Badboy Santa Bear

Merry, Happy, What?

Can we have a season of love, equality, kindness and acceptance, even a celebration of our differences? We can. It's all about choices.

I see people getting upset over the silliest things. Merry Christmas. "How dare you promote your religion while ignoring mine?" O.K. Happy Holidays. "Well, now you've left Christ out and insulted my  beliefs! Oh, balderdash. Bah, humbug. Anytime a simple greeting of good cheer is twisted and interpreted as an insult, that's a bad choice. Where's the love, people?

Gift giving is another issue. If you're one of those alien life forms with plenty of money who thrives to shop 'til you drop--go for it. Enjoy yourself! If you're driving yourself and everyone in your family insane, caught up in a gift competition, I have a suggestion. Just stop. That's right. Just say "no". We should give because it feels good and because we want to make someone else happy. If giving presents is stressful and makes your stomach ache, you're not doing it right.

A few years ago, I announced that I would not exchange gifts on Christmas day. Some relatives were shocked. I was even accused of cancelling Christmas. For  my part, I was dismayed that gifts were being perceived as the only reason we gathered together. My vision was a family gathering filled with laughter, song, good food, and a real celebration of life. Instead people were angry at my "lack of Christmas spirit". I still don't understand that, but you know what, folks? The angry people got over it, and one by one, I've seen them adopt my policy. Maybe they noticed how relaxed I am at this time of year and wanted to see how that feels. Good choice!

I do have one request and this is really important to me. Stop insulting the fruitcake. I love fruitcake! I'm not talking about the refrigerator version made with ground up Graham crackers, cherries, and pecans. No sir. I want the old-fashioned cake, baked and wrapped in wine-soaked cheesecloth. (Drool starting to flow here.) I used to have an Afghan hound named Whisper who didn't have a sweet tooth in her head--except for fruit cake. Back then, I didn't know that raisins are poison to dogs, but she survived with no noticeable ill effects. Whenever I unwrapped the fruitcake, Whisper's eyes would light up and she'd wiggle all over. I haven't baked our fruitcake this year, but I plan to buy a small one so that I can have a slice in remembrance of Whisper, my beautiful girl.

Merry, Happy, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Holiday, Life Day--whatever, dude.
Keep the love flowing.
Serena

Bloomin' bright

And right on time! How does a Thanksgiving cactus know when to bloom? Do they have calendars? But really, the first blossom opened on Thanksgiving day this year. How cool is that?

I recently learned that the Christmas cactus (Shlumbergia bridgesii) and the Thanksgiving cactus (Schlumbergia truncatus) are different plants. The Christmas cactus only has red blooms whereas the Thanksgiving cactus comes in a variety of colors, hybidized from the original S. truncatus.

I've dubbed this my "heirloom" cactus. Several years ago I potted together a plant from my mom, one from my mother-in-law, and one that I had rooted from a cutting given to me by a co-worker. My mom's plant has white blooms, but they haven't opened yet. Yeah, mom, you're late! Anyway,Tye will inherit it one day.

Stay healthy, cactus mine.

A Bird in Hand

It's a great day for me. I heard something hit my window earlier and went outside to see, fearing a bird had injured itself. Yep, there was a Tufted Titmouse sitting on my porch. I tried to wait and see if he would fly away, but Jade was watching him with lunchtime looks in her eyes. I picked him up and held him against my chest to warm him up, not knowing whether he was hurt (or if my handling him would scare him to death, literally). His beak was open and not moving, but I didn't see anything obviously wrong. Hoping that he was only stunned, I held him quietly for a couple of minutes and then lay my hand in the birdbath which is filled with sedum, not water. I saw his beak start closing and his eyes started to focus and blink. I moved my body away, still with him perching in my hand. Just as I was thinking about reaching into my pocket for my phone to take a picture, he flew. It was so fast! He was sitting there, blinking at me and whoosh, he was gone. He lit in a nearby azalea bush and then flew away. I have to believe that he will be O.K. Anyway, if I had not intervened, Jade would have enjoyed a birdie catsnack and I'd rather she didn't.

                                                                       
 Here's a shot that I found of a Tufted Titmouse. We have titmice here year-round, along with chickadees and cardinals. The titmice are small, about 5 inches--sparrow size, and the males and females look alike. They're shy little birds who come to the feeders for sunflower seeds and suet. I never thought I'd hold one in my hand. I'm so grateful for the experience, although I'm sure it was less than soul inspiring for the flyboy.

I do love our birds!
Serena

More Books

I've had the pleasure of reading some really good books lately--still my drug of choice. Musicophilia  by Oliver Sacks is a fascinating account of so many ways that our brains can disrupt, enrich, and generally throw us off course  with our relationship to music. I had never heard of musical hallucinations. Well, O.K., there are a lot of things I've never heard about. My point here is that Dr. Sacks never fails to inform and delight me. He broadens my horizons and explains so many of my previous experiences. In talking about musicogenic epilepsy, he suggests that it is not as rare as one would suppose, and extends that suggestion to include photic epilepsy. Many people will retreat from music (or light effects) that make them uncomfortable, thus warding off a seizure before it can occur. Well, that explains why I close my eyes and even cover my face with my hands at times. I've done this all my life, until it seems to be a habit, especially when I'm tired. It's only been within the past two years that I was diagnosed with epilepsy and just within the last two months that I realized that visual cues (bright lights, rolling computer screens, television) play a part in triggering my seizures. I've been protecting myself all along without being conciously aware of it. Another topic that Dr. Sacks writes about is synesthesia, a combining of different senses, such as seeing music as color. I can't imagine what that would be like, but for some people it is a normal part of their lives.

One thing I would like to mention--music seems to have a therapeutic effect on many people with neurological disturbances. Dr. Sacks talks about Alzheimer's patients, Parkinsonian patients and others who can retain musical ability (or just derive pleasure from music) even in advanced states of their disease. How many of our elderly are in nursing homes without benefit of such a simple therapy? I've told my husband that if I'm ever bedridden and unable to communicate, play music! Please.

Another book I've enjoyed is Beethoven  by Edmund Morris. I'm not going into a long discourse on Beethoven's life. I just want to say that this book reads like a novel. Beethoven has never been my favorite composer, but I have been listening to his piano sonatas and have a better feeling for his music. The piano was his instrument after all. The sonatas awe and amaze me, leaving me breathless at times. This book gives insight into the man that Beethoven was. Still perplexing and astounding, but very human and fallible.

The last book I finished is This Is Your Brain on Music by Daniel J. Levitin. I hurried through this and I would like to go back at a later date and reread parts of this book. Levitin stresses that he is interested in the cognitive aspect and yet, he throws around terms of brain anatomy that I am only vaguely familar with. I wish he had included a comprehensive "brain map" because I am interested in the anatomy. I like knowing what part of my brain is causing different phenomena. I was encouraged by his assertion that our brains are more plastic than previously thought. If one area is injured, there is hope that another area might be able to take over for the injured part. Also, he proposes that there is a 10,000 hour requirement for expertise in any field, including music. I'm redoubling my efforts. Maybe I'll get in my 10,0000 hours of piano before I die. If only I had known this sooner! Ha! If I don't succeed in achieving piano fluency, at least I'll die happy.

On another note, pun intended, I am able to play piano again. Evidently, the "use it or lose it" concept does apply. Or perhaps, I finally got enough B12 in my system to stop the dizzy spells.

 Happy days.

Turkey Talk

I've been seeing wild turkeys in my yard almost every day lately. Usually Stormy spots them from the bedroom windows and alerts me. I've been trying to get some photos, but so far, no luck. There are just too many trees, bushes, bird feeders, etc. in my way. So, I'm inserting some pics that I found online.


Now, that's a gorgeous gobbler. Note his beard dragging the ground. He's definitely a mature male, although a small percentage of hens sport beards. There are so many interesting facts about turkeys. For instance, you can tell the difference in hens and gobblers by looking at their scat. I don't know why, but gobbler poop looks like a single line, usually "J" shaped, whereas hen poop will be a mound. Actually, the hen poop that I've seen looks like a piece of divinity candy with a chocolate chip on top. O.K., that's probably more that most people want to know.

Well, what about caruncles, wattles, and snoods? I'm sure we've all seen some people with wattles, so that should be self-explanatory, but just in case--those are the folds of skin underneath the neck. I pray Lord, don't give me wattles. Caruncles are those wartlike protuberances that are oh, so attractive.

In this photo, the snood is obvious. That's the fleshy, fingerlike extension growing down over the beak. Why? I just assume that God has a great sense of humor. Maybe the girls like them. I don't know.

Turkeys have no feathers on their head and neck. The skin changes color from red to bright blue, depending on the turkey's mood. Red would indicate a not-so-happy camper.
These are Eastern wild turkeys. There are five subspecies in North America--Eastern (by far the most abundant), Osceola, Rio Grande, Merriam's, and Gould's. In the 1930's the turkey population had diminished to the point where turkeys were considered endangered, but we now have over 7 million. 5 million of these are Easterns.

Boy, this guy really has a long snood. And, perhaps, he's feeling good about it (blue head). I'm always amazed at how big these birds are. The males are 3-4 feet long and weigh in around 20-30 pounds. The hens are slightly smaller.

They may look a little awkward, but don't let that fool you. They can run up to 25 mph and fly up to 45 mph. Yes, wild turkeys fly. They roost in trees and they don't climb ladders.

I am so fortunate to be able to watch these glorious creatures from my home. Last year, I was awakened on numerous mornings by gobblers calling out. Just this morning I saw and heard a hen clucking in my driveway. Living in the woods has some fantastic perks.

Thank you Mother Earth for providing me with such inspirational entertainment.

Playing for the Universe--Access Denied

I've been trying to play piano again. I lost about 3 months because of my silly, slightly dysfunctional brain. Reading music is a sure-fire seizure trigger for me. Anyway, since I'm feeling better now--thank you very much--I thought it was time to get back with the program.


I had this idea that perhaps, I should only play my own music. Surely I can handle that. I saw someone on TV saying that he learned at an early age that it was much easier to write his own songs, than to learn someone elses. No shit, Sherlock. It only took me a lifetime to figure that out.


My grand scheme is called "playing for the universe". I will weave beautiful melodies to send forth into the ether where spirits and energies cavort and collide. I will make a simple offering of peaceful harmonies, including some bits of pathos and discord for contrast. For, how can you recognize joy if you've never experienced sorrow?


Well, it's just not happening. Ten minutes at the piano and my head is spinning for hours. For now, the songs that I write in my head will have to stay there. Will it get better? If I keep trying, will my brain form new, healthy connections? Does "use it or lose it" apply to this scenario? I really don't have a clue.


Perhaps the universe is telling me to focus on something else. I've never been good at deciphering subtle hints, but being hit with a sledgehammer can be pretty persuasive.


Still looking for directions,
Serena

Appalachian song

On my last library visit, I was too dizzy to make coherent choices, so I let the books choose me. I got lucky with The Songcatcher by Sharyn McCrumb.

It starts in present day Appalachia, then travels back to 1751 where a nine-year-old boy, Malcolm McCourry, is abducted from his island home, the Isle of Islay, near Scotland. The tale chronicles McCourry's life and his descendants, moving ever closer to our time frame, while jumping forward intermittently to reveal the present day drama unfolding in yet another McCourry's life. Binding the story from beginning to end is an old Scottish ballad, "The Rowan Stave".

I didn't know (or had forgotten I knew) that George Washington had his troops inoculated against small pox. Of course, during the Revolutionary War, vaccinations were not what they are today. A scratch with a bloody needle contaminated with weakened smallpox germs had to be a scary prospect. Some got sick, some died, and some carried the contagion back home to their families. Still, a potential epidemic was avoided.

McCrumb adds interesting vignettes from the Civil War as she moves us forward in time with Malcolm's descendants. She, also, taught me about cosmic possums. I'll let you look that one up. I don't want to spoil all the fun.

The best part of the book for me was found in the Afterword when McCrumb revealed the main characters were real people she found while researching her genealogy. Yes, the amazing life of Malcolm McCourry actually happened! "The Rowan Stave", however, is not an authentic Scottish ballad, but was written for the book. I guess that would have been too perfect, altogether too much to hope for.

McCrumb corrected my outsider's pronunciation of Appalachia. I strongly believe that names should be pronounced as their owners wish. "Appalatcha" just doesn't roll easily off my tongue. I've heard and said "Appalaysha" far too long. I remember meeting a family whose surname was Taliaferro. "What a beautiful name!" I exclaimed, only to be met by puzzled stares. This family pronounced it "Toliver". Okay, their choice, but Taliaferro--Toliver? Some things are beyond my understanding.

For an interesting weekend read with a little history thrown in, try The Songcatcher.

Toads

This is Toadie, our resident porch toad. He's been hangin' out here this summer along with Jade, our porch kitty. Thank god, Jade doesn't see him as prey. Perhaps, she had a bad toad experience earlier in her life. I talk to him, but I can't say that he gets much out of our conversations. If I get too close, he hops away. My presence can't be good for his hunting. He probably just wants me to leave him alone, if he's even aware of me at all. O.K., he must be aware or he wouldn't hop away. Toads don't perceive objects the same way that we do. Their brains aren't set up like ours. They see what they need to see and react accordingly. I wonder what's out there that we're not seeing. Hmmm . . . .

This is one of our many back-yard toads. I haven't given him a name, but I guess I could use the same nomenclature for all of them. I do that with squirrels. All the squirrels in my yard are called "Charlie". Anyone care to suggest a toad name? It would have to be more original than "Toadie". Unfortunately, the dogs aren't as smart as Jade. I've had to wash Gracie's mouth out several times after she tried to catch toads. When I see puddles of drool dripping from her mouth, I know she's caught one. That hasn't happened in the last few weeks, so maybe she has figured out that toads just aren't as much fun as snakes. Anyway, I do love our toads.

All creatures are precious and beautiful in their own way. Look closely. Amazement and awe are guaranteed.

With love,
Serena

My Beautiful Day

I'll start with my visit to a new doctor, hopeful of starting a collaborative relationship which would lead me to a renewed state of health. This was not to be. Instead, I perused slick magazines in his waiting room for  two hours, then after a brief consult witih the man himself, I cut the interview off and walked out. It was an amicable parting. I apologized for wasting his time, my money was refunded (amazingly!) and I drove home feeling a bit shocked at things the doc had said, but proud of myself. It seems that I have learned something over the years. If a relationship isn't working for you, especially one that involves your money and your health, it's best to nip it in the bud. Just walk away.

The best part of this day was spent at home. I planted my grapefruit tree in the yard. This tree began its life as a sprouting seed I found inside my afternoon snack two years ago. The planting was sorely overdue, as she has been feeling sad in her oversized pot these past two months. I'll have to be diligent about watering her until she adjusts to the new locale, even as I imagine her roots spreading and rejoicing in her new-found freedom. Her old pot I filled with a peace lily rescued from work (while our porch toad kept a watchful eye). May they lead happier, more fulfilling lives.

After cleaning the bird bath, I was ready to head inside for a much needed shower when inspiration struck. I was holding a water hose, right? I tried to talk my hubby into some wild waterplay, but ended up dancing alone in my undies under the cold spray. For a few minutes, I was 8 yrs. old again, reveling in the magic of sunshine and waterdrops. Yes, there are advantages to living in the woods and thankfully, no photos were taken to capture the event.

There was more magic to this day--
I watched two lectures on The Brain from The Teaching Company, started a new book, walked my dogs, etc. A male hummingbird came to my window, alerting me that the squirrels had emptied his favorite feeder yet again. Just what we need--more squirrels hyped up on sugar water. Geez! As the day was dimming, I refilled all the feeders and heard geese honking their way across the sky above. What an altogether glorious day.

Happy to be,
Serena

Unconditional love

The word "love" has been so abused and misused. Are humans really capable of unconditional love? Most of the love we hear about is the romantic variety based on need and narcissisism. That isn't love at all. If you feel an emptiness inside and want someone else to fill it, that isn't healthy. So often, we mistake our hunger for fulfillment as love for another person.

Meet Stormy.

He is love. All he wants is a daily walk, food, a chance to play and snuggle in my arms. If I neglect the first two, he'll still be happy to curl up beside me. I send love to him and it bounces right back to me. The act of creating love within myself fills me with so much joy. I said "He is love." Actually, I become love by giving it. I think so many of us have pets because we don't share this type of love with each other. We can.

We have to start by loving ourselves. Be quiet. Shut off your mind and just feel how truly wonderful you are. When you experience unconditional love for yourself, it expands outward to include everything in the universe. You can direct it to others, focus on our Mother Earth, on your healthy body and mind. Make

your thoughts reflect this love for yourself. Let go of negative attitudes and realize that anything is possible with real love.

Brainworks

I finished reading Uncle Tungsten: Memories of a Chemical Boyhood  by Dr. Oliver Sacks. I am astounded by Dr. Sacks' intelligence. The man is truly amazing. The book chronicles his childhood, growing up with an extended family of scientists and doctors who were willing to share their knowledge with this little boy and allow him to pursue his interests with few restrictions. Why he didn't blow up or burn down his home, I don't know. Lady luck and perhaps, a higher power were smiling upon him, knowing that he was destined for greater things.

The book deals mainly with his pursuit of chemistry, but he had far ranging interests. He very briefly touches upon his family's musical ability. Everyone played an instrument (or several) and music was an integral part of their daily lives. He talks about staying in a fancy hotel in Switzerland after the war and how he decided he wanted to give a piano recital. Although he had not played in over a year, he knew all of Chopin's mazurkas by heart. I'm talking about a child of about 11 years old (I don't have the book to refer back to, so my memory, which isn't as amazing as Dr. Sacks', may have his age slightly off). Anyway, his parents talked to the hotel management and they agreed to put up announcements for the young English pianist to perform in their ballroom. Dressed in his best suit, he played his first and only concert, mightily enjoying the applause and audience interaction.

Now, what boggles my mind is the fact that playing piano was really not his main interest. This performance was just something that he did for fun and on a whim, more or less. Still, he possessed the ability to pull it off. This is why I find the human brain astonishing and frustrating. Frustrating, because we don't get to choose our abilities and match them with our passions. I've wondered all my life why I was given such a desire to play piano and yet, was given no natural ability. My brain isn't wired to easily play and memorize music. I have tried to ignore and put aside the longing, but it just doesn't go away. My solution is to keep plugging away, playing for myself, hoping new connections will form inside this brain of mine.

Dear Dr. Sacks, although your life has not always been easy (particulary those years in boarding school), you have been truly blessed with a wonderful brain and you have used it to help countless people. I am so grateful that you have chosen to write books which stimulate and inspire us.

Enjoy life to the fullest!

Advice

I remember someone saying to me "If you can tell the difference between good advice and bad advice, you don't need advice."

True, but sometimes we all need a reminder. And sometimes a few words of advice can make us reconsider long held beliefs. Perhaps, you're holding onto a concept that no longer serves you. Have you ever heard yourself making a statement and then, realized that you really didn't feel that way? You were just repeating something that had been placed into your head when you were younger.

My advice for the day--Take time to listen to your heart. Don't let your head lead you astray.

Connections

Feeling the wind , listening to the sound of my own footsteps, I stopped and was overcome by the realization that this wind, this air is connected to people all over the world. Then, I imagined the earth beneath my feet going down, down far below the earth's crust to the very center and ultimately out to the opposite side of the earth. The butterfly effect came to mind. Every action we take has a consequence, but most of the time we are unaware of the results. I vow to think positive, joyful thoughts lest my negativity should impact the future of the universe in undesirable ways.


Lead with love,
Serena

Walkies

On our morning walk, Gracie killed a water snake. It was the kind with the orange underside. A lot of people around here kill them, thinking they are "copper-bellied moccasins". Sorry, there's no such creature. We do have Cottonmouth moccasins and they are poisonous, but they do not have an orange belly. Poor snakes. Gracie was so proud of herself. She carried it all the way home, dangling from her mouth, sometimes tripping over it (about 2 1/2 feet long). When I first saw it, I was looking to make sure it wasn't poisonous and Gracie decided to share the goodness by slinging snake goo in my face. Yummy! No bacteria there, right? I really do regret the death of this snake, but I have no way to stop my dogs from following their instincts. Gracie is a natural hunter and snakes seem to be her preferred prey.


On a happier note: I saw a deer. Gracie was exploring in the bushes and when I turned to call her, a deer was standing in the road watching me. This is a field road--no traffic at all. We stared at each other for a moment or so and then the deer ran across the field and stopped to watch me again. I called Gracie and the deer kept looking. When Gracie burst out of the hedgerow, the deer bounded away. Gracie and Stormy never saw her. The only danger would be if Gracie were to run after the deer. The deer would be fine, but G. would probably die of heat exhaustion from running so hard. She absolutely would not be able to catch the deer.

We also heard, but did not see a Pileated woodpecker.

An eventful walk, fun for all (except for the snake), but Gracie was mildly disappointed when she was not allowed to bring her trophy into the house. Perhaps, Stormy was disappointed that he didn't find a turtle to carry.

Eddie just brought a  young white oak snake inside. Absolutely beautiful. Don't worry, it's going back out where it will grow up to feast on birds, mice, and other critters. Sorry, songbirds, snakes gotta eat, too.

Another day in the life,
Serena

Savannah Vacation

First, let me say that I was so impressed by the friendly atmosphere that pervades this town. Everyone seems to be smiling and ready to interact with others. Also, it is an extremely dog-friendly place. I could be entertained just watching the dogs on the sidewalks and in the parks. Unfortunately, I kept forgetting to bring my camera along, so I don't have any pics of downtown or Forsythe Park or Wormsloe Plantation. If you're in the mood for a woodland trek, uninterrupted except for the occasional deer or other wildlife, go to Wormsloe.



That's me and my son, Tye at Fort Pulaski. Tye was my host for this trip and he was a wonderful tour guide. We rode bikes around Fort Pulaski and it was great. My borrowed bike was too tall and I had some trouble with the dismount, but other than that small and sometimes embarrassing inconvenience, it was a fun time. I really wasn't embarrassed; I'm not sure if he was or not. If so, he was a good sport about it. We saw deer repeatedly while riding.

Yes, that is a moat. I'm amazed that there are no guardrails on the ground or even on top of the fort. They do have signs saying that it is not allowed to stand on the edge, but there's nothing to stop some adventurous soul. Note all the pockmarks along the wall.


There is also a small museum which is worth the time, but I took no photos. Actually, Tye was doing most of the camera work here.


Here we are at Oatland Island Wildlife Center and that is an opossum I'm holding. Her name is Daisy. She's old and crosseyed (due to fat pouches on her face) and she stays at their Welcome Center along with a pair of Screech Owls and a bunny. Most of the animals are in natural habitat settings--wolves, foxes, cougar, etc. Most of them have been named. I recently read that animals and plants respond more favorably and are healthier when someone takes the time to give them a name. Kudos to Oatland Wildlife Center!


This Sandhill Crane was hilarious. I don't know her/his name, but he kept running up to the walkway as if looking for a snack. When nobody offered anything, he'd get disgusted and wander off. Then, when a new person arrived, he'd run back over to try to solicit a treat. Or, maybe he just wanted some conversation. Perhaps, he wanted to complain about his roommate. I don't know. Could I anthropomorphize a little more? Sure, but I'll refrain.

It was a great trip. I've warned Tye not to invite me back again unless he means it, because I will come.

Happy days,
Serena

Downtime

Due to a small seizure, I was unable to play piano for the past three days. In the past I've gotten really angry with myself when my brain interferes with living my life, but I'm trying to overcome those negative and useless feelings. Still, I only have so many days left in this life to accomplish things. Surely, the universe knows this. What lesson am I supposed to be learning here? Perhaps, I needed some downtime, but it's not as if I'm killing myself, working my fingers to the bone on a daily basis. When I don't play, I feel like such a slug. I've wasted so much time already. O.K., it doesn't sound like I'm succeeding at overcoming my negativity.

When I did sit down to the piano today, it seemed that I was playing with more concentration and more energy, more emotion coming through. Maybe downtime is good. Then my brain started to fuzz over and I was back at square one. So, I took the dogs for a walk (yes! I can walk today!) and tried to keep my mind in a submissive state and open to guidance. No great revelation yet but I'm confident that I will have an epiphany sooner or later.

Right now, I'm going to give it another try. I'll just work through the fuzzy brain and maybe something good will come.

Civility

I just finished reading A World Waiting to Be Born, Civility Rediscovered by M. Scott Peck, M.D. Dr. Peck defines civility as "consciously motivated organizational behavior that is ethical in submission to a Higher Power". Wow, that's a mouthful. The book has a decidedly Christian viewpoint, but Dr. Peck accommodates all religions by using the term "Higher Power".

Interesting to me is the fact that civility is not mere politeness. At times, one must be impolite in order to be truly civil as civility refers more to honesty in our interactions with each other. I'm not suggesting you approach that stranger at the aquarium and inform him that he'd look more attractive if he'd cover up that third roll of adipose tissue hanging over his shorts. No, that would be downright rude and not guided by a Higher Power. (Remember the last part of the definition?) But smiling and nodding politely in order to avoid confrontation with friends, family, or co-workers can be uncivil behavior when it robs us of a chance to have an honest interaction which could enrich and enlighten us, albeit sometimes painfully.

Dr. Peck also defines health as "an ongoing process, often painful, of an organism becoming the most--the best--it can be". This applies to the physical healing of an individual, but more to changes in an organization or any type of system or relationship. He states that "Genuine civility is a form of healing behavior that demands often painful honesty and the scalpel of candor." Not easy to put that into action. No wonder we smile and look the other way instead of rocking the boat. It takes a real commitment to consciously look at another person, hear what they're saying, see who they really are, and react with honesty and consideration of a higher authority.

The opposite would be narcissism--a precursor to incivility. A narcissist doesn't look at others, in fact is hardly aware of them and relates to them as "the enemy" if at all. We all have narcissistic tendencies, but I'm talking about a real personality disorder. Most of us can become aware of our narcissism, our self-centeredness, and alter our focus to include others. Admittedly an introvert, I am more conscious of my own self-absorption after reading this book.

Dr. Peck wants to change the world by helping organizations practice civility. Noble, and entirely doable if the desire is there. He thinks it will happen because it is cost-effective for businesses to function this way. How do we convince businesses that it is cost-effective?

Personally, I have to start with myself. It's a daily process and I have a lot to work on.

Addendum to the previous post: A female hummingbird showed up 2 days after I filled the feeders. Yea!

With love,

Serena

Renewal

I filled my hummingbird feeders and put them outside today. Early, I know, but I'm ready for Spring and if some early birds show up, they won't be disappointed. Last year a hummer danced in front of my window while I scrambled to boil water, clean a feeder and mix up a sugary meal--which then had to cool before I could serve it. There will not be a repeat performance this year. Dinner is prepared and awaiting their arrival.

My afternoon was spent repotting some of my porch plants. Disturbing, because some are in really bad shape. This unusually cold winter caused more damage than I had realized. I was brutal in cutting away damaged leaves, fronds, and roots while visualizing the new growth that will soon flourish.

With the same spirit I am challenging myself to cut away old beliefs, free myself from unhealthy roots that are hampering my growth. I anticipate a spiritual and physical renewal of my entire being--body and soul.

Spring forward with joy,
Serena