Your P&P Guide to Life by Carolyn

I have told my friend and fellow writer, Susan, several times that I thought it was possible to find just the right words for almost any situation in life in the pages of Jane Austen's classic novel Pride and Prejudice, even though it was written about two hundred years ago. Let's give it a try . . .

When an older woman is spending too much time and effort on her own looks, possibly trying to look much younger than she is, you might say (as Mrs. Bennet did to her husband), "When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty." Someone else might follow that up (as Mr. Bennet did) with, "In such cases, a woman has often not much beauty to think of."

When despairing over the empty-headedness of a particular group of teenage girls, you might observe along with Mr. Bennet, although hopefully not about your own children, "They have none of them much to recommend them. They are all silly and ignorant like other girls."

When remarking upon how foolish, uninformed, and grouchy a certain female acquaintance is, you might justifiably comment, "She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper."

Not to be sexist, you could describe a particularly arrogant gentleman in this way: ". . . he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing. So high and so conceited that there is no enduring him!"

And in commenting on the reason for your dislike of human beings in general, you might swear, "The insipidity and yet the noise; the nothingness and yet the self-importance of all these people!"

When extolling the virtues of a short courtship, you might remark, "Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life."

Perhaps you share this view of the dangers of too much feminine togetherness: ". . . For a whole day's tete-á-tete between two women can never end without a quarrel."

Are you one whose guiding rule is moderation? Or perhaps you are something of a couch potato? You can explain to others that you totally agree with Mary Bennet's philosophy: ". . . every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason; and, in my opinion, exertion should always be in proportion to what is required."

Well, what do you think? I only had to consult the first seven of the 61 chapters in Jane Austen's opus to find these gems of wit and wisdom. I daresay I could address every eventuality of life if I continued to search through the rest of the book!

Frustrated with Humanity by Andrea

frus·tra·tion

frəˈstrāSH(ə)n/

noun

1. the feeling of being upset or annoyed, especially because of inability to change or achieve something.

There is so much happening in America right now that my heart and head cannot fully comprehend. There are people hurting and disillusioned on every side of a dozen different issues plaguing our country.  The thing that saddens me most is no side seems to notice.  No one is listening to anyone whose voice or message differs from his or her own.  We are slowly being conditioned to hate one another for any number of "reasons".  The media is sensationalizing everything.  The politicians are trying to use every challenge to bolster their own agenda or discredit opponents.  Tensions are high, and trust is low.  Everybody has an opinion on what’s wrong with everyone else.  I feel as though I am trapped in a dystopian novel. This has to be The Matrix.   Frankly, I am tired and I have not even been "in the fight" like many people.  I’m frustrated with humanity.  I know I should be engaged with others, but my mind is a whirlwind of exasperation and disappointment.  If I did know what I want to say, I am not sure who will listen.   Some days the ache in my heart subsides a bit, then I log onto the internet. The battle rages anew as I stumble onto an article, news story or campaign by my social media contacts. There are some really egregious events and appalling attitudes circulating out there, and I am overwhelmed. I am despondent, angry, shocked.  I’m frustrated with humanity, but my idealistic heart won’t let me camp out in despair.  I must hold onto hope.

I just want people to love one another.  I want everyone to stop bickering and pandering and proselytizing.  I want everyone to stop staring and gawking and to start seeing.  When my friends are enduring something hard, I like to look directly into their eyes as I check up on them.  In their eyes I can often see what they may be feeling despite the words they say.  I find my own compassion, understanding and humanity in their eyes. When looking into the windows of another’s soul, I can more easily resist the urge to judge their story. I don’t simply hear their words, I feel with them. I can see the person, not my opinions and beliefs.  I see people who also have fears, hurts, hopes and drives.  I see them for more than what I think I know about them.  By seeing my friends, I know them better. And this works for friend and foe alike.  Abraham Lincoln was known to have said, “I don’t like that man.  I must get to get to know him better.”  Oh, if more of us would practice such wisdom today. By knowing one better, I can offer grace and empathy, even if we don’t see eye to eye on genuinely important matters.

The thing that is most important is the human being standing in front of me (or on the other side of the screen) who deserves to be heard and understood.  Even if I don’t agree.  It is so cliche, but seeing people affords us the opportunity to walk in one another’s shoes. Seek first to understand, then to be understood is a principle of successful leaders for a reason; it works. And if we all can do those two things, the harder it is to demonize or demoralize each other. It is less likely we will throw stones or minimize one another’s lived experiences.

If I really look to see people, then I cannot run away and hide as I have wanted to do over the last several weeks. I have to stay and fight for humanity- mine and "theirs".

Collected Wisdom

By:  Susan

My friend Estela used to tell me: Déjate querer, which in English means “let yourself be loved”.  She would say it when I would refuse her offer of help, while carrying a baby in one arm, stirring the pot with the other hand and holding the phone between my shoulder and ear.  What she meant by it was:  “Let others show you their love by being of service to you.  Yes, we all know you can do a lot all by yourself, but let us feel like we can be productive and helpful too.” 

Estela had other wise words.  As a matter of fact, I have had the blessing of knowing many wise people who have left me with words and thoughts that I use often in my own life and share with others.  Here is a sample of the wisdom I have collected so far:

1.  On good mothering:  One afternoon at around 6:00 pm I finished a batch of chocolate chip cookies and offered them to the children gathered at my house for a play date.  When I realized how close to dinnertime it was, I apologized to the other moms and said:  “What kind of a mother serves cookies to children right before dinner?”  Estela said: “Children need happy mothers, not perfect ones.” I wish I could go back and be a happier mother!  Now that my children are grown, I realize that no amount of mess and disorder is worth making a fuss over.  I wish I had asked myself what legacy I wanted to leave: happiness or an organized sock drawer.

2.  On having tough conversations:  My father used to say: “It’s best to turn red once than to pale over and over.”  In other words, it’s better to tell people the unpleasant truth and get it over with than get a knot in your stomach every time the subject comes up. 

3.  On dealing with tantrums:  My mother believes that some people need to be told to just cut it out when they are having a melt down, while others are really asking for a hug.  And this is not only for two year olds.  It is not a sign of weakness to just hold a person and sympathize with their inability to deal with the current frustration.  There will be plenty of time for reflection and guidance when the storm has passed.

4.  On judging character:  My friend Andrea says: “When people show you who they are, believe them.” Good advice for when you are blinded by love.  Seeing the good in people doesn’t mean you ignore the fact that we are all battling with some flaw in our character. 

5.  On the passage of time:  My other friend Carolyn likes to say that time passes whether you sign up for that four year graduate program or not, so you might as well do it.  Four years ago seems like yesterday sometimes.  Imagine if we had done all the things we wanted to do but put them off because they seemed to take such a long time.

My favorite words comes not from a person I know but from a character in a movie.  In The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, the character Sonny likes to say: “Everything will be all right in the end... if it's not all right then it's not yet the end.”  

What are your favorite words of wisdom?  Share them, so I can add them to my collection.

Recommended Reading

by Susan

At first they just chewed on them.  Our board book copies of Helen Oxenbury's The First Day of School and The Ballet Class were covered in teeth marks.  I even got a bathtub version of Peter Rabbit so it would stand up better to the wear. But we persisted and little by little they learned to turn the pages and not tear them.  Living outside of the United States, we had to invest in buying books. Grandparents were a great source of them.  My mother-in-law once arrived with a suitcase filled with dozens of Golden Books, one particular book of fairy tales from around the world and the entire collection of Beatrix Potter's stories.  We read at all hours of day and night.  I could recite Margaret Wise Brown's Good Night Moon by heart, because it was the book Kent had to hear before he went to sleep.  I looked forward to summer visits to my parents' house in College Station, where I would hit the public library every day to check out as many books as I could.  I myself had become an independent reader at about the age of five but my own children seemed to enjoy listening to me more than reading on their own.  I remember the day Miranda took on the responsibility of satisfying her own reading curiosity.  She was in the fourth grade.  We were traveling and I was reading one of the Hardy Boys books aloud to her.  At some point I had to stop.  She could not wait until the next opportunity for me to read to her because she wanted the mystery solved.  So she picked up the book and finished it by herself.  Safaa, on the other hand, started playing a mind game with me.  When I would encourage him to read on his own, he would tell me he hated reading!  He knew how much it meant to me to instill a love of reading in them and I was not about to let him off the hook.  One day I picked up a copy of one of the Magic Treehouse books and began reading silently but making comments out loud:  Wow! I can't believe that happened, Oh! No! don't do that!  Finally the curiosity got him as well and he snatched the book from my hands to read the story on his own.

Once we moved back to Texas, getting a library card was one of the first things we did.  The Cedar Park library has a great children's collections and we took full advantage of it.  We could get up to 35 titles at a time!  I was always surprised when I would overhear mothers tell their children that they were only taking three books today. Why?  It's free, why not take thirty five.  If you don't like them you can bring them back and get another thirty five.  That is how we read every single Dr. Seuss book.  That is how we came to know authors and series that we love to this day.  And then there were audiobooks, the best strategy for keeping the peace in the car when running errands or on long road trips.  We only ran into a problem once when the three year old Kent could not stand the voice of the reader of the Harry Potter books and we had to wait for him to fall asleep before we could listen to that story.

Before sitting down to write this post I asked all four of my children who are now 25, 22, 18 and 16, to send me a list of their favorite children's books.  Instead they sent me names of authors.  I realized that through reading they had made some special friends who had introduced them to ideas, adventures and language that neither of their parents or kids on the playground or teachers in their classrooms could have done.  Here is the list they sent me:

John Scieszka and his The True Story of the Three Little Pigs and Squids Will be Squids for their satirical take on traditional tales are Niku's favorite.  They all love Patricia Polacco and her stories that are inspired by her family.  We first met Tomie DiPaola on an episode of Barney and then again in person when he came to the Wildflower Center in Austin.  He is a prolific writer and his Strega Nona stories as well as the wildflower stories (The Legend of the Bluebonnet, The Legend of the Indian Paintbrush and the Legend of the Poinsettia) are Niku's favorites as well.  Another author/friend that is fondly remembered is Kevin Henkes with his mice characters that reenact life as a kindergartener in such beautiful language and always with a good resolution.  And then there was Chris Van Allsburg, not just an author but a beautiful illustrator.  Even I had to think really hard to decipher the inner meaning of The Wretched Stone or The Sweetest Fig.

They also wanted me to write about the read-alouds that their father continued well into teenage-hood of his favorite books, the Harry Potter series and then the Lord of the Rings,  multiple times.  Most nights he was supposed to put them to sleep by reading but it was him who fell asleep first!

It's been a while since we have read a book aloud together.  But I can say that all four of them have become readers of one sort or another.  They have definitely become thinkers and learners and admirers of the written language and stories of the diverse people of this world.  This summer support your public library, it's free, it's cool and you will meet some really cool people there.

No More Dishes in the Sink by Andrea

In three months, when I come home after a long day of work, I will not have to say, “Why are there DISHES IN THIS SINK!?” The thought of this conjures up dueling emotions within me.  My feelings about and reaction to dirty dishes in the sink (or anywhere for that matter) is closely akin to Joan Crawford’s feelings, as portrayed in Mommie Dearest, about wire hangers.  I have made this disdain no secret for all of my life!  Yet, my children sometimes find it challenging to honor my request to alleviate the pain that comes with this major pet peeve.  So, I do a little happy dance when the thought of lowered blood pressure and no more flared nostrils comes across my mind.  Alas, the feeling is fleeting.  Within moments, a wave of melancholy washes over me, for as intense as my feelings are about unwashed dishes, my joy grows a thousand-fold when my children walk through the door.  The idea that I will come home to a daily reminder of my children's absence saddens me far more than the potential for fewer (internal) explosions excites me.  

In the fall, my last two chickadees will leave the nest.  No gentle nudging or pushing required of them.  They have spread their virtual wings and are poised to fly away come August.  One to the great big city of Austin, less than 30 minutes away sans traffic.  The other to the enormous concrete jungle and a footloose and fancy-free freshman year at the University of Texas at Dallas.  I thought I had traversed the emotions that naturally appear when one’s youngest offspring is preparing to graduate.  We saw this coming last year when Daughter Number Two decided to do a year of community college at home rather than traipsing all the way to Lubbock. The excitement of two staying at home for one more year, quickly gave way to double despair when we redid the math.  Two would then be leaving in August 2015.  The nest would be empty all at once.  I curse the day.  I guess I haven’t worked through my feelings because I get a little pit in my belly as I try to imagine a house with no children, without my children.

So there will be no dirty dishes in the sink, but there will also be no talkative, silly, bantering teenagers.  No stories of what happened in class or goings-on from high school or community college for the day.  No loud, opinionated discussions of current events and ideas. I will come home and my lovelies will not be here for me to ask “How was your day?”and to be inundated with the delightful minutia of class discussions, antics and observations from their respective schools.  I will not be asked impossible questions such as “Do you know what the rational value of 39 would be if you squared it and multiplied by the exponential factor of 42 divided by pi?”  (That’s what the youngest’s inquiries sound like to my old ears!  She’s been a genius her whole life and we are just trying to live in her world).  No nerd talk of obscure details related to world history, psychology, etymology.  These are just a few of the regular topics covered as we wash dirty dishes and the like.

This dailyness of life for more than 26 years has made us what we are.  My husband and I have never, ever been without kids.  I brought one into the relationship.  We are the best of friends and relish each other’s company, but we’ve parented a decade longer than we have not.  The silence alone could do us in.  Yes, we will have each other and our friends.  We still have to work (probably until the kingdom comes to cover the cost of three children in college all at once).  We will be busy, I’m sure.  We even have a grandbaby on the way so surely, he’ll take up plenty of our time- even if it just talking about him and cooing at him on Face Time.  It’s not a matter of what we’ll do with all the hours we will get back since we won’t have parent meetings, school and athletic events to regularly attend, appointments or quick shopping trips to buy needed items.  It’s about transitioning into a brand-new chapter of our life.  We saw it coming, but really there was no way to prepare our hearts for it fully.  Sure, this year has been a transition in and of itself.  Everyone drives themselves to where they need to go for the most part.  We give out money left and right and the children make plans and go off with their people.

Daughter Number Two is rarely at home during the weekdays due to work, school and service. Number Three has been swamped with adding the finishing touches to an epic senior year.  Nonetheless, they are here.  Evidence of their presence abounds- like dirty dishes in the sink, backpacks and tennis shoes on their bedroom floors, the constant hum of the washer and dryer, the TV set to Netflix.  When I come home, I look for them even when I know they aren’t here.  The dishes make me crazy, yet by them I can tell a lot about the days my girls might be having.  Even before I talk to them.  I can tell when they woke up, if they left the house on time, how long they’ll be gone.  From the trails they leave behind, I get an inkling as to their frame of mind at departure and the mood they will likely be in upon their return (a happy mood as long as I don’t go all Joan Crawford on them).

We aren’t the first and definitely not the last parents to watch their progeny go out to make a mark on the world.  It’s not the first time we’ve had our own fledglings venture out into the wilderness.  But there’s something about the last one, and in our case the last two.  In a few short months, I will have to develop new instincts and skills to detect their moods, needs, health and wellness.  We all will have to evolve into new ways of being and connecting with one another.  We can learn.  We will adapt.  We will survive.  And so will our little chickadees.  

Another Milestone

My son just graduated from college. I want to say that now I am the mother of a grown man, but I realize he has been an old man and a little boy, all at once, since the day he was born.  He looked like an old man when he first arrived but soon turned into this chubby cheeked, roly-poly baby.  He had an “office” at three, which by his own account was very well equipped, but had to work real hard on keeping his pants dry.  He wanted to get married to the first pretty girl he met at preschool but then scratched her face when she wouldn’t let him kiss her.  He won over the grumpy middle school teachers by walking up to them, shaking their hands and saying hello, even though he was sent to detention for running in the hallways.  He got his first job at twelve, but took forever to agree to hold the fork and knife in the “correct” hands.  I count on his old man wisdom more than he knows. And I hope the little boy that lives inside him keeps him happy and joyful forever.  

Not Such a Failure After All

The pain in my throat made it very difficult to swallow as I tried my hardest not to cry.  We were on our way home and the ambiance in the car was cheerful and lighthearted to everyone but me.  We had a lot of fun things going on during the weekend, and it was Friday, which meant that the mood was relaxed.  I knew it was going to happen.  The dam could only hold so much against the pressure that was coming at it, and I put on my sunglasses to mask the eruption that was about to happen.  Had we been outside it wouldn’t have mattered.  The rain coming down could have camouflaged the tears that were now streaming down my face. 

            How could it be?  Another failure.  Another check on my long list of insecurities and inadequacies.  I knew that I would be great at this new position because it involved something I cared so passionately about.  Was I wrong?  That was the question that circled around in my head after the call that left me wondering, what is wrong with me.  Why am I not good enough?  When am I ever going to catch a break?

            The harsh rain only added to my frustration, as the traffic now became worse.  All I wanted to do was get home, cover myself with a blanket and hide.  Another wave of tears made its way to the corners of my eyes, but were stopped before the downpour.  I felt a warm, gentle touch on my arm.  I looked over at my son who was watching me with a concerned look on his face.  I hadn’t realized that the sunglasses could only hide so much of my disappointment, and he was witnessing something other than the strong momma I liked to portray in front of them.

            “Mom, are you okay?” he said genuinely worried.

            “Yes, I am fine,” I said in a convincing voice. 

He kept looking at me, and then said, “Mom, God has a plan for everything. It’s going to be okay.”

            My little man had no clue about what was going on.  He only saw that his mom was upset about something, and used the words I have used so many times with him.

            Sometimes things don’t always work out.  I know this.  I’m a teacher and a mother.  Unpredictability is kind of part of the job description for both.  But I had taken the “failure” and turned it into an attack against myself.  I saw it as a problem, and made a list of things that were wrong with me, instead of trusting that God has a plan, like I had prayed just that very morning.    Life isn’t always going to give us what we want, and it’s essential to me that my kids know how important it is to keep moving forward after a setback.  Hearing those words come out of my son’s mouth made me feel like not quite so much a failure, and even though the sun didn’t shine much the rest of the weekend, it didn’t rain on us at all.

~Esmeralda