Hobbies

Posted on October 18, 2013 by thisihumblyspeak

I went for an interview to volunteer for a specific organization that likes to screen its volunteers to make sure the “applicant” can handle the commitment. Everything went surprisingly well. I felt it was a breeze with the usual questions regarding previous associations and affiliations, work experience, available hours, family, strengths and weakness, etc. Then the interviewer asked, “What are your hobbies?” I was stumped. I could say the typical reading, exercise (or some form of it), and fine dining. They are after all acceptable things everyone (well most everyone) likes, or at least no-one really would admit to not liking. But were those really legitimate hobbies?
Maybe some people are able to recite a list of things they love to do, and it should be quite simple, but I started to rack my brain for some intelligent pastime to share with the person. Don’t get me wrong; I’m passionate about many things that make my life thrilling, but to nail one or two things and claim them as hobbies at this particular stage in my life seemed rather uncalled for.
As a child, it was easy. I could reel off gymnastics, ballet, singing, running and riding a bike. If I let my imagination run wild, I could be letting my hobbies dictate what I imagined I’d like to be in the future…the flying trapeze in a traveling circus, or the cowgirl riding on horseback yodeling her way into undiscovered sunsets. I imagined I could be the baton twirling leader of a marching band, or shoot arrows like Robin Hood and his band of thieves running through forests. As a child, what I identified as hobbies were legitimate pastimes. They were joyous activities I simply did between waking up, school work, homework and going to bed.
As I grew up, I realized hobbies became activities I could only claim if I was good at them. I couldn’t ride horses. Nor could I play in an orchestra or sing at the top of my lungs like the soloist in the church choir. Gradually, I fine-tuned my list of hobbies. I became interested in geography to prepare myself for all the traveling I would do were I to become an airline hostess; I hiked trails and climbed mountains to reflect my sense of adventure and risk; I volunteered at a hospital to prepare for a career in nursing to quell my instinctive desire to serve others; and I entertained others with public readings and reciting of poetry which was directly inspired by my avid love of literature. In between, I collected matchboxes, developed an interest in coins, dabbled in drawing and painting, and loved cinema. Sadly, there was no more ballet because I was not ‘gracefully lightweight’ as desired. I could however, still do cartwheels and forward rolls and splits so I didn’t completely rule out acrobatics. Until suddenly, one day in later years of my teens, I was tempted to do a quick cartwheel when my arms and shoulders felt like they’d break underneath me. So by the time my late teens hit, I had also eliminated acrobatics and redefined my hobbies to a love of languages, reading, and performing arts. Add to that a creative mastery of sewing by my early twenties, purely motivated by a necessity to wear fashionable and affordable clothing.
My thirties marked a shift. I was more settled into myself with a career and family. There seemed to be less time for leisurely hobbies during the day and weekends, so I indulged in the occasional stage acting at night. Entertaining with friends, “playing” the hostess and the art of creative cooking dominated the scene in the work-life balance. And although I passionately took on gardening and creating a beautifully landscaped yard as claim to a new found hobby, ultimately, what set my heart on fire was reading with character and animation to the children, sewing costumes for their class plays, hiking with the Boy Scouts, translating foreign language passages into English, mentoring and volunteering my services.
It dawned on me that as we progress through life stages, we basically do not change who we are. What differs is how we express ourselves in our activities at various stages of our lives. If you love your work to the level of being passionate about it, pursuits stemming from that passion motivate you to create a lifestyle that reflects the joyous activities you simply do between waking up and going to bed.
My hobbies? “Life, and writing about it,” I said, with passion.

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Struggles with Technology

Posted on September 15, 2013 by thisihumblyspeak

I open my hand under the automatic soap dispenser in a public restroom, and after a few back and forth movements a rich white, foamy lather fills my palms. With soap spread all over my hands I place them under the faucet in anticipation of a stream of water. Back, forth, left, right, up, down, the darn thing doesn’t work. I move on to the next faucet in hopes that this one will respond to the twill of my fingers. A short burst of water spews from the faucet and then stops. Frustration is building up. Perhaps it’s me. I seem to struggle with technology every day.
My struggles date back to when I was a child. Dad came home with a console TV one day. It was the newest of its kind with knobs/dials as big as the circumference of tennis ball for on/off switch, channels, picture clarity, brightness and volume. We, the children, took turns to switch the TV on once a week to watch a show. On one such occasion when it was my turn to “play” with the knobs, the darn thing stopped working. Dad tried to fix it; technicians who really didn’t know much about how to fix such a new contraption tried to fix it. All failed. And I took it as a reflection of my own “flawed” touch. I became wary of new electronics and gadgets that had started to inundate my early teenage world. I was content with my little portable radio. If I turned it just the right way facing the window above my bed, I could listen to the latest pop music, follow the Eurovision song contests and listen to the weekly radio theater. I mastered the use of an LP player after ruining a few needles on the turntable while classmates were working wonders with tape recorders and cassette decks. The trend pretty much continued. By the time I got an answering machine, my friends had moved on to voicemail. Then came portable phones the size of shoe boxes with antennas reaching up for reception searching for the “can you hear me now?” Today, everyone is talking to her/himself with a minuscule cellular plugged into an ear. Let’s face it, by the time I realized that woofers were not barking dogs and tweeters were not chirping birds, the world had moved to tweets.
Technology was moving faster than the bullet train. With my children, I moved from Atari to Nintendo to Gameboy. As soon as one game system was bought, my son would prod me into the benefits of a newer system with more “better graphics,” memory features, controls, cables and of course a newer version of the same games because the “old” version could not be played on the “advanced” system. Pretty much like the advancements in today’s DVDs and Blue Rays. After all these years, my struggle with the VCR has not diminished. I couldn’t keep up with the many remotes. There was one for the TV, one for the VCR and one for what I had no idea. As soon as I became used to two remotes, my family sprung on me a “one remote to rule them all” to “simplify it,” they said. I still struggle.
Basic kitchen appliances posed problems. I loved my hand mixer of 25 years. It had the on/off switch, three speeds, a power boost button and a pair of beaters. My daughter presented me with a newer version with 5 speeds, beaters, professional style whisks and spatula attachments. I found myself stumped because it didn’t seem to make a difference in the desserts I prepared. Granted, it sped up the whisking process, but it also made a bigger mess with the extra attachments, “until you get the hang of it,” she said. I still struggle.
The internet has changed the way we experience things. It was not too long ago that we wrote letters to communicate with others far away, and spoke to live people on the phone. Now we all sit staring at a cold blue screen and listen to automated voices that once had a human element of warmth to them. To read the news, we would actually have to walk to pick up a newspaper. Now we hear a Bing on our phones to alert us to breaking news and instant messages.
Meanwhile, I am frantically waving my hand at the paper towel dispenser. Technology has forged ahead.

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Hypocrisy

Posted on August 14, 2013 by thisihumblyspeak

I recently came across “character building” study material geared toward young adolescents (10-15 years of age) at a summer camp. Granted, the camp was designed to channel morals and proper Christian behavior into the lives of these early teen years, however, the bluntness of the questions, the responses and discussions that followed captured my attention because I realized that although the camp leaders were trying to inspire a Christian morality into these youths, the exercises and questions did not digress or divert from the main subject, hypocrisy, and that they were relevant to you and me as adults.

Hypocrite was explained to the children as somebody who upholds a code of behavior, doesn’t live up to it but pretends like he/she does; someone who pretends he/she is someone or something he/she is not. They were given exercises that related to life situations in a language that was appropriate to their age group. They were asked to respond knowing what was morally “right” and “wrong”. The children were quick to understand. They “got” it because when they were asked to circle the number that best fit them, with 1 being hypocritical and 10 being very non in behavior, their response more often than not was no higher than 6. Now, if that questionnaire was presented to the adults in our lives, and given our life situations, I wonder how many of us would be courageous enough to circle the real number that defines us. The truth is, hypocrisy runs rampant throughout our lives. We see it in our communities, in government and our politicians, in our churches and elders, and in ourselves. We are so obsessed with how the world sees us that we strive to appear smarter, more confident, more generous, more ambitious, more concerned , more holy…but how do we really see ourselves?

In the old days, and especially in Greek theater, certain actors played more than one role, and they indicated their role by holding a mask in front of their face. From a symbolic perspective, the masks that the actors used to dramatize certain roles freed them from conformity and hidden desires, allowing them to express their true selves without fear. Even today, theater is symbolized by the twin masks of comedy and tragedy, sadness and joy. That is probably the origin of the concept of hypocrisy. To be someone you’re not.

I asked a priest/pastor about hypocrisy and especially in relation to his “profession” and to the example or role model to which he had committed himself. He said, “No one is without sin. If I claim to be without sin and then demonstrate sin (as undoubtedly I will), then, yes, I am a hypocrite. However,” he added, “just being a sinner does not qualify me as a hypocrite.”
It made sense. I did not argue his logic. If we have to be free of sin before we can preach or teach about it we’d all be sinking to the bottom of the ocean! No one person can achieve the full measure of divine grace in this life, and that we all struggle with an ongoing code of ethics and behavior does not justly label us with the verdict of hypocrisy. Hypocrisy consists not in failing to practice what we preach, but in not believing what we preach. I have a good notion that very few people live every day of their lives with perfect alignment of their beliefs and actions. From politicians to school board officials; from TV ads to automobile salespeople; from laymen to church elders; from young ones to adults; from you and me, we all belong to the same club. Although the “sin” may take different forms, the examples are many among us. We should all plead guilty.

I asked a child of 8 what he knew about hypocrisy. “It’s very much like lying,” he said, very matter of fact. “My friend has a big bike he lets me ride. But, he doesn’t like my baby sister so I pretend I don’t like her also. But, you know, I really like her,” he was quick to add.

If a child can recognize that he uses “hypocrisy” to impress another and is honest enough to admit it, can an adult set aside his pride and admit that he is something that he knows in his heart he is not?
On a scale of 1 to 10, where are you?

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Universal Music

Posted on July 20, 2013 by thisihumblyspeak

I happened to be in Geneva at the that time of year when the streets of Europe fill with the sound of music, as professional and amateur musicians of all ages and abilities celebrate the Fete de la Musique.
With its origins in France, this annual festival marks the beginning of summer with bands playing in music halls and street corners. Although each village, town or city has its own special way of celebrating the event, Geneva, a global city, a financial center and worldwide center for diplomacy, runs concerts over 3 days entertaining jazz, metal, rock, reggae, hip-hop, classical, electronic , ethnic, chamber and choral music — to name but a few! There is something for everyone with a wide variety of food stalls to match. If you are a musician, or even if you’ve never touched a musical instrument in your life, you are invited to play any of the pianos situated in street corners and marked with the words “Jouez, je suis à vous”. (“Play me, I’m yours.”) The concerts are free of charge so you can sit and listen or participate and dance your way through the streets from dusk until dawn and beyond. It is no wonder that a city such as Geneva also houses one of the largest eclectic and diverse groups of peoples of different cultures and different religions. And what better way to celebrate diversity than through music. There is a fundamental unifying harmony that even the songs and arias that take you to despair lift you. There are no dogmas in music, no boundaries, and no domestic walls. It belongs to the people.
I stayed in the French town of Ferney Voltaire named after the French writer and philosopher Voltaire whose home it was from 1759 to 1778. It is a peaceful town between the Jura Mountains and the Swiss border and forms part of the metropolitan area of Geneva. Today, with a large international community due to the proximity of CERN (European Organization for Nuclear Research) and the United Nations Offices and Red Cross Center at Geneva, Ferney is growing very rapidly. The town is also home to the Lycée International which attracts scholars from across the continents.
The purpose of my visit was to be with my Uncle Bared who resides in Ferney. Here, I discovered a treasure passed on through the generations of my great uncle, Puzant Yeghiayan, and my uncle Bared. I learned that my great uncle Puzant, a professor, educator and author resided in Ferney while he attended the Graduate Institute of Higher international Studies in Geneva from 1928 through 1930. There, within the Circle of League of Nations he met with many international figures including Einstein, Mohandas Gandhi and with Rabindranath (Thakur) Tagore. What intrigued me the most was the poem he had written in 1930, “Let East Greet West” which was in direct reference to Tagore, a Bengali writer, musician, and philosopher known in the West as “the great mystic from the East” who was on tour in Europe in 1930 with other great minds of the era.

“Let East greet West
And West greet East
As the Sun greets both East and West.
Let true hearts beat
With truth in heart
As the Stars sing to Stars beyond.
Above the pledge
Of land and flag
There, rules the pledge of human love.
Where wise men march in mutual search,
Where brave men work in trust and faith,
There, no fear broods, all darkness fades.
One fight stands alone,
There’s no other;
One battle for Justice and Truth;
Same hopes we raise
To similar skies,
In the same ocean of light we sail.
When honest souls reach out and share,
New Creation shakes heaven and earth,
East meets with West,
North meets with South,
One world, one front, one human right!”

My great uncle was inspired by the great men of his time who introduced the best of their culture to the West and vice versa. Their ideas on poverty, education, freedom, and a resurgent homeland remain as relevant today while their hope for unity and human rights and justice among nations is read between the lines. The music I heard through cobbled streets of the centuries old city spoke their language and the universal language of a humanity that hopes a thousand different ways every day, for the same plight of man’s freedom, tolerance, understanding and friendship.
“…Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.” Gitanjali, R. Tagore

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Common Courtesy

Posted on July 2, 2013 by thisihumblyspeak

Graduations create an electrifying atmosphere that radiates hope swarming amid the buzz and commotion of proud parents and friends wrapped up in the moment. They celebrate graduates at the threshold of their lives. Happiness is rooted in dreams and passions of making the world a better place; however, someone has to tell these young enthusiasts that without common courtesy, which goes hand in hand with kindness, sympathy and consideration, and which is the basis to the root of their dreams, their reward will be non-gratifying. My observation comes from a recent afternoon when I was in my car at an intersection and noticed a long line of others waiting to enter the flow of traffic. I signaled to the driver of the first car waiting to enter the flow of traffic to go ahead and that it was okay to move in. Six cars entered the intersection. I was doing them a favor. All were young drivers, and it wasn’t until the sixth driver who was middle aged who smiled and made a gesture of appreciation. I enjoyed a glow of pleasure from the last car, a gratification. It was a little thing, but it represented something bigger. It represented a short supply of common courtesy among the young enthusiastic “future leaders.” Common courtesy, not too long ago, was a fundamental part of our society that oiled the wheels of social interaction. Children were taught their Ps and Qs and to respect their elders, to say please and thank you, to open doors and stand aside on escalators, to give right of way, to not interrupt, to apologize, to have face to face conversations at dinner tables, to have eye contact, to be punctual,… in brief, to be considerate to those around them. This ingrained attitude was reflected in young adults that showed courtesy and respect to others, whether they believed those others worthy of such or not. Today, somewhere amid the focus on being politically correct and egocentric entitlement, youth have lost the most basic of common courtesy.
As I look upon graduates and their social skills I realize it would be foolish of me to hope that consideration and kindness, gratitude and compassion are the ingredients that will right all the wrongs, keep peace and heal wounds while trying to guide the generations with all their worldly good intentions. What it really comes down to is the value of example. We can either be a positive example or a negative one, and unfortunately, because goodness doesn’t make news as sensational or interesting as does calamity or catastrophe, the negative publicity attracts more of the same through repetition and imitation. If repetition and imitation is the key, then the onus is on our generation, the generation of parents and grandparents, to communicate kindness and compassion and common courtesy. If we are to be remembered as the conscionable and the caring people of our generation, if we are truly concerned by all the issues of our humanity that have made today’s generation achieve its potential, if we indeed treasure the efforts of our generation and not remain muted to the scarcity of common courtesy, then our chance for contagion of the right stuff will not diminish. These days, I see parents who are afraid to speak their minds because someone will think they are too orthodox. These days I see parents who identify more and more with the material, and less and less with common courtesy standards. These days I see young parents who run around over involving their children in sports, music, art, dance, academia all at the same time while ignoring the most basic standards of common courtesy. Trust me, twenty years from now, your worth as a parent will not be measured by the number of activities your children were involved in, or their SAT scores or their trophies. It will be measured by the depth of their character and the way they live their lives in relation to the rest of humanity. It will be measured by the strength of the influence of the parent who taught by example the rules of common courtesy. Courtesy and consideration shown towards others cannot be legislated. They need to be taught. If we wish to improve the society of today, we need to re-instigate common courtesy as a major component of our social interaction. We cannot pretend to be interested in people and their hopes and aspirations if we do not put above all else the practice of courteous and considerate behavior toward others. Only then will we be able to proudly stand by our sons and daughters and grandchildren with confidence that they will guide the destiny of nations with innate humility and kind consideration.

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Mothers, Mama

Posted on May 10, 2013 by thisihumblyspeak

Mothers. Love them, or hate them. Look up to them or look down at them. Their loving hands caress gently or strike fervently. Cherish them or curse them. Emulate them or vow to become what they’re not. Idolize them or move away from them with disdain. Nurtured or neglected by them, no matter how we feel, no matter what our sentiment regarding our emotional and psychological wellbeing, we owe who we are to our mothers.

Mama, I miss you in a thousand small ways. I miss having the woman with whom I’d sit face to face over an early morning coffee to exchange thoughts and ideas …not to necessarily agree with…Lord knows that wasn’t always our strongest point. You would say that parents who were more concerned about their child’s psyche and who made excuses for their child’s weaknesses fed into the child’s fragility. “Assume strength, not fragility,” you would say.  Mama always took pride in being strong. Somehow, your preferences are now a part of my own…a way to remember you.

Her independence and self-confidence came across so naturally in everyday life, I thought all mothers were like that only to find out later, nothing could be further from the truth. As I grew older, her wisdom was always shared through discussion in a way that made me feel like I had come up with the “right” solution to the challenge.  I was taught that “your choices have consequences” and/or shape your life and that “your deeds and words impact others in addition to yourself.”  My Mama taught me that being a good listener sometimes is the best gift you could give someone. (I’m still working on that one!) She taught me to value my roots, and to treasure the relationships of family above all. “Volunteer your life,” she said, “It’ll keep you human.” And, I learned that being honorable and standing up for what you believe in, no matter the cost, is the true measure of your character and worth, versus how much money you make or who you know. But one of the most valuable lessons of all that I learned from my Mama was that despite being a girl, I could do anything I wanted in life and be anyone I wanted to become. Only my fears, if I had them, could stop me. You taught me to face them head on and power through them. Within the last year, when your memory became more and more challenged, you would forget a lot of things, names, places, events, “but in my heart from where my blood flows,” you would say,  “I know without doubt that I love.” Mama would then smile, tilt her head slightly, raise her glass of cognac, take a sip and say, “Memory cannot take love away from the soul of one who loves.”

The act of mothering — all that we as women “do” as mothers to manifest this love and care — is more profound than anything I’ve ever done before, and at times, it wears me to the rough and fragile places of my ego. In these moments I learn that my “better self” has a “less-better self” and I feel “out of sync” as my own self-image becomes reshaped. (Again, I’m working on it.) Mama, you gave me much to live by.

In the U.S. Mother’s Day was celebrated as early as 1897 as a day dedicated to peace. Then, in 1907, Anna Jarvis from Philadelphia began a campaign to establish a national Mother’s Day. She persuaded her mother’s church in West Virginia to celebrate Mother’s Day on the second anniversary of her mother’s death, the 2nd Sunday of May.  Ms. Jarvis began to write to ministers and politicians in her quest to establish a national Mother’s Day. By 1911, Mother’s Day was celebrated in almost every state, and President Woodrow Wilson, in 1914, made the official announcement proclaiming Mother’s Day to be the 2nd Sunday of May. By then it had become customary to wear white carnations to honor departed mothers and red to honor the living, a custom that continues to this day.

I shall be wearing my white carnation this Mother’s Day.

 

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Go To The Funeral

Posted on April 15, 2013 by thisihumblyspeak

I’d like to preempt this by saying that I am not a person who dwells in morbid thoughts. I love life and the living, and I often go to noisy, crowded places to sit back and watch the world go by, connecting with a humanity so caught up in the mundane that its purpose and mortal presence is lost to all except to the observer. There is beauty around that speaks and images that disturb. These fuel my creativity. However, to feel most connected to understanding my inner self, the most human, powerful, and yet humbling experience for me is to go to the funeral.
This past year has been one of many funerals. Going to the funerals or the calling hours as it is done “back home,” sometimes means we have to do the right thing even when we don’t feel like it. What might be an inconvenience to me (because the funeral cuts into my busy work schedule) means the world to the other person who has suffered a loss because, in their moment of grief, as they turn to look back at the people present in the church, or as they see you pass respectfully before the coffin of their loved one, the most powerfully comforting experience for them is to see a church full of inconvenienced people such as I, who believe in going to the funeral. By the same token, I am renewed with the awareness of how precious every life on earth is and how much I am pulled by the need to do, more so than the need to be. My mortal years, like all who are privileged to breathe, are unknown and limited. Time is entrusted to me and the years lent are just that… lent to me.

Sometimes, I go to the cemetery. The cemetery need not be one where I have a connection to someone whose funeral I have attended, be it family or friend or acquaintance. I feel connected to all. I randomly walk over a carpet of well-maintained green grass reading the names and dates of those buried in the area. Some are short lived lives, others long and longer. There are mothers, fathers, sons and daughters, sisters, brothers, grandparents, aunts and uncles, the soldier, the doctor, the hero; all loving. It is easy to recognize the newly dead from those long buried. Theirs are the headstones that are rubbed and polished to a gleam. Many of them are too young, infants even. I take time to stop at each one to read their names and say a little prayer for those they’ve left behind in this world. And for those long buried and whose last day on this earth dates back decades into history, and time has diminished the strokes of polish on their headstone, I linger a little longer.
My first impression of cemeteries was not one of rolling hills carpeted with a soft spread of green, and trees with their magnificently outstretched branches. No; I come from places where cemeteries are tight narrow plots confined between buildings and church yards, with high tombstones. Statues of all shapes and sizes mark the graves of young and old casting long shadows in the twilight hour. These are cemeteries where the earth has moved and graves have shifted. One almost has to dance and skip from one marbled tomb to the other to walk through the graveyard.
Yet there is something that connects me to the world of the departed; a world behind what we see, feel and taste. In that connection, all human weakness of emotions seems to dissipate. I have no fears, no doubts and no resentments. All that exists is an implosive magnetic force of love powered by those on earth whose hearts beat with sorrow, joy, grief, loss, triumph …and by those who have departed and whose loves linger and float the atmosphere. A peace exists amid a silent kinship between souls centuries old and days young. It is comforting. The finest of people, the innocent, the guilty, the good, the rogue of rogues, the giver and the taker will all be buried within the boundaries of the cemeteries. But their worldly professions and adjectives that defined them do not matter. Here, I find an absence of all human emotions except an infinite love that roams through and in between the space. An inexplicable peace reigns. And I am released of all entitlement to this world.

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A Million Dollar Question

Posted on March 9, 2013 by thisihumblyspeak

On my way to work I stopped by a gas station to fill the tank of my car. As I waited to pay the hefty sum for the gallons of fuel my car consumed, I noticed a few folk buying lottery tickets. The jackpot was $12 million. I paid for my gas and started pumping, but my mind was already mulling the thought of millions.

I recalled as children in elementary school, perhaps fifth grade, we were asked the question, “What would you do with a million dollars? How would you spend it?” It was one of those questions designed to reveal our way of thinking. What we would do with a million dollars would say a lot about the philanthropy in our hearts, our concern for the problems of the world, our concept of money and our knowledge of the cost of material things. At the time, most of the answers would reveal that the classroom had an overabundance of philanthropists and humanitarians who would give more than 50% to charity while helping find cures for the ill, shelter for the homeless, food for the hungry, clothing for the poor, a house and/or car for our families, a trip around the world, ah yes, some games and toys for ourselves, and money in a savings account. It’s what we were taught to do…to share our good fortune. But as we grew older, our life values and cost of living often changed so drastically that material gratification, egoism and greed took center stage. Philanthropy and humanitarianism became an afterthought.
“Well, how would you spend it?” said my Id, urging me deeper into my thoughts.
“I’m thinking,” I said.
“What’s there to think about? It’s simple. You work hard, you deserve nice things. Why this constant battle between what you have, what you need and what you think you want?” “Because money can do a lot, and I want to make it work for me,” I said with conviction.
“Spending it on what you want is making it work for you,” said Id.
“That’s too temporary,” I said. “Remember years ago, when we were much younger, we tried spending an imaginary million dollars on what we wanted. We redecorated with new furniture, electronics, gadgets, vacations, and wardrobe, and put money aside to give 5% to schools and 10% to charity.”
“Yeah, I remember,” reflected Id. He, too, delighted in the memory. “We put a price tag on each item of our fantasy cars, home and gadgets. We really indulged in our wants and desires.”
“We sure did,” I said as I took a short moment to bask in the memory of our imaginary indulgence. “But, that’s all it was, wants and desires,” I said, coming back to reality. “Wants and desires fade and change, and in time, lose their value. We become bored of them or obsessed by them. Our sense of entitlement muddies the waters between what we want and what we really need. I need something more lasting and meaningful that will add value to my existence.”
“You knocked the greed right out of me,” said Id, with a sigh.
“Money needs to reflect who I really am and what is important to me in life,” I continued. “My outer prosperity must reflect the prosperity in my heart. My heart is filled with gratitude and expresses itself with generosity. Putting the needs of others ahead of my wants first, enriches my heart. So I’ll probably take some of my wants and give to others who have real needs.”
“But, you have a long list of people and organizations, and there is an ever expanding definition of ‘need’ to fulfill. What if they don’t all need help?”
“Everybody needs help,” I said. “Besides, everyone welcomes gifts.”
“Yeah, well, so do I, so don’t forget to throw a bone or two my way once in a while,” he said with his usual humor.
I laughed. “I’ll do even better than that. I’ll buy a couple of dogs to go with the bones.”
“You mean you’ll splurge?” he asked with sarcasm.
“Yep, I have it all calculated and there still will be some left over for a few wants and desires,” I chuckled.
“Aren’t you missing something?” asked Id.
“What?”
“The ticket,” he exclaimed. “You can’t dream to win without a ticket.”
The nozzle clicked. My tank was full. I placed the nozzle back in its place, and at the spur of the moment, I ran inside. “One super lotto quick-pick please,” I said.
…On my way to work.

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The Proposal

Posted on February 10, 2013 by thisihumblyspeak

And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. — Kahlil Gibran

Every now and then I stop by a coffee shop to pick up a shot of caffeine to help me through the rest of a long evening. Sometimes, I have a half hour to spare when I sit and sip and “bask” in my own thoughts. On that particular day, the place was full and the room was noisy. The café tables were all occupied. With permission granted, I shared the end of a table with two young men, friends to each other, but strangers to me. The one young man had a hope-drenched look about him, almost awash in vast expectations and easy optimism. He was letting his friend know of his plans to propose to the young girl of his dreams. The other was telling him how best to go about doing it. He asked if the ring was ready. “Yeah,” replied the hopeful. “Cost me a bundle. She wanted this big one.” I couldn’t help but look at it. Dang, I thought, that’s some rock. I wondered, would she say “yes” based on the size of the gem or on the depth of promises made.

I recalled what I had said years ago to the man whose love I shared. “I don’t want gemstones or gold. I want… a kind soul. I want to fall asleep, hand in hand and wake, knowing my heart is safe. I want to love.” To which he had said, “Give me your hand, and take my heart, and be my second self, my best companion on earth.”
I had given him my hand. “But beauty fades, and time roughens every hand,” I had said. “These soft hands, tender now, will one day be wrinkled. Will you still take my hands in yours? Will you, in years to come, when passion dims, allow my hands to creep to yours?” I had asked.
“I may not always be this handsome either,” he had said with quick and witty dancing eyes that had made me laugh. “I may not always be brave and bold and strong, or smart and wise and clever. I am not perfect. I am human, and I do make mistakes. But I know that you are what makes a weak man brave in good times and in bad times, in easy times and in tough times.”
“Can you make laughter a part of my daily life?” I had asked. “Because not all my dreams may come true, nor all my goals achieved. Life may throw many disappointments our way.”
“When you are hurting, I will build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and beautiful.” He had paused to look at me. “I may need reminding, but I will laugh with you because your happiness is essential to my own.”
“Can you love me without pride because there is no self-seeking in the way I love? There is no I or you. My heart is vulnerable.” I recalled having whispered those words.
“I love you simply,” he had said in an almost similar whisper. “I love you this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this.” He went on to quote as best as he could remember from the Bible. “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, and it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres.”
“But will you know how to replenish love at its source?” I had asked. “What if the breathlessness of love and the excitement of promises of my eternal passion succumb to the years and fall victim of age? What then?”
“Our roots will be so entwined over time that only love will be left when being in love has burned away with age. We will heal each other, feed to strengthen the best in our characters and starve to stunt our weaknesses.”
“In many ways we are different,” I had reminded him.
“But we share the same values,” he had rushed to interject. “You are my moral likeness, you are my equal.”
He had hijacked my heart. I knew then and there with a certainty that I would want him by my side to begin and end my days with a prayer and a kiss.

I jotted a page of these recollections and handed it to the young men still working on their proposal. “Here,” I said, “try this. If it speaks to you, use it. If it speaks to her, then give her the ring.”

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Resolution to Celebrate Life

Posted on January 6, 2013 by thisihumblyspeak

I am one who does not make New Year resolutions, yet this year I prepared for the New Year with thoughts of consciously celebrating everything about my life and life in general. Celebrate?  How can I think of celebrating when there are those among us, our neighbors, our friends, our relatives, our “hayrenagitz”, our fellow citizens who at this moment cannot celebrate and do not feel celebratory due to tragic circumstances in their lives. With all that’s going on in the world, I should be thinking that that’s the last thing to do especially now when many have heavy hearts.

Prayer is the first thought that comes to mind. I know about God, the Lord, my refuge and my strength. He is called Lord, Jehovah, Holy Spirit, Yahweh, Allah, Our Father, Hallowed be Thy Name. He could be God on a throne in a cloud or God in a burning bush. We sneeze, He blesses.  He is called Shepherd and sometimes he is a Lamb. He walked with Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. He lives in Heaven but He is also here on Earth with us. He is spirit. He is One and He is also three in One. He is Love. He lives in us and around us. He spoke to Moses. He also spoke to Abraham and Noah. He designed the Ark. He appears through angels.  Sometimes He is that small voice that talks from within and sometimes it seems He never speaks.  But I’ve noticed that when fear and despair inch their way into the very folds of my thought process, I start to pray.  It isn’t a thing I plan. It just happens and the words come out…and I stand brave. But when somebody hurts, especially children wounded or lost; and others who haunt the headlines with bereavement and suffering eyes, I feel an anger I cannot explain.  Yet, more than anger, it is a compassion wrenched with sorrow dug too deep for me to understand…and that’s when I think this must be God. And then there are moments when I see the beauty of pelicans in flight, or even just sunlight streaming through the clouds, and I think I’m on my own and no-one is there for me to share it with, I feel a tingle, an enormous joy, an elation beyond comprehension …and that’s when I think this must be God…in the here and now.

God, I’m glad you’re here, with me, with us, in the here and now, as You were in the beginning, so shall You be in the end.

So this year, I am starting 2013 with a resolution to celebrate life. Life is made up of succeeding good things that simply offset the bad. If I can celebrate each day with gratitude and rejoice in the presence and accomplishment of others, what better way to eliminate fear and allow faith to step in?!  I look at the calendar and start to mark all the dates that call for a celebration. I start with Soorp Dznoont the Epiphany, through lent and Easter and Theophany to come. Then I move on to birthdays of family and include friends I remember including  the different Saints’ days and people I know who bear the names starting with Sarkis in January, Vartan in February,  …and finally Hagop and Peter and Paul in December. Next, I recall anniversaries. A little while later I start to add meetings and major dates of events planned. Pretty soon the year is filling up with celebration days. But what of the days that have nothing marked on them? I am on a roll; I cannot let my celebrations end there. I look for every reason imaginable to celebrate: The first day of spring, the last day of autumn, the shortest day, the longest day, my grandson’s first day of school… the list is endless. I attach a footnote six months down the road to check with a friend for her second “six month” follow up with doctors at the City of Hope. Regardless of the outcome I will celebrate with her, her presence in my life, I promise myself. I’ll celebrate the past, the present and the future. And for those days I have not marked a specific cause, I highlight. Those will be even more special as I will have to create as I wake up to the day. So I challenge any of my readers to ask me on any given day of the year 2013 what I’m celebrating and I will answer without hesitation. Who knows, it could be you I’m celebrating.

Happy New Year to all and May your days be a succession of celebrations.

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