol, and may represent "compassion, heroism and resolution." It may also represent the suffering of the city, including fire, floods and the black death. Either way, I kind of like that it is just right there, reminding you of sorrow and higher values, whilst the inhabitants ride their bikes and tolerate the shenanigans of visitors. Amsterdam has good food, and you would never be able to do any hill workouts there. On the upside, you could very well run a PR anywhere in the Netherlands. And you could fuel it with excellent cheese and a decided lack of pretense.

Recently, my son was arrested and put in jail. After jail, it appears prison is in store. I did not know there was difference until now, and I am learning new things every day. If you go on line to local news sources, you will see a lot of opinions about how awful he is and how terrible the parents must be that raised him. But I have this to say: "(he) that is here without sin among you, let (him) cast the first stone..." Yep, it is super easy to judge people when you have no idea about their suffering and the blows life has dealt to them. My apples, your oysters, but the suffering is real no matter which fruit or fruit of the sea you identify with.

So, how does one proceed through suffering? This is really what the bulk of my professional career is about. I can prescribe medications to diminish suffering. I can recommend lifestyle changes to reduce health problems that cause suffering. I can legally prescribe death for your suffering now too--but I will not. I think a certain amount of suffering is expected as human beings.

As a parent, I can say I will show up and acknowledge my own suffering, the sadness of my son and the impact on my family. I can apologize to my community and hope for a better future for my child and others who struggle. I can get up each day and show up for work and go for runs and play piano and appreciate the small beauties presented to me.

I can enjoy apples. I can enjoy oysters, though as a vegetarian I am not overly fond of eating them outright.

I do have a prescription to offer to all who suffer, whether it be from a bad haircut, a child in prison, or a life threatening disease:
Kindness. Take every minute of every day, and give to everyone you meet every minute of every day. Side effects: happiness, calmness and hope.

My Boy. I love him, no matter what.

Little Beauties

You know who would have made a great blogger? Anne Frank.

We visited her hiding house in Amsterdam. The line to get in was around the corner and through an entire square, as it is, I understand, every day the place is open. There is good reason, though it occurred to me an hour into waiting that it sure would've been nice if people could've rallied around them with such fervor in the 1940's. I guess it was not that simple. Actually the thing that moved me most about our visit was this little video clip of her father, after the diary was published, years later, saying "most parents don't really know their children." He was close to Anne. But still.

In this day of helicopter micromanagement we like to think we know everything there is to know, and more than they know themselves, about our kids. Actually, Anne pretty much felt that was how the adults in the secret annex acted. I guess you cannot get more chance to micromanage your kid than to live in an extremely small space with them, unable to go outdoors for a break even once for years.

I don't have profundity to add to this observation of myself being so moved by that particular part of the Anne Frank house. It just struck a chord, especially as my little beauties enter into adulthood.

Which means I must be entering into something beyond adulthood. Maybe middle age or something like that. I was going to run this morning, but my body creaked in protest when I awoke, still deep in REM when my alarm went off. I have been running and biking and swimming and playing big chords in this Chopin piece and my body is feeling good in a sense--dropping some of the prednisone weight and getting a smidgen faster on my feet (and my fingers). But I can tell that if I push just a bit too hard, I am going to hobble myself and have to take a chunk of time off and go pool running or something equally terrifying in its monotony. Nothing makes the clock tick slower than pool running.

So instead of running, I did core work. Meb and Laura M says I should, so I do. Instead of running, I am writing this, and sipping some pre-work coffee. And trying not to think too hard about the future of humanity.

Yesterday, at least 70 people were killed by accident in Syria, by US led coalition forces. The footage is gruesome. Little kids buried in rubble. Syria is a complete mess. Why are we not more worried about it? It is like the situation with Anne and her family. After the fact, we will build museums and solemnly charge eager tourists to stroll through and contemplate the sadness. Not that I do not think these museums are worthwhile--they keep the stories alive, and maybe some people will come away with real motivation to fight for justice right here, right now. But today, I am just perseverating on my core and the fact I did not run and that my children are leaving the nest one by one and my coffee is delicious. I am not sure what to do about Syria. Or gun violence in our country. Or drug abuse in my community.

I will probably just keep going to work, and loving people. My middle child, who has had his fair share of woes, told me the other day he has decided the point in life is to make other people happy. He says he finds it makes him happier himself. Wise rapscallion.

Little beauties helps pass the time tolerably, as does remembering who we are at our core (the proverbial one, not the burpee target).

Leaves and Blossoms Along the Way, by Mary Oliver

If you're John Muir you want trees to
live among. If you're Emily, a garden
will do.
Try to find the right place for yourself.
If you can't find it, at least dream of it.

When one is alone and lonely, the body
gladly lingers in the wind or the rain,
or splashes into the cold river, or
pushes through the ice-crusted snow.

Anything that touches.

God, or the gods, are invisible, quite
understandable. But holiness is visible,
entirely.

Some words will never leave God's mouth,
no matter how hard you listen.

In all the works of Beethoven, you will
not find a single lie.

All important ideas must include the trees,
the mountains, and the rivers.

To understand many things you must reach out
of your own condition.

For how many years did I wander slowly
through the forest. What wonder and
glory I would have missed had I ever been
in a hurry!

Beauty can both shout and whisper, and still
it explains nothing.

The point is, you're you, and that's for keeps.