Thursday, January 22, 2015
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
My Dear Hannibal and Other Pets from the Past, Part I
I have many gaps in my memory but I work with or around them as needs be. I was a teenager when Hannibal became a part of the family. I thought of him as my dog but my brothers and sister might have other memories.
He was a good bit Irish Wolfhound and he had the most delightful eyelashes and eyebrow hair that curled down over his eyes. I dressed him in flannels and slept with him. I remember having a makeshift bedroom in the outer basement of the house when that side of the basement took on a lot of water. We were in my twin bed and he got wet ...so we both got wet. I thought of him as my friend. When I got kicked out of my home it was over. I don't think I ever saw him again.
We had different dogs when I was a teenager living in Gary, IN. Pepe died of "the mange" as my mother called it. She treated his raw spots with motor oil. I don't know if that dog ever got to see a vet. I doubt it but I know he died. We briefly had a Saint Bernard but he was bigger than my sister and appeared to terrorize her. I don't know if it's because she was scared of his bigness or something else but my mom decided he had to go. I don't know where he went anymore than the lassie dog we had when we still lived in West Virginia. I heard he went to a farm to live out his days after nearly dying from jumping over a six foot wooden fence that surrounded the back yard.
In West Virginia we moved a number of times. One place we lived for a summer was a farm that had already been planted. There were horses fenced in one direction, a bull in another and pigs, at least. Those animals weren't pets but there were many stray cats roaming the property. The number 27 comes to mind. I know that one or two were killed in some interaction with the car and my mom heavily stepped on a frog that year.
I got to ride one of the horses but I was already afraid because I had been on a runaway horse at Uncle Marvin's funeral. A lightning fast bareback ride with a cousin I barely knew left it's memory on me. The horse at the farm was a grumpy mare saddled up by my Uncle Frank and it ran straight toward an antennae that was installed right next to the house and stopped suddenly. The saddle went sideways and I fell off. I don't know how it didn't step on me. Later in the summer one of the horses did step on me.
I am afraid of horses.
Throughout childhood we always wanted a pet and my mom would say no and then we'd have a cat, or two or a dog. Bad things happened to them because they were allowed to roam free. Our family dog,Valentine, was killed by a car right in front of us.
As my parents divorced we moved in with my dad. There were some fabulous hamsters! And then one got lost and was found in the basement of the duplex. However, either that time or another, we put the male hamster back in the cage after having escaped and he ate her babies and he ate her. All these memories jumble together. Suffice to say there were hamsters, the male went psycho after a traumatic incident and death and mayhem occurred. I think of hamsters as cannibals now.
I am terrified of wiggly little animals now. And hamsters especially.
My stepmom had birds and cats so I learned a bit about the delicate nature of birds. I wouldn't want to be a caretaker of caged birds though.
Ever since I was 17 I had cats.
When I was living in my first home as a grown up at the age of 19 I took the care of a stray old mama cat very seriously. I put a box out for her to have her babies in and then the rains came and drowned all the little ones. I was heartbroken, devastated, and guilt-ridden. I don't think I had a pet after that until my kids' dad brought home what would become the family cats in about 1988.
More later. Now I'm verklempt.
He was a good bit Irish Wolfhound and he had the most delightful eyelashes and eyebrow hair that curled down over his eyes. I dressed him in flannels and slept with him. I remember having a makeshift bedroom in the outer basement of the house when that side of the basement took on a lot of water. We were in my twin bed and he got wet ...so we both got wet. I thought of him as my friend. When I got kicked out of my home it was over. I don't think I ever saw him again.
We had different dogs when I was a teenager living in Gary, IN. Pepe died of "the mange" as my mother called it. She treated his raw spots with motor oil. I don't know if that dog ever got to see a vet. I doubt it but I know he died. We briefly had a Saint Bernard but he was bigger than my sister and appeared to terrorize her. I don't know if it's because she was scared of his bigness or something else but my mom decided he had to go. I don't know where he went anymore than the lassie dog we had when we still lived in West Virginia. I heard he went to a farm to live out his days after nearly dying from jumping over a six foot wooden fence that surrounded the back yard.
In West Virginia we moved a number of times. One place we lived for a summer was a farm that had already been planted. There were horses fenced in one direction, a bull in another and pigs, at least. Those animals weren't pets but there were many stray cats roaming the property. The number 27 comes to mind. I know that one or two were killed in some interaction with the car and my mom heavily stepped on a frog that year.
I got to ride one of the horses but I was already afraid because I had been on a runaway horse at Uncle Marvin's funeral. A lightning fast bareback ride with a cousin I barely knew left it's memory on me. The horse at the farm was a grumpy mare saddled up by my Uncle Frank and it ran straight toward an antennae that was installed right next to the house and stopped suddenly. The saddle went sideways and I fell off. I don't know how it didn't step on me. Later in the summer one of the horses did step on me.
I am afraid of horses.
Throughout childhood we always wanted a pet and my mom would say no and then we'd have a cat, or two or a dog. Bad things happened to them because they were allowed to roam free. Our family dog,Valentine, was killed by a car right in front of us.
As my parents divorced we moved in with my dad. There were some fabulous hamsters! And then one got lost and was found in the basement of the duplex. However, either that time or another, we put the male hamster back in the cage after having escaped and he ate her babies and he ate her. All these memories jumble together. Suffice to say there were hamsters, the male went psycho after a traumatic incident and death and mayhem occurred. I think of hamsters as cannibals now.
I am terrified of wiggly little animals now. And hamsters especially.
My stepmom had birds and cats so I learned a bit about the delicate nature of birds. I wouldn't want to be a caretaker of caged birds though.
Ever since I was 17 I had cats.
When I was living in my first home as a grown up at the age of 19 I took the care of a stray old mama cat very seriously. I put a box out for her to have her babies in and then the rains came and drowned all the little ones. I was heartbroken, devastated, and guilt-ridden. I don't think I had a pet after that until my kids' dad brought home what would become the family cats in about 1988.
More later. Now I'm verklempt.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
My Lives, Part 1
I was a girl a long time ago. I remember little bits and pieces of being two and five because of trauma and it appears I started to have many more memories from the age of eight. I'm not surprised as I tend to date my childhood by where I was or by what school I attended. The first 12 years of my life were lived in West Virginia. That was PD - also known as pre-divorce.
My earliest memory involved me getting cuts on my hands when I was attacked by a metal dollhouse that, I think, fell out of a closet on me when playing at a friend's house. I have 2 scars on my left hand. I called them "flap" and "wishbone" based on the way they look. I don't think about them much these days. Part of the reason I remember a bit about the day is that it was the day President Kennedy died, Nov 22, 1963. I would have been 22 months old. The news must have hit the doctor's office at the same time I was there for stitches. Nurses and my mom were upset and crying.
I remember racking myself on a bar and having to be seen by the doctor when I was five. That was the approximate time I attended my first funeral, that of a baby brother that didn't live due to medical problems my mother had. He almost made it. He was full term. I also remember something about our family home being robbed and my dad being really sad and scared. I was terrified because of that.
There are wisps of memories of waking up in the middle of the night to play with my toys in the dark. If my mom figured it out I got yelled at.
When I was five or six I was enrolled in kindergarten and I remember liking the big pencils and hating the fact that I was not allowed to write with my left hand. Is that the first time someone tried to change me? I also was a bit of a daredevil and rode my trike down the very steep driveway, over the road and over the hill and got caught up in brambles. I was scratched up but okay. My mom, on the other hand, probably lost one of her lives that day.
When we were little my dad would get ready for work and, when it snowed a lot (which was rare) he'd announce he was going off to "fight the elephants." Much later I figured out that he was going to "fight the elements" and it's a good memory.
When I was eight I liked to doodle on paper making connected random curves and then filling in each area with a different crayoned colour. I can still see the first booklet of my poetry in my head. One of these bits of artwork on white paper was stapled on top of some other pages. I don't have that anymore.
That was around the time when, even in summer, we were sent to bed before the night fell. Me and my brother and sister could lie abed and listen to our friends playing and shouting outside, sometimes chasing fireflies. It was a hard time.
By the time I was nine or ten I had made a white paste Christmas tree decorated with buttons and pretties my Grandma G. let me have and glitter! It was cool. There was a picture of it that has been lost.
My dad awakened to screams from us one night. A bat was flying round and swooping us. He was heroic in our minds but had a great deal of fear in finally cornering this creature under the water heater in the bathroom and helping move it away.
We used to get away to the nearby store that sold penny candy. We thought our mom didn't know but maybe she did. We always found pennies in drawers and took them without asking. I was a regular bandit one following summer stealing turnips from a neighbor's garden with unremembered co-conspirators.
About that same time frame I was walking to school with my siblings and we were horrified to see our black and white dog Valentine get hit by a car. We also had two kittens one summer named Stormy and Sunny who were bitten nearly in half by a dog but didn't die right away. Somehow my mom scooped them up in a box and we took them to a vet and he euthanized them. It still brings tears thinking about what those poor animals who I loved so dearly suffered. Finally our lassie dog jumped the fence in the back yard while leashed. She hung herself accidentally and, had my brother and sister and I not been there, would have died. We rushed 'round the fence and pushed her up screaming for help. We got the help but the dog, according to my mom, ended up going to live on a farm. I hope that's true.
I had been sleep walking off and on for a while. I navigated long steep stairs and was often found in the kitchen just staring into the fridge.
(not finished, come back later)
My earliest memory involved me getting cuts on my hands when I was attacked by a metal dollhouse that, I think, fell out of a closet on me when playing at a friend's house. I have 2 scars on my left hand. I called them "flap" and "wishbone" based on the way they look. I don't think about them much these days. Part of the reason I remember a bit about the day is that it was the day President Kennedy died, Nov 22, 1963. I would have been 22 months old. The news must have hit the doctor's office at the same time I was there for stitches. Nurses and my mom were upset and crying.
I remember racking myself on a bar and having to be seen by the doctor when I was five. That was the approximate time I attended my first funeral, that of a baby brother that didn't live due to medical problems my mother had. He almost made it. He was full term. I also remember something about our family home being robbed and my dad being really sad and scared. I was terrified because of that.
There are wisps of memories of waking up in the middle of the night to play with my toys in the dark. If my mom figured it out I got yelled at.
When I was five or six I was enrolled in kindergarten and I remember liking the big pencils and hating the fact that I was not allowed to write with my left hand. Is that the first time someone tried to change me? I also was a bit of a daredevil and rode my trike down the very steep driveway, over the road and over the hill and got caught up in brambles. I was scratched up but okay. My mom, on the other hand, probably lost one of her lives that day.
When we were little my dad would get ready for work and, when it snowed a lot (which was rare) he'd announce he was going off to "fight the elephants." Much later I figured out that he was going to "fight the elements" and it's a good memory.
When I was eight I liked to doodle on paper making connected random curves and then filling in each area with a different crayoned colour. I can still see the first booklet of my poetry in my head. One of these bits of artwork on white paper was stapled on top of some other pages. I don't have that anymore.
That was around the time when, even in summer, we were sent to bed before the night fell. Me and my brother and sister could lie abed and listen to our friends playing and shouting outside, sometimes chasing fireflies. It was a hard time.
By the time I was nine or ten I had made a white paste Christmas tree decorated with buttons and pretties my Grandma G. let me have and glitter! It was cool. There was a picture of it that has been lost.
My dad awakened to screams from us one night. A bat was flying round and swooping us. He was heroic in our minds but had a great deal of fear in finally cornering this creature under the water heater in the bathroom and helping move it away.
We used to get away to the nearby store that sold penny candy. We thought our mom didn't know but maybe she did. We always found pennies in drawers and took them without asking. I was a regular bandit one following summer stealing turnips from a neighbor's garden with unremembered co-conspirators.
About that same time frame I was walking to school with my siblings and we were horrified to see our black and white dog Valentine get hit by a car. We also had two kittens one summer named Stormy and Sunny who were bitten nearly in half by a dog but didn't die right away. Somehow my mom scooped them up in a box and we took them to a vet and he euthanized them. It still brings tears thinking about what those poor animals who I loved so dearly suffered. Finally our lassie dog jumped the fence in the back yard while leashed. She hung herself accidentally and, had my brother and sister and I not been there, would have died. We rushed 'round the fence and pushed her up screaming for help. We got the help but the dog, according to my mom, ended up going to live on a farm. I hope that's true.
I had been sleep walking off and on for a while. I navigated long steep stairs and was often found in the kitchen just staring into the fridge.
(not finished, come back later)
Thursday, January 8, 2015
She Still Brightly Sings to Me
She still brightly, sings to me
was once unexamined Epiphany.
Vessel of mysteries - Time and Death
bow in her presence, indebted.
Calling the tides of water and wind,
lighting the fires within, within ---
was once unexamined Epiphany.
Vessel of mysteries - Time and Death
bow in her presence, indebted.
Calling the tides of water and wind,
lighting the fires within, within ---
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Gratefulness and Expectations: A Way of Thinking
Life can be hard sometimes and it is not difficult to become swamped with feelings of depression and anger when life is not going as planned. I think that's part of understanding the problem. Expectations are like beautiful paintings seen from a distance. The blue sky, the sandy beach, and the green mountain range are all deceptive. Instead of looking at them as absolutes I think viewing them as symbols makes more sense.
Is that blue sky cold or hot? Are clouds on the way? Is it backlit by a sun that is so hot that it burns? Does it herald the calm before a hurricane? Is the sand of the beach, like Lake Michigan's beach on the Indiana side, infested with dead ailwives that one can squish up between the toes on a walk? Is the green mountain range as lovely as it seems or are you forgetting about the snakes and poisoness critters and plants that inhabit it?
I've been very unhappy, at times, when I assumed or expected that certain truths were particularly true. I used to sing the mantra "family first" to my children and others who might listen. I find myself at odds with my family and far from those who care. I don't expect it will change but choose to remain open to future changes. I used to hammer myself about my unworthiness in situations where I assumed that certain people "should" care enough to "do" something.
I've learned life isn't all about me. I continue to retrain my brain and am not always successful. I brush myself off and try again when I realize I am off track. It helps to talk to myself about my gratitudes. No matter how dark the day I can find something to be grateful for. If I exist then I am alive. I am always grateful to be alive. If nothing else that is what I can focus on.
I am grateful for life, for a roof over my head and creature comforts of a simple kind. I am grateful for days when I can see better than usual. I am grateful that my daughters are succeeding in life from what I can tell. I am grateful that I have a talent for working with words. i am grateful I have chronic illness that can be treated.
I am grateful that there are a handful of folks who love me and perhaps one or two who actually come close to understanding me. I am grateful to have retired from an employer who had a plan for long term disability and that I chose to improve my plan before I knew I was going to be dealing witih blindness. I am grateful that, occasionally, a friend has a great idea that involves getting me out of the house for fun.
I could be angry for the blindness, the illness, the losses and for being so alone. Most of the time I am not. I am grateful for having ways to learn, on my own.
I doubt anyone is reading this but, if so, thank you.
Sherry
Is that blue sky cold or hot? Are clouds on the way? Is it backlit by a sun that is so hot that it burns? Does it herald the calm before a hurricane? Is the sand of the beach, like Lake Michigan's beach on the Indiana side, infested with dead ailwives that one can squish up between the toes on a walk? Is the green mountain range as lovely as it seems or are you forgetting about the snakes and poisoness critters and plants that inhabit it?
I've been very unhappy, at times, when I assumed or expected that certain truths were particularly true. I used to sing the mantra "family first" to my children and others who might listen. I find myself at odds with my family and far from those who care. I don't expect it will change but choose to remain open to future changes. I used to hammer myself about my unworthiness in situations where I assumed that certain people "should" care enough to "do" something.
I've learned life isn't all about me. I continue to retrain my brain and am not always successful. I brush myself off and try again when I realize I am off track. It helps to talk to myself about my gratitudes. No matter how dark the day I can find something to be grateful for. If I exist then I am alive. I am always grateful to be alive. If nothing else that is what I can focus on.
I am grateful for life, for a roof over my head and creature comforts of a simple kind. I am grateful for days when I can see better than usual. I am grateful that my daughters are succeeding in life from what I can tell. I am grateful that I have a talent for working with words. i am grateful I have chronic illness that can be treated.
I am grateful that there are a handful of folks who love me and perhaps one or two who actually come close to understanding me. I am grateful to have retired from an employer who had a plan for long term disability and that I chose to improve my plan before I knew I was going to be dealing witih blindness. I am grateful that, occasionally, a friend has a great idea that involves getting me out of the house for fun.
I could be angry for the blindness, the illness, the losses and for being so alone. Most of the time I am not. I am grateful for having ways to learn, on my own.
I doubt anyone is reading this but, if so, thank you.
Sherry
Thursday, January 1, 2015
A New Day and Old Problems
It's a new day of a new year. It's been quiet and I've been reflective.
Where the hell is my life going to go from here? I'm trapped.
I try not to get stressed out because it ends up hurting my eyes. Trust me on this. So, I clean the house, play a little of a game or two if I can see well enough, plan my escape, pack a box and try to picture my next home. Everything in town that supports a usual life is closed.
There is no pharmacy or Five and Dime anymore. The bowling alley is dead as well as the paint ball and go-kart place and, last straw for me, the grocery store in town closed up one day in the summer.
People who live here like the "quaintness" of the village so much that I think many would rather see it die. Right now if I walk half a mile I can get coffee, tacos, beer and sports on TV in two bars, a haircut or visit the newer gun shop. Lots of places to grab a bite from. But nothing that I think of as "meat" when living in a village of thouands.
Options for public transportation are practically nil. There is a county wide program available but my village is the odd man out as it refuses to get the services for people like me. The buses do come through here taking folks from other villages but they don't stop here.
I have a family that takes great pride in it's togetherness. In order for me to participate I am told I must live nearer by. On the expressway I am about 35 minutes away right now. My boyfriend is legally blind and I'm going blind and there is no way I'd be able to see him if I were to move to this closer space.
Actually, there is a great deal of contempt for me and I know that a move to be nearer would just make my interactions with my closest family feel even more burdensome. I have no desire, independent soul that I am, to take up the time of others who act like it's a burden.
Even to people who would describe themselves as being, like me, "of service" there is a distinct distaste for having a Pagan family member. Most of my family has morphed over the last eight years into Tea Party people. It make life tough when politics, religion and life goals are so disparate.
I did get to see family south of me on Thanksgiving because my brother decided to pick me up. He said he didn't think my uncle looked well and he wanted me to be able to see him. He looks well enough, in my estimation, although I know he's had some tough health problems in the last couple of years. I loved getting to go but I did not love getting berated during the ride. It's a long story.
Never a borrower or a lender be... and there are some folks who labor under the impression that I am rich. I never was but I knew how to manage money. I bought my home and then I lost my job because of my eyes -- not being able to see the computer screens, no matter how big they were. I also lost forty percent of my income compounded by spending in excess of seven thousand dollars each year for two or three years for health problems, insurance and medication.
I try to stay, if not positive, aware and focused on my tasks towards my goal. House needs to be packed up and cleaned and then I can consult a realtor. I tried renting out my upstairs level of my home twice, once to a good friend. All that resutted in was a mess upstairs and the loss of a friendship. Never again!
Try to walk in my shoes sometime. I don't think you'll last very long.
I am a curmudgon for many reasons and that's okay.
I am venting today because a family get together will probably take place without me. I'm tired of reminding folks I'm too blind to drive on a road trip - or much of anywhere really - and it's impossible to disabuse folks that I am well off enough to pay nearly a thousand bucks to go somewhere. I have said my peace. I have a car. I need a driver. Forty some odd people know this. I throw it into the arms of the universe and we will see where it goes. I expect to hear a nearby PLOP! any time now. I am tired of being seen as a beggar. I don't do that. I never did.
I am also very tired of broken promises. I missed out on Houston because I believed someone would keep his word. I only saw the baby once, back on Labor Day. I didn't get a ride to West Virginia. And folks keep scheduling get togethers when they know I can't do "after dark" even if I am having a relatively good I day.
Sometimes I think my disappearance would make a fair number of people more comfortable.
Til you come again........
Where the hell is my life going to go from here? I'm trapped.
I try not to get stressed out because it ends up hurting my eyes. Trust me on this. So, I clean the house, play a little of a game or two if I can see well enough, plan my escape, pack a box and try to picture my next home. Everything in town that supports a usual life is closed.
There is no pharmacy or Five and Dime anymore. The bowling alley is dead as well as the paint ball and go-kart place and, last straw for me, the grocery store in town closed up one day in the summer.
People who live here like the "quaintness" of the village so much that I think many would rather see it die. Right now if I walk half a mile I can get coffee, tacos, beer and sports on TV in two bars, a haircut or visit the newer gun shop. Lots of places to grab a bite from. But nothing that I think of as "meat" when living in a village of thouands.
Options for public transportation are practically nil. There is a county wide program available but my village is the odd man out as it refuses to get the services for people like me. The buses do come through here taking folks from other villages but they don't stop here.
I have a family that takes great pride in it's togetherness. In order for me to participate I am told I must live nearer by. On the expressway I am about 35 minutes away right now. My boyfriend is legally blind and I'm going blind and there is no way I'd be able to see him if I were to move to this closer space.
Actually, there is a great deal of contempt for me and I know that a move to be nearer would just make my interactions with my closest family feel even more burdensome. I have no desire, independent soul that I am, to take up the time of others who act like it's a burden.
Even to people who would describe themselves as being, like me, "of service" there is a distinct distaste for having a Pagan family member. Most of my family has morphed over the last eight years into Tea Party people. It make life tough when politics, religion and life goals are so disparate.
I did get to see family south of me on Thanksgiving because my brother decided to pick me up. He said he didn't think my uncle looked well and he wanted me to be able to see him. He looks well enough, in my estimation, although I know he's had some tough health problems in the last couple of years. I loved getting to go but I did not love getting berated during the ride. It's a long story.
Never a borrower or a lender be... and there are some folks who labor under the impression that I am rich. I never was but I knew how to manage money. I bought my home and then I lost my job because of my eyes -- not being able to see the computer screens, no matter how big they were. I also lost forty percent of my income compounded by spending in excess of seven thousand dollars each year for two or three years for health problems, insurance and medication.
I try to stay, if not positive, aware and focused on my tasks towards my goal. House needs to be packed up and cleaned and then I can consult a realtor. I tried renting out my upstairs level of my home twice, once to a good friend. All that resutted in was a mess upstairs and the loss of a friendship. Never again!
Try to walk in my shoes sometime. I don't think you'll last very long.
I am a curmudgon for many reasons and that's okay.
I am venting today because a family get together will probably take place without me. I'm tired of reminding folks I'm too blind to drive on a road trip - or much of anywhere really - and it's impossible to disabuse folks that I am well off enough to pay nearly a thousand bucks to go somewhere. I have said my peace. I have a car. I need a driver. Forty some odd people know this. I throw it into the arms of the universe and we will see where it goes. I expect to hear a nearby PLOP! any time now. I am tired of being seen as a beggar. I don't do that. I never did.
I am also very tired of broken promises. I missed out on Houston because I believed someone would keep his word. I only saw the baby once, back on Labor Day. I didn't get a ride to West Virginia. And folks keep scheduling get togethers when they know I can't do "after dark" even if I am having a relatively good I day.
Sometimes I think my disappearance would make a fair number of people more comfortable.
Til you come again........
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
We Aren't Kind Enough
What is kindness? How might it operate in our daily lives? Why does it matter?
“Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair, but manifestations of strength and resolution.”
― Khalil Gibran
Actively listening and observing can tell us a lot about what others are dealing with in life. We do not know what others are encountering on their paths. Many lives are fraught with sadness, grief, pain and despair to varying degrees. In our present day society kindness is not valued as it might be. While some people seem to be naturally kind I think that it is a quality that one can nurture in oneself.
When a person feels unheard, when he is left alone, oftener and longer than he would wish, it can be tough. Kindness can make life better and restore a person with hope, even momentary joy.
What does kindness look like?
Kindness is showing up in someone's life. Kindness is paying a past act of happiness forward to another person. Kindness is a hug, a meal and a willing ear lent graciously. Kindness is a smile that reaches to the eyes, an interaction with someone that doesn't involve repeatedly looking at one's watch. Kindness can involve doing acts of service of any sort.
Kindness is a state of being and a state of mind. It is an act of holding space for someone unlike others in your life and trying to understand. Kindness is giving someone what he wants and not what you want.
Kindness involves not shaming people for their problems and privations.
I'm working on being kinder to myself and I hope that translate into my being kinder to others as well.
“Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair, but manifestations of strength and resolution.”
― Khalil Gibran
Actively listening and observing can tell us a lot about what others are dealing with in life. We do not know what others are encountering on their paths. Many lives are fraught with sadness, grief, pain and despair to varying degrees. In our present day society kindness is not valued as it might be. While some people seem to be naturally kind I think that it is a quality that one can nurture in oneself.
When a person feels unheard, when he is left alone, oftener and longer than he would wish, it can be tough. Kindness can make life better and restore a person with hope, even momentary joy.
What does kindness look like?
Kindness is showing up in someone's life. Kindness is paying a past act of happiness forward to another person. Kindness is a hug, a meal and a willing ear lent graciously. Kindness is a smile that reaches to the eyes, an interaction with someone that doesn't involve repeatedly looking at one's watch. Kindness can involve doing acts of service of any sort.
Kindness is a state of being and a state of mind. It is an act of holding space for someone unlike others in your life and trying to understand. Kindness is giving someone what he wants and not what you want.
Kindness involves not shaming people for their problems and privations.
I'm working on being kinder to myself and I hope that translate into my being kinder to others as well.
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