Giving Back

"Everyday I remind myself that my inner and outer life are based on the labors of others, living and dead, and that I must exert myself in order to give in the same measure as I have received and am still receiving." Albert Einstein

I ran across this quotation today and thought, Wow, he sure took that self-talk seriously. Albert Einstein gave the world many things including his research in the photoelectric effect which scored him a Nobel Prize in Physics and led to our understanding of the quantum nature of light. Well, not exactly "our" understanding. I could read theories and principles of physics until I am calcified in the grave and it would still be gobbly-glop to me.

How lucky we are, though, to have the combined knowledge that mankind has passed down through the centuries---our concepts of science as well as mind, body and spirit---each generation building on the last. How lucky we are that we don't have to start from scratch every so many years to re-invent fire, wheels and Spanx's undergarments. But aside from Einstein, I wonder how many of us have ever thought about our responsibility to give back with the same measure as we've received. And would the "measure we've received" be the same for each of us? Should it be or could it be? I don't understand physics, for example, so I can't give back in terms of ground breaking scientific theories. No, it will be up to others to figure out if the earth is hurling off its axis and in danger of being sucked into a Black Hole---or does that only happen in sci-fi comic books?

But maybe for me, and others like me, it's enough to give back what we can in terms of the love, logic and sensitivity bred into civilized society one caring set of parents to their children at a time. Maybe it's enough for us to take care of our young and elderly, recycle cans, and save turtles from becoming road kill. We can't all be Albert Einstein. But some of us can be Leonard Bernstein's or Brad Pitt's or nameless, do-good people doing the best we can to give back the same measure as we've received. Maybe it's enough for ordinary minds to recognize and nurture the good in the world and ignore or fight back against the bad.

I guess this is all just another way of saying that each of us has talents or skills to add to the pot of soup cooking over the communal fire. Add what you can, when ever you can.

Jean Riva ©

Photo: Albert Einstein, Nobel Prize Photo, 1921

Fess Up, Anyone for Gluttony or Greed?

Lest you think I never write anything except stroke and speech related stuff, I'm going to share a tongue-in-cheek look at two of the Seven Deadly Sins that I wrote for Associated Content. Yes, it's slightly irreverent but what else would you expect from a senior citizen with too much time on her hands?

But if you really want to read something stroke related, Cooper (our dog) blogged about Don's stroke in his entry titled, Daddy's Little Service Dog. Click here.


GLUTTONY AND GREED

I've already written about lust in the first of this four part series, so I might as well tackle the other two of the Seven Deadly Sins that fall in the category of excessive love of earthly pleasures: Greed and Gluttony. If Dante could lump the sins of lust, greed and gluttony together in 'Purgatorio' I can, too. After all, without Dante to rank the sins would we even have---on second thought, let's not go there! I don't want the natives to get restless here.

We all know something about greed. Or we think it's about amassing money or worldly goods and hoarding it all for ourselves. Literally speaking this is true, I guess, but how much is too much? Who decides when we've got enough Ding Dongs and dollars in our cupboards to ward off future catastrophic events? Greed, as in one of the Seven Deadly Sins, only makes sense when we hold it up against The Virtue in which that sin offends. Here, that virtue is Generosity.

Okay, so sharing is good. I think I read that in a book titled, 'All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.' So in theory if we share our Ding Dongs with the cat and..... Click here to read the entire article.

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Christmas: Past, Present and Future

It's Christmas Eve and feelings of happiness that Don's aorta aneurysm surgery was successful are intermingled with fleeting feelings of fear and sadness. Fear of a future filled with loneliness should Don, at some point, cease to be before my time on earth has ended. Sad at past loses and flowing tears.

I left the hospital today, came home to an arthritic dog with cataract encrusted eyes and he reminded me even more of how fragile life can be. Don, the dog and going back and forth to the hospital couldn't help but bring ghosts of another holiday season not so long ago when I held my dad's hand at the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve and shortly afterwards he ceased to be. Dead while the rest of the world rollicked in colorful wrapping paper and ribbons. Dead while shiny stars stood tall on the tops of twinkling trees and gazed down on laughing children who were too young to understand or care about the pain in my heart.

I had no Christmas spirit this year. No cards went out. Short of a wreath on the front door, no decorations shouted out their joy around our house. I barely was able to open greeting cards that arrived in the mailbox. I felt guilty cheating Don out of the traditions we've carved out for ourselves, living here these past few years since his stroke. But buried deep in the corner of my mind was the fear that Don would die or be forever lost in the maze of disabilities that would finally put him in a nursing home. It was a secret I couldn't share that I knew I couldn’t have come home, if the worst had happened, to a house with Christmas decor. It would have mocked me for being so presumptuous that Don would beat the odds once again. And it would have forever sealed the association of tinsel and boughs of holly with death. But the worst didn't happen and I am grateful that in a few days I'll no longer have to look across the empty space that Don usually occupies beside me in the bedroom.

The dog is doing what dogs do---begging for treats and his little toenails clicking on the Linoleum keeps the fear of the future and the sadness of the past at bay as I watch "It's a Wonderful Life" for the umpteenth time in my life. That old black and white movie with James Stewart and Donna Reed is Don's favorite Christmas film. It seems quite appropriate as I end this essay that I should hear Clarence, the angel-in-training, sum up the entire message of the film in two sentences: "Each man's life touches so many others' lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he."

Jean Riva ©

Disaster or an Inconvenience?

We all make ourselves crazy over stupid things. I know I used to do it a lot. I was the queen of making mountains out of mole hills and I would stress out over, well... the dumbest things. A missed appointment, a road closure when I was running late, a flat tire, a miscommunication with a friend over a planned engagement, a rainy day when I had special plans---these types of things had me fretting and fuming and feeling like a failure because I couldn’t micro management my life into a flawless flow of trouble-free days.

Then I learned “the secret” but it came after I’d neatly had a melt down after Don’s stroke. I’d been in the caregiver’s circus less than six months at the time. Don was still going to therapies four days a week, all afternoon, which of course I had to attend. I was also involved in selling off his heavy equipment that was parked all over four counties, and I was worried about the two houses we had sitting void of human inhabitants because we had to move into a wheelchair accessible apartment. Cash flow was a serious issue. Our futures were uncertain.

I don’t know who told me “the secret.” I could have read it in a book, I could have learned it from the Oprah Show---I don’t remember. But I do know it changed my life and I’m going to tell it to you. Free of charge, no strings attached. Drum roll, please. Here it is. Whenever you’re stressed out or mad over something going on in your life, ask yourself this question: is this a disaster or an inconvenience?

With those seven little words I learned to dial down my stress level and I do mean dial it down big time. A flat tire? No, it wasn’t a disaster. No one died, no one lost a limb because of it. A friend who didn’t show up when expected? A miscommunication---a disaster or inconvenience? It certainly doesn’t rate up there with losing your home to a flood or fire. By applying the is-this-a-disaster-or-an-inconvenience question to every situation that had the potential for raising my blood pressure or hurting my feelings, it helped get me through some very tough times. The bottom line is that very few things fall into the category of a disaster and very few inconveniences are worth trading in your live-in-the-moment card for a membership in the Doom and Gloom Club where they sit around for days after every miss-step in life stewing about what went wrong.

Jean Riva ©

P.S. The photo is of me from about the time Don and I met. See the previous blog entry for his circa 1970 photo.

Musing in the Cemetery

When we finished up at the Farmer's Market this morning, it was too early to go out for lunch so we took a side trip to our future home---a quaint little cemetery in the town where Don grew up. It's one of those places where there are century old tombstones lined up on rolling terrain that are shaded by mature trees, and the squirrels have free reign of the place. We'll have good neighbors there; some dear friends have grave sites next to ours.

In his wild youth Don was once sentenced by a judge to spend the summer mowing the grass in that very cemetery. He and some other boys messed around with the city's welcome sign and changed the 'rock' part of a word to 'fuck.' Now here it is fifty-two years later and the kids of this same tourist town are still making the front pages of the paper with pranks involving the city's welcome sign. Only this year's crops of kids were not as creative as their forerunners. They peeled part of the letters off the sign and threw them in the river, earning themselves a $700 fine in court. No vulgar or clever rearranging of letters or words. No graffiti proclaiming "Leroy was here!"

It's an odd statement about human nature but whenever we go to Don's class reunions someone is sure to bring up the 'fuck' for 'rock' exchange and they laugh about it as if it wasn't an act of vandalism. But you never hear people laughing over the teens featured in recent headlines who mess with the city sign. No, they get the head shakes with rhetorical questions like: "What's happening to kids these days?" and "Where were their parents?" I've even caught myself saying stuff like that, forgetting that history has a way of repeating itself. That's why it's good to wander around 'our' cemetery on a bright Saturday morning. It reminds us that nothing in life is ever truly new or unique.

Jean Riva ©