The empty space…..

It had been a long morning, as our team set up the canopy, tables, barbecue and decorations for Dinuba, California’s Annual 24-hour Relay for Life event, sponsored by the American Cancer Society.  Our Relay event’s theme this year was color, with a particular color having been tied to varying forms of Cancers.  Our team wanted to play off of a theme of the recently-ended Winter Olympics, so we, of course, chose Olympic “Gold,” which in turn was used to emphasize childhood Cancers.  Given that we were a school team, it was quite appropriate for us.

By the time we had set up our canopy, draped snow-white sheets replete with fake ski slope trees, planted skiis and poles, erected half-size Christmas trees and placed white tinsel everywhere, we were tired.  Then came the tables, barbecue grill, boxes of provisions for our team members, lawn chairs and more, and soon our feet were very sore.

All was completed just in the nick of time, as we were alerted to the 9 a.m. opening ceremonies by the flicker-whine of a nearby microphone.  Along with all of the other teams, we turned our gazes to the small stage at the closest end of a football field that would become our temporary home, our volunteered gathering, our combined walk, our conjoined battle against a merciless foe.

This is not my first Relay for Life, but each time I hear the first speech tearfully thanking us for our participation, it happens.  I begin to become painfully aware of those standing around me, of who they’ve lost, of what some of them have gone through (and continue to go through each day.)  I forget my pains from the morning ministrations, knowing my burdens go away as soon as I flex my feet on the track surrounding the field, while those dealing with Cancer’s effects have no refuge.

With the completion of the opening ceremonies, everyone walked onto the track and began the official first lap, pulled together from all over town to this spot, moving forward alongside each other with a common goal.  You can’t help but smile at the children, so full of energy, bounding ahead of their teams, carefree in mind and spirit, many unknowingly harnessing their energies to pull others through painful times…

Throughout the day we all took our turns walking, passing our team numbers off and thanking each other for the chance to seek shelter under the canopy, to open a soda and rummage for an overly-grilled hot dog.  What would otherwise be a monotonous day was often broken up by fun-filled themed laps.  We were ready, pulling out boxes of crazy hats, western clothing, Disney costumes, super-hero capes, purple and gold outfits, red, white and blue items.  We raced cardboard cars (ours was a bob-sled, in keeping with our Olympic theme.)

We take Relay for Life seriously, my fiancée Nadira and I.  It’s not just because we know people who have suffered through Cancer, or have lost someone to it.  It has hit home for us, too, as it has for so many.   At the school Nadira teaches at, the students had an enormous “Penny War,” raising over $3,000 in two weeks, an astounding figure for a school of only 450 students.

Later in the afternoon, men and women quietly began hanging up strings of lights around the football field, in preparation for the Luminaria.  It’s impossible to miss the groups working through the corner of our eyes as we continued our now-slower paths around the track.   As soon as the lights were strung, box upon box of decorated white bags began to appear, lights pulled through them and stapled firmly in place, decorations facing the walkers.

Every year, more and more little white bags appear around the field, adorned with the names of those lost to Cancer, those still fighting a form of the disease, and those who have won the fight.   Many of the Luminaria are personalized, colored by the loving hands of children, crayon marks doing their best to draw some sort of re-connection, some form of aid and comfort, some measure of victory.  It is the sight of the Luminaria that remain with me throughout the year, pushing me to volunteer again and again.

When dusk arrived, the kleig lights were turned off for the official Luminaria lap, a lap where we are all to walk completely in silence, reflecting on the day, on our purpose.  And that’s when I saw it, truly saw it for the first time that day — the far end of the field, where no bags are hung, a wide open space between the rows and rows of lit-up names on the left and right.  And I got hit with it like a ton of bricks…

I miss him terribly.  My Dad was a friend to me, the architect of my sense of humor.  He was wonderful to me, quick witted and hard-working, always taking care of things around our home and lives, even though his little aluminum boat and fishing rod (and the fish in nearby lakes) were calling to him.  I lost him to Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma in ’98, just months after having been told of his condition.  I soon found myself left in my own wide open space too, the name of my father all around, lit up in multi-colored memories.

On that field, on that very night, I looked around me, at the walkers silently stealing glances at the bags.  I felt the combined weight of loss, pain, triumph and thanks on that field, moving in a semi-circle of Hope, spelled out on the stands and in our faces, in the prayers that rose from the very soles of our shoes.

I realized that we all had to do this, to spend this day walking, to do what little we could to raise funds toward research.  Because if we didn’t, slowly and surely that empty space at the end of the field will get taken up as well by those little white bags with names and crayon marks.

Relay for Life has me, year after year, because I need to see them, those little white bags.  I need to know that wide, open area still exists, and is not filled in, not yet at least.  It is an annual reminder to myself that my time with my father was a blessing, to be cherished.  That the people reflected on those colorful little bags were all blessings.  And that the empty spaces in our lives can be a blessing, too…

In social media, it’s all about the followers, isn’t it?  Have you ever come across someone providing status updates and information on Twitter or Facebook, without anyone listening?  For social media to work for us, to be interesting, we need to develop relationships with others, to provide something of value in our written words, and keep it up.  It’s always nice to have others learn about you and decide to listen too – social media is a very large campfire to tell our story around.

DUNBAR’S NUMBER

The Guardian newspaper in the UK in an article last year stated that the average Twitter account holder has around 126 followers.  I’m sure that the average has gone up since then.  Recently published research by Robin Dunbar, professor of Evolutionary Anthropology at Oxford, underscores the long-held belief that the average person can only successfully maintain up to 150 relationships, even when looking at interactions in social media.

THE NUMBERS GAME

Up to last month, I had over 4,000 followers.  I’m not bragging, so bear with me.  I suppose I was doing well, if one provides a greater emphasis upon the number of followers as a measure of tweeting success.  I began to wonder about my actual level of interaction with my followers, so I searched for a few tools to help me measure my true interaction level with(or influence on) these people.

One of the tools I found and used (and I recommend you try it out too,) is Friend or Follow, which provides you, without having to log in, a clickable listing of:

• The people you are following that are not following you back (Followings)
• The people who are following you that you are not following back (Fans)
• The people you are following that are following you back (Friends)

Each of these listings provides a grid of avatar images.  A pause over each avatar shows each person’s:

• Full name
• Number of follows and followers
• Location
• Date last tweeted
• Date their Twitter account was created

Pretty cool stuff.  A question that arose in my mind was “What was I trying to get out of Twitter, anyway?”  After all, who you choose to follow creates your social media experience, right?  So what happens out there? What (and who) exactly do we all have to choose from in Twitter?

Not long ago, Pear Analytics of San Antonio, Texas analyzed 2,000 tweets from U.S. accounts over 2 weeks, and broke down what they saw as follows:

• News-related tweets from mainstream media accounted for 3.6% of the tweets
• Spammed content was being sent out 3.75% of the time
• Shameless self-promotion by companies made up 5.85% of the traffic
• Pointless babbling (incoherent on their own merit messages) were passed 40.55% of the time
• Conversation-based messages made up 37.55% of what was seen
• Passed-along retweets of others’ content constituted 8.7% of what was found

WHAT DO YOU NEED FROM SOCIAL MEDIA?

I know what I want from social media.  Relationships.  Friendships.  Community.  Just how much of this was happening with my 4,000 followers?

I discovered that almost half of the people following me (2,000 people!) hadn’t tweeted in over a month.  The average length of time someone keeps a Twitter account is about 18 months — had so many simply given up on Twitter?  Over 1,000 of them hadn’t tweeted in more than 3 months, and hundreds hadn’t said anything in practically a year.   How could I build a relationship with someone who wasn’t even on Twitter anymore?

I also found a ton of spammers, self-promoters, and a fair share of people who simply babbled on without actually responding to people who replied.  Among these accounts were a few jewels, shining examples of people who were using Twitter in the manner for which it was designed — to actually interact with others.

REBUILD IT – THEY WILL STILL COME

I began pruning my followings carefully over many, many hours, with an eye for the people that I either cared to listen to (regardless if they followed me back,) and people who actually conversed with me on a regular basis.  I got down to following around 800 people, (20% of my followers) and waited to see what happened.  Over the next 3 days, I lost 400 people in response to my actions, and not one contacted me to ask why I had dropped them.

I was still unsatisfied that I better start to meet my needs in social media.  After all, I still had thousands of followers who weren’t really there.  I decided to take a much bigger leap, and created a whole new Twitter account – an absolute do-over, documented here.  I followed everyone important to me, then tweeted invites to anyone listening for a solid week.  I then deleted my old account.  I was a new man…

I’m up to 530 followers now, only 25% of what I had before.  And you know what? The level of interaction is the same.  Although my followers have relatively more recent accounts, only about 20% of them actually say something to me once in awhile, comfortably below Dunbar’s magic number of 150.  And I am okay with that, because I simply adore these people, and I know they wish to build a relationship with me.

I still have my share of spammers and self-promoters following me.  I’ll welcome anyone who wants to follow.  I like my new, albeit smaller family.  We share our joys and trials together, and care about each other.

JOIN ME!

Are you courageous enough to follow too?  To interact with someone who will ask you questions about your life, who will provide assistance when asked, who will laugh, cry, think and pray with you in times of need?  Who will never ask you if your teeth are white enough, or if you’d like to see photos of me being naughty? Are you ready for some community-building?

If the answer is yes, then why not take a chance on me?  What are you waiting for? Please join me on Twitter today!

Hinamatsuri is an extremely old ceremony, filled with color and meaning.  Soft, red fabric is laid all over, especially on stepped tables.  On the fabric are carefully placed dolls, hundreds of them, thousands all over.  From Hello Kitty to miniature Kabuki or Geisha versions, the dolls are considered to be empty containers with a spiritually important purpose.

As people look over the dolls, remarking at their whimsy or beauty, prayers are quietly given, meant to summon into memory recollections of evil or undesirable spirits, situations and thoughts, tragedies and terrors.  The intention is to move that which has burdened you, your family or your community into one of the dolls.

Many of the dolls at the shrine, along with trinkets and sweets, will be placed upon tiny straw boats, and placed upon the waters of the Takano and Kamo rivers, to float away, along with the bad spirits, omens and thoughts.  More prayers are said as the participants silently watch the boats float away with their worries and fears.

Hinamatsuri provides the people of Kyoto and Japan an annual cathartic feeling, as they begin to positively look forward to a better year ahead….

“…you will cast all your sins into the depths of the sea…”  ~ Micah 7:9

In Jewish tradition, there is a similar ceremony, held around Rosh Hashanah, known as Tashlich.  Tashlich is a Hebrew word, translating as “to cast away.”  It is a rarity among Jewish ceremonies, believed to be so important to spiritual growth that it is observed even on the Sabbath.

In preparation for requesting forgiveness from ourselves, each other and God, Jews keep some bread crumbs in a pocket while pondering on all of the sinful behavior they took part in during the previous 365 days.  Tradition has it that as we open our hearts and memories in honesty, the crumbs will absorb our sins and grief.

It is important to do this quietly, alone, and over a long period, thinking of everyone we may have wronged, no matter how slight the act seemed to us.

To perform Tashlich, special prayers are read aloud as the bread crumbs are cast into a free-flowing body of water, such as a stream or river.  The movement of water is essential, ritually carrying the sin-filled crumbs from where they were thrown.

In Ancient Israel, lakes and rivers were few and far between, so small shallow wells (cisterns) were dug up and used.  Kurdish and Yemenese Jews immersed themselves fully in Mikvot (ritual baths) to clean themselves of their sins.  The Jews of Safed climbed upon their roofs and prayed over the Sea of Galilee below.  In Galicia, Jews prayed over tiny boats of straw, them floated them out onto the water with lit candles.  When the candles burned down, the boats (and sins) caught fire and were destroyed.

The concept of Tashlich has evolved in modern time to mean that we are not so much casting off our sins as casting off attitudes and behaviors that caused them.  It is committing oneself to work on bettering ourselves, to be more understanding, more accepting, more loving toward and caring for our fellow Man.

“Don’t be afraid to make a mistake.  But be sure you don’t make the same mistake twice.”  ~ Akio Morita

In many larger Nations, a formal period of self-imposed reflection, asking of forgivenes, and casting off of bad behaviors does not exist.  We leave it up to ourselves to realize on our own (or through friends, family or religious leaders) that this is necessary for us to grow and move forward in life.  Do we as a Nation, as a Society, run the risk of repeating our mistakes without this periodic introspection?

We tend to stand together in times of crisis, such as now, after the tragedies of Haiti and Chile.  We stand together in times of great loss, as great leaders pass away or are murdered before our eyes.  In War, we are both torn apart as family at the kitchen table and bonded for life with strangers on the battlefield. We miss no chance to join together in celebration.  In the moments of greatest trial and tribulation, we can become much closer, a larger global family.

I wonder about Hinamatsuri and Tashlich.  Are we missing something important in our desire to grow closer as a family, in that we do not reach out and join together to ponder our behaviors, to ask forgiveness of our loved ones, our friends, our co-workers and ourselves?  Should we endeavor to begin, as a Nation, as a global family, to partake together in these celebrations of thoughtfulness and emotional release?

Many people are suffering recently, sleeping outside in the rubble amidst terror-filled memories and dreams.  My thoughts and prayers are with the peoples of Haiti and Chile.  May their pain and sorrow, the terrible tragedy of life lived hard before all of our eyes, be moved away from them, away into the deep still oceans, to return no more…

Steve Woods

Please read previous postings on how to forgive, and how you can begin to make a difference in the World using Social Media.

For Pete’s Sake Day

Today is For Pete’s Sake Day, a commemoration of those verbal replacement players we call in during times of extreme anger, stress or pain, so as to not cause Grandma Lorraine, quietly watching Golden Girls in the next room, to spray her chamomile tea all over the sofa.  We all have our perennial favorites — Criminy, Dagnabbit, Doggone, Gadzooks, Jeepers Creepers, Judas Priest, and Tarnation, to name a few.

It’s always amazing to me, how a split second after slamming a hammer on our thumb our minds can register the presence of others, and instantly rein in that primeval desire to shout obscenities aloud like the foulest of sailors.

Explanation and Origin

To those who care about terminology, they are officially known as minced oaths, introduced into our vernacular during the Middle Ages, when the Church monitored the language and actions of the common folk, and were quick to punish any offenses.  Commonly used euphemisms launched at God or Jesus in times of anger and stress had to be glossed over and reworked to avoid such punishments.

Later, as things religiously loosened up, minced oaths became personally chosen alternatives for those who wanted to maintain an air of greater dignity about them, even in times of agony.

Fun Examples of Minced Oaths

Here are 77 ways to cuss out loud without actually cursing, along with what was meant, courtesy of Phrases.Org, with some censoring done by me (Hey, this is a family blog…).

77 Minced Oaths

Begorrah –> By God
Bejabbers –> By Jesus
Bleeding heck –> Bloody Hell
Blimey –> Blind me
Blinking heck –> Bloody Hell
By George –> By God
By golly –> By God’s body
By gosh –> By God
By gum –> By God
By Jove –> By God
Cheese and Rice –> Jesus Christ
Chrissakes –> For Christ’s sake
Christmas –> Christ
Cor blimey –> God blind me
Crikey –> Christ
Criminy –> Christ
Cripes –> Christ
Crivvens –> Christ defend us
Dad gum –> God d*mn
Dagnabbit –> God d*mn it
Dagnammit –> God d*mn it
Dang –> D*mn
Dangnabbit –> God d*mn it
Dangnation –> D*mnation
Darn –> D*mn
Darnation –> D*mnation
Doggone –> God d*mn
Drat –> God rot it
Egad –> A God
Figs –> F*ck
Fink –> F*ck
Flaming heck –> F*cking Hell
Flipping heck –> F*cking Hell
For crying out loud –> For Christ’s sake
For Pete’s sake –> For St. Peter’s sake
For the love of Mike –> For St. Michael’s sake
Freaking –> f*cking
Gadzooks –> God’s hooks
Gat Dangit –> God d*mn it
Gee –> Jesus
Gee whizz –> Jesus
Gee willikers –> Jesus
Godfrey Daniel –> God
Golly Gee willikers –> Jesus
Good garden party –> Good God
Good grief –> Good God
Goodness gracious –> Good God
Gorblimey –> God blind me
Gosh –> God
Gosh darned –> God d*mned
Heck –> Hell
Holy spit –> Holy sh*t
Jason Crisp –> Jesus Christ
Jebus –> Jesus
Jeepers Creepers –> Jesus Christ
Jeez –> Jesus
Jeezy Creezy –> Jesus Christ
Jehosaphat –> Jesus
Jiminy Christmas –> Jesus Christ
Jiminy Cricket –> Jesus Christ
Judas Priest –> Jesus Christ
Land sakes –> For the Lord’s sake
Lawks a mercy –> Lord have mercy
My goodness –> My God
My gosh –> My God
Odds-bodkins –> God’s sweet body
Sacré bleu –> Sang de Dieu (God’s blood)
Sam Hill –> Hell
Shoot –> sh*t
Shucks –> sh*t
Strewth –> God’s Truth
Suffering succotash –> Suffering Saviour
Sugar –> sh*t
Tarnation –> D*mnation
What in Sam Hill? –> What in d*mn Hell?
Wish to goodness –> Wish to God
Zounds –> God’s wounds

Phew.  Glad I got that out.  Why use minced oaths in our daily lives?  Well, chamomile is hard enough to get out of the chintz without Grandma staring us down in disgust.  And then for most of us there’s the worry about the blunt and instantaneous anger of Mom and Dad, or the feared disapproval of our Aunts and Uncles.  How about around co-workers or the boss?  And nobody wants to be excommunicated after an outburst brought on by slamming our head on the low door frame at our local Church, either.

The Proximity of Caring

Distance.  Perhaps that is what minced oaths are all about.  Whether due to geography, ages or emotional bonding, the closer people are to us, the more proximate to our daily lives, the more we care about what they may think about what we do or say.  While I held my emerging sailor mouth in check around Uncle David and Aunt Debbie, I explored the profound and resilient usage of the F-bomb while playing in the back yard with my brothers and cousins.  While our bosses believe we have a clean mouth, that guy in the next cubicle over, who heard when we spilled our coffee all over last month’s project, likely knows better…

Suffering in Silence

I moved into an apartment almost 3 years ago, along with my two daughters.  My oldest got the room next to mine, built-in cabinets providing her with gobs of storage space.  Wanting to help sort things into these same cabinets, I opened them all, small wooden doors gaping into the room, as I knelt over her innumerable collectibles on the carpet below.

Hearing my daughter bring a number of boxes up the stairs into my room, I wanted to make sure they were being put in a place I could get to easily, so I dropped what I was doing and stood up rapidly.  My forehead met, with enormous impact, the bottom corner of one of the doors I had opened not five minutes earlier.

If you bang your skull just right, you actually can see stars.  I know, because they danced through the sheer pain in my head as I fell to the floor in a fetal position, wanting to scream out creative variations of every obscenity I had ever learned, but not doing so because my children were in in the next rooms.  I lie there, gritting my teeth to the point of cracking them, feeling warm blood trickle between my fingers, as I held my head (and fortunately, my tongue…)

The Proximity of Social Media

I’ve been doing a great deal of blocking lately in Twitter, and have had to remove certain individuals from my friendships in Facebook from time to time.  It’s been for a variety of reasons, such as being insulting to others, or exhibiting small-minded or bigoted behaviors.   When I see it, I don’t entertain it any longer, and am always left wondering how someone can treat relative strangers in such offensive ways.

I believe it’s got a lot to do with the unique feeling of distance in social media, in all facets – geographically, due to to a large user age range, and an overall lack of emotional intimacy.  We’ve all had our share of young idiots who storm into Twitter and see just how many people they can tick off before their account gets disabled from the angry feedback.  We navigate Facebook alongside people whose language is less-than-guarded more often than needed.

Is the problem of how we talk to each other in social media due to not really seeing each other?  Is it because we don’t really spend time, physically, in each other’s presences?  If the loss of civility in social media is due to not having social cues similar to those in real lives, then how do we create replacement signals to use in our own personal experiences online?  Please let me know, as I’m open to suggestions in the comments section, and plan to write about social media intimacy and personal boundaries in the near future…

How many men are out there right now, wondering if this is the year, if they are with Ms. Right, if she would even say yes if they dared ask?  How many men are still assembling their courage, and waiting for that sign that it’s time…..

I am laying down the gauntlet, my male friends.  I am shouting from the rooftops for you to take that next step in life and commit.  I am holding up a sign, neon red, blinking and loud.  The sign says NOW.  Who will join me this Sunday, and start a wonderful new chapter in life?

This is my challenge.  This Valentine’s Day, I am proposing to my very lovely fiancée.  I want 1,000 men who have come to the realization that they are in committed relationships, who have wondered if this is the year, to decide. I would like 1,000 men to join me, and decide to propose to their beautiful, charming, enchanting, wonderful girlfriends, too.

Let’s all start that new life at the same time.  Together we will make this journey, lending support to each other when necessary, as only men can.  Are 1,000 bold and daring men ready to do this?

If you are teetering on the decision and want that sign, to know if your woman is the ONE, then here are 10 things you can consider.  But hurry, because you don’t have much time left before Sunday!

Signs you should propose to her:

1. Do you support each other even during difficult times? How was it when the money ran out and there were a lot of days left in the calendar before the next paycheck?  Did you talk each other through it, explaining that you both know the two of you will pull through together?
2. Do you look past today’s appearance? When you are looking less than your best game, does she accept your difficulty in figuring your ensembles out without the benefit of matching Garanimals tags?  Is she still arm-candy for you even when she is in sweats and sneakers, make up free and with a fresh pimple on her forehead?
3. Do you both have a strong sense of self-worth and ability? Are you both independently capable of figuring out how to support yourselves as free adults in the World?  Have you both lived on your own long enough to know you always can?
4. Do you both agree on finances? Do you trust each other’s decision-making abilities when it comes to money?  Can either of you make decisions about what to buy on a moderate scale without having to constantly confer with the other party, and do you uphold each other’s spending limits?
5. How do you feel in each other’s presence? Do you feel like a bigger man in her eyes than you know, deep-down, you really are?  Does she make you want to be a better man simply because you know she has every confidence in your abilities?
6. How do both of you get along with people of the same sex? Trust me, if other women seem to have overwhelming issues with your girlfriend, maybe it’s because they found a rotten apple in the barrel long before you did.   Women who have healthy relationships with peers likely have developed more balanced viewpoints of things in the World around them, including you.
7. Would you consider your mate “high maintenance?” I hate to use this term, because there is no simple definition for “high maintenance,” as it is all in the eye of the beholder. Does she (or you) require the presence of ongoing items, services or relationships that break from what you are willing to support in an ongoing manner?  How about if you both were living only on your income – do you comfortably feel either of you would let go of inessential items for the survival of the family?
8. How do the two of you treat those come across your life? Do either of you jump to rudeness with store employees when you feel you did not get a good deal, or do the two of you channel your inner Mother Theresa?  Do you scream at traffic, or gently move over in the lane to allow others by?  Does she enjoy the company of children, or cringe when they appear on the scene?  If the two of you have mastered your inner Tazmanian Devil, you are on a better path to treating each other with the courtesy, dignity and respect you both deserve.
9. Are there ghosts of relationships past? Make sure you both have soundly put your previous relationships in the past and left them there!  And I mean phone calls, Facebook friending, and lunches too!
10. Do you trust your mate around the opposite sex? Trust in each other being able to tame the libido around attractive members of the opposite sex is essential.  Healthy office flirting to make the atmosphere fun is one thing, but do you both believe the other knows where the line is drawn?  Can you talk about the relationships you are forming in life without worry you will get the Stink-Eye from your partner?

I am ready for this next, wonderful step in my life.  I have been ready for a long, long time.   Feel free to leave me a comment and let me know you will join me too.  And please pass this post on to everyone you know, all the single men with wonderful girlfriends, who deserve to have a ring put on it!

Samuel began speaking out in support of the working men and women of his day. He quickly became noticed by the Liberal Party, whose local leaders asked him to join.

Known as a voice of the people, Samuel eventually made his way into Parliament, where he continued championing labor issues and people’s rights. It didn’t take long for the plight of the English merchant sailor to arrive at his desk.

The Coffin Ships

They were called “coffin ships,” because so many poor souls had been dying on them as of late, leaving behind widows and orphans and broken families. Typically unseaworthy vessels, these ships were purchased literally from salvage yards (where they awaiting dismantling) by unscrupulous owners who had no intention of repairing them. Sailors who agreed to serve on board these floating wrecks typically knew nothing of the dangers until they were well out at sea. Concerned only with profits, these same ship owners heavily overburdened the ships then insured them against expected losses of cargo.

How seaworthy are you?

Are you trying to hold everything together in your life? Are you finding yourself increasingly trying to hide your cracking edifice from others, as burdens are piled on your shoulders well beyond your ability to stay afloat? We’re surrounded by what feels like a crumbling economy, continued layoffs, political discord being shouted from the rooftops, and natural disasters reminding us of the fragility of what we have. Does it feel like you’re waiting for that final issue to breach your life and sink you? You’re not alone, despite feeling like you are adrift without help…

Stress warning signs

Undue stress leads to not only mental unrest, but also physical symptoms in those suffering from it.   According to FamilyDoctor.org, personal signs that you may have reached (or exceeded limits) in what you can carry in life include:

1. Anxiety
2. Increased aches and pains in one’s back
3. Constipation or diarrhea
4. Depression
5. Fatigue
6. Headaches
7. Insomnia
8. Arguments with your significant other increase
9. Shortness of breath
10. Upset stomach
11. Weight gain or loss

Samuel’s fight for sailor safety

As you fill a ship with cargo, it sinks deeper into the water. Samuel pushed hard against the major shipping magnates, many of whom were also fellow members of Parliament, for increased safety for those sailors manning the ships. He demanded that a maximum cargo burden be determined for each ship, and a numbered line be painted on the hull, for all to plainly see when that upper limit was reached. No ship was to be filled such that this line went underwater.

In 1876, after shouting down the entire Parliament and shaking his fist in the face of the Speaker himself, Samuel Plimsoll managed to get a bill passed to require all ships have a visible line marking its maximum carrying capacity. This line became known as the Plimsoll Line, and today is known simply as the Water Line. Because ships move across waters of varying salinity levels and temperatures, this line can shift up or down, and ship owners are required to keep the changing conditions of their shipping lanes in mind when loading their vessels.

Do you know where your Water Line is?

So what is your personal Water Line? Have you figured it out yet? Do you know what changing stressors in your life can change how much personal load you can handle, and how to deal with them? Whether it is in our personal lives due to spouses, family or children, or at work with coworkers or bad working conditions, we all need to figure out ways to handle what we are given.    Remember that no matter your issues, someone somewhere is handling more than you – not because they are superhuman, but because they likely have developed coping mechanisms or techniques.  You can too…

How to move your personal water line

If you find yourself sinking due to feelings of being over-burdened, here are a few tips that may help you out.

1. Get out a piece of paper and write down your personal burdens.  Then write next to each whether or not you can control them.  Consider whether or not you should keep worrying about those things you can’t control, such as bad weather or a dropping stock market.
2. Order the list of issues from little to big.  Number them, and consider the first little problems on the list.  Tackling this one first will be easy, and provide a feeling of accomplishment that will help you with the others.
3. Take the bigger stressers, such as job interviews upcoming, and write down ways that you can prepare for them.  Use a formal calendar and write in times to prepare as best you can for these events.  Then move on.
4. The most troublesome of worries and stresses you have can be written down on a separate piece of paper, with some space.  Take some time to try and look at these issues from a variety of angles, not just your own.  Ask a friend to help you try and see these issues as challenges and not threats, and to see the value in the changes.
5. If you have issues with coworkers, family or friends, write down ways that you can slowly work toward resolving these conflicts.  Try the easier methods first and keep at it.
6. Talk.  I don’t care if it is a buddy, an uncle or aunt, a co-worker or boss, or a therapist.  Talk.  Social media can be therapeutic as well, as long as you have maintained some semblance of secrecy regarding your identity if the issue is very personal in nature, or you don’t want the issue to get out publicly.
7. Use that same calendar to put in what you are working on, your goals in life, whether it is at home or at work.  Block in time periods.  Learn to say no to others when you see that there are no more open time periods.  And don’t forget to block in times that you will be doing nothing but reading and relaxing.  Might seem odd at first, but pencil in time for a movie or latté.
8. Get a gym membership and actually use it.  Or buy some dumbells and go jogging.  But do it regularly.  Exercise is one of the best ways to relieve stress around.
9. Eat better and regularly.  Don’t skip breakfast, and you will see your energy level increase over the course of the entire day.  Oh, and get a little more sleep, already.  You look tired.  Seriously.
10. Spend some quiet time to simply close your eyes and meditate.  Let your mind wander free, and think about great things happening in your life.  Listen to soft music or sounds of nature CDs.
11. Belong to something outside of work, whether it be sports, a book club, church event or simply a hobby you have been meaning to take up.

Plimsoll Line Day

Today is Plimsoll Line Day, in honor of Samuel Plimsoll’s fight to save countless sailors from sure death.  Ship owners since have been reminded that there are things even more important than the loss of cargo.

It’s important to know your own personal limits, to know the signs of stress, and to figure out how to paint your own personal water line.  Don’t wait for others to fight on your behalf, while looking off into the worrisome, stormy future.  Test the waters, set your limits, and have a safe journey!

Oh! Somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; the band is playing somewhere and somewhere hearts are light, and somewhere men are laughing and somewhere children shout; but there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out.  ~Ernest Lawrence Thayer, 1906

Today is the 37th anniversary of the creation of rule 6.10 of Major League Baseball, forever changing the game.  The rule is more widely known by its popular name, the Designated Hitter Rule.  Prior to this rule, every team knew that the god-like pitching arm that devastated their batting order would eventually have to take his turn at home plate.  Indeed, it was a rarity in baseball to find a man whose sinewy arm not only launched lightning-filled strikes but could also hit anything worthy from the plate.  It was considered an easy out for both teams…

Although it does not sound like Casey was a pitcher by trade, it sounds rather un-American for a player in any sport to be allowed to step aside, to shirk what appears to be his turn at a team effort, simply because of an inability to accomplish greatness while taking his turn, right?  After all, if I were to pull forth one of Major League Baseball’s greatest (and most well-known) historical home-run hitters, it would be a pitcher.  Before taking the mantle of home-run guru, Babe Ruth began his career as a pitcher for the Red Sox.

While the actual Designated Hitter rule is not all that old, calls for the rule are almost as old as the professional form of America’s game.  Blame it on the groans from the stands whenever a gangly mustachioed pitcher walked up, clumsily winding his bat in little circles, or the worried, held breaths from those same fans while watching an incredible arm sliding home.

“The best case for the Designated Hitter is this: It represents that rarest of things, the triumph of evidence over ideology. The anti-DH ideology is that there should be no specialization in baseball, no division of labor: Everyone should play “the whole game.” That theory is obliterated by this fact: Specialization is a fact with or without the Designated Hitter. Most pitchers only go through the motions at bat.” – George F. Will

Those standing against the rule reason that many sports have specializations within them, in order to obtain and allow for the best skills of the players to be utilized.  Training can be targeted to best suit those skill-sets, and older, injury-prone players such as Edgar Martinez were (and are) allowed to continue their careers as designated hitters.  After all, not everyone has to take a turn on the pitcher’s mound too, right?

“There’s no doubt in my mind that the game of baseball in all its beauty and entirety is the National League game. I would kick the Designated Hitter out so quick it would make your head spin.”  ~ Tony La Russa

In reply to this split in philosophy, Rule 6.10 has only been utilized by the American League, while the National League leaves their pitchers in the batting lineup, same as always.  And in response to this, the batting averages of teams in the American League have risen higher over time.  There are a variety of rules pertaining to using Rule 6.10, including that the designated hitter must be formally stated before a game begins in order to use him, the DH cannot play a field position, and cannot be replaced with anyone else in the formal lineup.

However you feel about the use of designated hitters in baseball, we all come to a point in our professional (and even personal) lives when we are overwhelmed with responsibilities.  The better we are at doing something, the more likely we will have additional duties placed on our shoulders. As the quote goes, “The reward for hard work is hard work.”  And just as a pitcher in the National League dreads the weight of another likely unsuccessful at-bat, if we do not learn to delegate some of our work, we may begin to dread facing our responsibilities at all.

So in commemoration of the anniversary of Major League Baseball Rule 6.10, as well as in honor of the Mudville 9 honored in Thayer’s beautiful poem, I offer 9 tips to keep you from striking out when attempting to delegate your workload to others….

How to delegate your work

1. Personally visit and talk things over with some of the coworkers you think might actually be willing to take on the additional work you give them.  Don’t email – do this in person, so you can actually determine from their body language their desire.  Write down the names of all interested parties.
2. Determine the skill-set of each person you spoke with.  Mull over in your mind what it is they do, as well as skills they might have but currently don’t use.  What are their interests?  Be sure to work to your new team-mates’ strengths.  Do your best to ensure that the task(s) you give over will help others grow new skills and confidence, which you can then turn around and build on further with additional tasks.
3. Make sure that you are not putting together people who have difficulty working together.  Personality issues in (or even out) of the workplace will carry over to your projects if you create a bad environment for your team.  The price for ignoring this is a failed project, which gets reassigned back to you, of course…
4. Ensure you create mile-markers, and take the time to ensure your team is correctly handling the assignments.  Find out if they have any questions and provide answers.
5. Don’t micro-manage the work, or demand it be done in the way you would’ve done it (unless it has to be based on specifications.)  Allow your new team to create their own processes in which to complete the job, and don’t be afraid to make these processes your own as well.
6. Be sure that you have taken the time to discuss the scope of authority for the tasks to be done.  You always want your helpers to know that although authority can be delegated to do jobs, responsibility cannot, and that you are ultimately held to the quality of their work.  It is imperative that they not overstep the boundaries of the work, to ensure its success and compliance with dictates handed to you in the first place from the higher-ups.
7. When choosing your team, avoid the appearance of favoritism.  Don’t hire all of your friends to help you, as this will not only tick of your other co-workers, but also could lead to disastrous results.  If your friends fail in helping you or overstep their boundaries, it will likely strain your personal relationship with them.
8. When the work is complete, you had better not forget to provide ample congratulations and thank yous to the team, or expect them to politely say no the next time you ask for more help…
9. This is an important one.  Many a delegator has become so good at what they do, that they find themselves out of a job.  Sure, it would be nice to come into work each and every day and simply tell your co-workers how to do your work.  But your are not the boss.  And you don’t want your boss to recognize that you are no longer the one doing your work.  After all, what a financial savings to let you go and allow your co-workers to continue performing your duties!

Good luck in trying these out yourself!  I am certain that if you take these 9 steps to heart and properly follow them, your workplace will not find itself divided as baseball finds itself, and you will be able to take that workplace mantle of the Mighty Casey (sans strike-out, of course…)  Perhaps if Casey had been a pitcher he could’ve gotten a designated hitter….

His name was Vincent, one of the very few kids in my school who was actually shorter than me.  Ever since the first grade, I came to settle in with the knowledge that everyone else was likely going to grow taller and stay that way, while I would lag behind in that department.  Despite Vincent’s diminished stature, however, he still managed to make quite a bully out of himself.

Almost every boy in my third grade class feared Vincent, because he had taken the time to threaten, cajole, push or beat up each and every single one of them.  Even the little cadre of friends who followed him to school and back, hanging on his every threatening word during recess, had been forced down a notch or two by the school’s Alpha Male.  The expectation, of course, was that I would, too…

I’ve mentioned before that I was a military brat, having moved from place to place almost every 2 years during my early youth, working rapidly to make friends wherever we went.  I learned early on to be open and talkative, expressive and honest in my dealings with others, so that they could quickly come to know my nature and accept me.  Vincent was a rarity for me, in that he saw my nature as weakness, zeroing in on me within days of my arrival at “his” school.

Because Vincent and his posse were without fail late for school on most days, my walk to school was quiet and carefree.  I often whistled while I pulled my shoulders up to support my backpack, palms and fingers flat and in my pant pockets.  I even managed to remain unmolested during the school day, as the swing sets and monkey bars were not places for bullies.  It was my long journey home alone, however, that caused our paths to cross…

It was Fall, and my thick jacket padded my left shoulder against the glancing blow, a hard push forward from behind, shoving me a few steps forward, my backpack lifting away from then thudding again against my back.  ”Hey, Stupid,” I heard from behind me, soft snickers from those around Vincent.  My heart immediately raced, fight-or-flight taking over my mind, as I quickly moved off the sidewalk onto the grass of an unknown yard.

Vincent and his friends cawed aloud, faces pointed to the sky, mouths wide open and eyes tightly shut, bellowing as though to scare the clouds into parting and thusly allowing their laughter to fill the very sky.   They walked by with hardly a sideways glance at me, stomping in their heavy boots on the way to find their next victim.

Over the next few weeks, things steadily worsened, as Vincent continued his almost daily onslaught.  Insult after insult were hurled at me, as he faced me down practically nose to nose, daring a response.  I figured that as long as I kept my mouth shut and stood there, Vincent would eventually consider me broken, and move on.  Another thought that kept me from fighting was the face of my mother in my mind.  She had long before threatened me with a near-death experience if she ever found out I had gotten into a fight.  You see, I feared her much, much more than Vincent…

Today is I’m Not Going to Take It Anymore Day.  While pondering what distant memory I could dredge up, the story of this trying time in grade-school Purgatory came to mind.  Vincent certainly was not the last person I’ve had to deal with suddenly in my face and causing me consternation.  And he won’t be the last.  We all have to deal with people who not only rub us the wrong way, but out-and-out try to bring us down.

Whether it be in our family life, in the office or even our place of worship, we will always come across the one person who seems to have made us their personal enemy for life.  We can simply roll over in our dealings with that person, and let them steamroll everyone around (and us,) or learn to stand up for ourselves.

LEARNING TO STAND YOUR GROUND

1. Make the decision –  You have got to make sure you are ready to do all that it takes to take on a bully, have thought it through, and are ready to tackle whatever comes.  Create an imaginary line in your mind and put yourself well past it.  Slam that door behind you and throw away the key.
2. Body language – The next time you are around the bully, make sure that you maintain a straight, upright posture.  At first, you will have to consciously force yourself to keep your chin up and to look around, making eye contact with all, including the bullying personality.  Rather than drawing inward into a safe boundary, use up and own every inch of space around you, marking your “bubble” as yours.  Eventually this will become more of a habit, and will let everyone know that you are happy and comfortable, confident where you are, afraid of nothing and nobody there.
3. Own what you say – When you are talking to others, and especially in the presence of the bully, say what is on your mind in a reasonable tone, using words that make your statements your own.  ”I” statements, such as “I don’t agree,” or “That is what I wanted,” will project a measure of confidence to everyone within earshot.  In the presence of your bully, try to avoid apologetic statements to others, as they weaken you further in their eyes.  Save apologies to others for when your bully is not around.
4. Speak up for others – If you are finally tired of being bullied, don’t you think others are too? As long as your antagonist gets away with bothering others, it will likely not stop for you either, and the environment will be uncomfortable anyway.  Sometimes it’s easier to stand up for others than it is ourselves.  Carefully respond when you see bullying happening, but definitely make it known that you are no longer going to put up with others being wronged in your presence.  Just realize that once you open the door, you can’t close it…
5. Listen then get your turn – When you finally do confront your antagonizer, make sure to take the time to hear them out.  Let them get all of their verbal tension out in the open.  When it is your turn, it is typical for an overtly aggressive person to interrupt you often, so expect it.  With a firm voice, remind the other person that you let them have their say, and you want time to have yours, too.
6. Throw them off – A bully expects you to be nervous, afraid, to back up based on their body language.  Fight the urge to feel any of this, or to respond in that manner.  Smile ever so comfortably.  Stand your ground.  Nod happily hello to people as they nervously pass the situation.  Make a lot of eye contact, appearing as much as possible to the bully as though you were perfectly calm and cool.  Your new-found cheerfulness and ease will be entirely unsettling to a bully.  Any level of discomfort is a loss of control to a bully, and you will soon appear to the hunter as not-so-desirable prey.
7. Be consistent - When you find the levers that work to keep a bully away, ensure you are consistent with those behaviors around them.  Be strong and firm, knowing that any castle must maintain its walls for proper defense.  The next time the office or schoolyard bully looks for a victim to blow off steam against, they’ll see you and move on.
8. Don’t get physical – Your bully, seeing that the normal course of events no longer gets the result, may consider moving things to a physical level.  Avoid this as much as possible, remembering that you can later bring up threatened physical confrontations to the higher-ups, whatever environment you are in.  Absolutely defend yourself if physically attacked.

I don’t know what happened, but one day I’d just had enough.  From a distance, I could hear Vincent and his cohorts stomping up the sidewalk from behind.  I slowed down, purposefully, and shifted my backpack to a single shoulder, my right arm free.  As they drew closer, I could hear hushed whispers of “Vincent, look who’s here.”  I steeled myself for what I felt I must do next.

As Vincent drew up to me, I moved almost imperceptibly to the right-side of the sidewalk, so Vincent would have to approach me from the left, where my hand was clutching the strap of the backpack tightly.  When I felt the hand on my shoulder, pulling me around, my right hand moved into a firm, tight fist.

I can recount every split second of that moment, as Vincent pulled me around to insult me further.  My right elbow drew back, and my fist lauched up and right into the point of Vincent’s short, stubby nose.  As Vincent’s head shot back, my right leg planted firmly on the sidewalk, my eyes meeting the first of his friends, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Who’s next?,” I asked calmly and quietly, the backpack slowly sliding off my shoulder to the ground with a marked thud.  I’m not sure if it was my confidence, the shock and awe of the loud and square hit, or the fact that Vincent began loudly braying like a donkey that made them run, but they all did, including Vincent, stumbling and crying loudly over his shoulder that he was going to get his big brother.  I don’t think I ever saw so much blood spurt out of such a little nose, drops on the sidewalk dotting Vincent’s rapid escape route.

Not wanting to see what would happen if Vincent’s big brother threats proved true, I picked up my backpack and high-tailed it back home, a smile on my face.  My mother never knew about the fight, and Vincent’s “big brother” never confronted me.  Neither did Vincent, ever, again.

I’m older and wiser now, and know that violence is no way to solve an issue.  I work hard to avoid physical confrontation, and see myself as a civilized person.  But I can’t help cracking a little smile whenever I think of the day I stood my ground and decided I wasn’t going to take it anymore…

When I put the colorful box down at the checkstand in the local supermarket, the cashier gave me a sideways glance, one eyebrow ever so slightly raised.  I’m not a Mexican Catholic; I’m Portuguese, very white, and very Jewish.  As the Rosca de los Reyes (Ring of the Kings) was rung up, I wondered how my fiancée’s mother would react to seeing me delivering it to their home….

Tonight is Twelfth Night, a tradition going as far back as the Middle Ages, with varying forms of observance all over Europe, South America and Mexico.  It is the formal ending of a span of time beginning on All Hallows Eve, commemorating the Fall harvest, and the full onset of Winter.   As this once-pagan holiday moved to more traditionally Catholic countries, religious overtones were given to this time, to include the birth of Jesus,  twelve days of Christmas tradition, and the commemoration of the arrival of the 3 Magii to help announce to the world that a child is born, and ending with the onset of Epiphany.

I am not looking forward to putting away the trappings of the Holiday season.  It’s quite a somber ordeal, removing all of the colorful, bright ornaments from the tree, the ribbons and bows.  Then comes putting away the tree itself, the stockings, candles, throws, pillows and decor.  And let us not forget the Hanukkah stuff!  Wistful, happy memories will be taken down and boxed up, hidden from sight once more, as our family once again faces another year of possibilities (and hidden challenges) ahead.

When I arrived at my fiancée’s parents’ house with the box of the ring-shaped multi-colored bread, Nadira gave me a funny glance, a slow grin spreading from ear to ear, glancing over at her mother, as she announced that I had brought something.  Her mother was both surprised and happy to see the box, asking if we were planning to come over on the 6th to celebrate.  Of course we would, I replied.  I suppose it seemed odd, to have a Jew bringing home a bread ring to commemorate a Christian holiday.  I believe in supporting the beliefs and culture of Nadira’s family, as they are a growing part of who I am, too.  It may be a difficult balance, but both Nadira and her family are worth walking that path.

In keeping with the ancient tradition of nightfall coming before day (as opposed to modern thought of day coming before night,)  Twelfth Night precedes Twelfth Day, which is celebrated Jan 6th until Midnight in many cultures.  In the Middle Ages, as part of the celebration, a bean and a pea were baked into rings of sweet bread.  The bread was then cut up and eaten by the celebrants.  Whoever found the bean was crowned King, and the new owner of the pea was their Queen for a day, overseeing the day’s revelries.

Long ago, the bean and pea in the bread rings were replaced with little statuettes of or trinkets relating to the baby Jesus.  The hiding of the object in the bread signifies the flight of Joseph and Mary from King Herod’s dictates.  The name of the bread itself, Rosca de los Reyes, or Ring of the Kings, commemorates the three kings who welcomed Jesus into the world.  Traditionally, the child that discovers the statue is to keep it and take it to church on Feb. 2nd, the Dia de la Candelaria, or Day of the Candles, otherwise known as Candlemas.  I am sure that there will be an equally fun and meaningful tradition to be found in the events occurring with Nadira’s family.  There usually is.

In Europe until its practice was banished in the 1500s by Queen Mary I, a Lord of Misrule was appointed, to preside over all of the Christmas celebrations.  All known conventions were to be turned upside down by this person.  The rich were chastened to pretend poverty, men pretended to be women, the young were to think of themselves as juvenile once again, all in jest and holiday spirit.  It was as time to experiment with being something other than the lot in life you found yourself in.

I had so much fun ending the year, that I find myself wondering why the rest of the year is not as full of frivolity.  I know I am a pretty easy-going guy, and do enjoy my share of entertainment and laughter.  When did the transition occur, pulling so much of my focus from the bright, shiny, fun objects encountered daily in childhood,  to self-discipline, bills and responsibility?  Just when did I grow up so damn much, and how to I reverse my serious lot in life?

It’s about high time that I became a lord of my own misrule.  It’s past due for me to turn things upside down a bit in my own life, in order to have fun and let more laughter in my days.  I found these eight life choices that I believe can help out quite a bit.

8 Methods to Find the Inner Child

1. Introduce more music into your day – I have begun listening to music far more often than I used to.  I try to have music on often, surrounding me, in the house, when I am cooking, cleaning, or plain relaxing.  Tex-Mex. Cumbia. Country. Rigaton. Hip-Hop. Classic Rock. Alternative. Pop. In the car or when others aren’t around, I’ll even sing out loud.  If you have heard me, my apologies.

2. Reinvigorate (and re-invent) your wardrobe –  I have been letting go when it comes to my wardrobe, but not in a bad way.  I have been allowing myself to be talked into colors, sizes, or cuts in garments I would not normally choose myself.  And guess what? I look pretty good in a lot of them!  Slowly but surely, color is making its way into my side of the closet.

3. Put recess back into your day – I do need to work on this one.  At work, I should take more breaks and go for walks.  I need to get outside more often with the kids and simply play. Climb a tree. Go down a slide. Throw a ball. Run. Collect rocks and leaves and sticks and memories.

4. Play board and video games – I’ve no problem with playing video games, but it tends to be alone.   Childhood so often is about socializing, and I need to take some more time and play the games my kids own with them, even if they kick my behind each and every time.

5. Explore new culinary adventures – I often eat at the same places, because I enjoy the food and atmosphere.  But if I think more like a teenager, I would be trying out strange, new places.  Hole in the wall joints.  Cuisine I cannot pronounce.  I have been quite a bit more adventurous in what I eat lately, thanks to the many dishes Nadira’s family has made (cow head, anyone?)  I’ve also been to a lot more interesting places, but I promise this year to look up and visit places I haven’t yet. So coworkers, beware!

6. Be capricious – I need to learn to be more impulsive.  I should do a better job of looking for opportunities to run away for a little bit of time with my fiancee, if even to the room for an hour.  I should take more chances in life, and be willing to let go of fears and experiment.  The purchase of the Rosca de los Reyes was an example of being capricious…

7. Go on a field trip – I used to love the field trips I went on when I was a child.  The journey there was half of the fun!  We get so stuck in our days working and taking care of things at home, that we forget to take the kids and simply go away for a time.  I am definitely going to have to figure out when we can take the kids up to the mountains or coast, on hikes and picnics.

8. Do some Arts and Crafts – We’ve been pretty good at incorporating artsy/craftsy projects at home.  We cut unique paper snowflakes, made Sculpey clay ornaments, helped the kids learn perspective in drawing, and introduced the girls to colored pencil and charcoal.  There is no shortage of bins full of craft items we could glue, sew, stick, sparkle or hang.  We will definitely have to do more of them!

As we grow up, it is so easy to put away those colorful reminders of our celebrated youth.  Little by little, year by year, we tend to store away happy, young  memories and look forward to our lives ahead.

I’m really looking forward to this year.  Oh sure, there are so many adult things that I believe will get accomplished.  I am also, however, willing to take the time to dig further into the portion that life has provided me, in a renewed search for that hidden, inner child.  I didn’t get to choose how my first childhood went, but that second one, well, that one is all up to me…

Yesterday my fiancée and I ushered in the new year at her parents’ house, along a few of her sisters and their children (and grandchildren.)  We had a Wii providing ample entertainment in the kids’ room in the back of the house, and we heard over and over the cheer (and anger) of the boys celebrating and anguishing the victories.  In the living room, Telemundo and Galavision played New Year related shows in Spanish while we enjoyed tamales and molé, chocolate cake trifle and pumpkin rolls.

I’m not sure when the knitting needles came out, but one by one, they made an appearance, as my fiancee, her mother, her sister and finally my oldest daughter began to choose a string from previously hidden bags.  Needles clicked in quiet unison while grandchildren slept, sprawled on couch cushions, and loud boys were shooed to the back room.  Nadira’s father brought in carefully cut pieces of wood to keep the woodstove going, and because of his efforts in part, the house remained cozy all day.

I know, I know… Not exactly most people’s idea of a wild and crazy New Year’s Eve.  But it was our family day, and I enjoyed listening to the English and Spanish flowing through the house, the incredible smells of foods, and the love, everywhere, all around us. Most of all, I enjoyed watching the women knit and share stories, even if I couldn’t even follow, as my Spanish is horrendous.  Every so often, Nadira would translate what was being talked about, throwing me a bone or two so I could pretend I was keeping up.

Mika beamed as the women in the room applauded her efforts on a multi-colored striped scarf she was attempting, loose strings dangling from one side of it.  I felt such a sense of pride so see her interacting with this new family.  Despite repeated efforts to teach Mika an easier method to knit her scarves, she had stuck to her own special way of knitting the threads together, as it was the only way she was comfortable doing so.  The women had come to accept that this was Mika’s way…

Two years ago, after a lifetime of internal suffering and confusion, Mika had been formally diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome.  This particular form of Autism tends to build a wall of social isolation around those with it, making them socially awkward, indrawn and incredibly shy.  Every day is a struggle for Mika to reach out to others, and we have had our fair share of adventures working through the related issues.  During her youth, Mika had found comfort in the quiet act of knitting, allowing her to keep her nervous hands busy in the company of others.  It had been a few years since Mika had knitted, so it was nice to see her connecting with the women in my life through this means.

This year was a year of trials and jubilations, as many are.  In Nadira’s family, one of the sisters had gotten happily married, one had given birth, the very first great-grandchild entered the family, and the economy had hit hard on a number of fronts.  As the sisters and their families streamed in and out in an effort to visit in-laws too, as we sat around the grandparent’s dining room table for lunch and dinner with an improbable number of chairs pushed around it, I felt such a strong sense of family here.  Granted, my side of the family was going to meet later that night as well, but I felt a need this year to spend my first New Year’s with Nadira’s parents, to be here, fully.  Next year we will be inviting them to join in, as I know my mother will also enjoy especially the knitting. And the stories.

As is typical in such a large family, there are many things going on all around, and errands had to be run in support of the day’s events.  I left to pick up my youngest daughter, so she could celebrate with us. Nadira had to go and pick up a few items.  It was during this time, when both I and Nadira were running errands and gone from the house, that the real knitting occurred…

Nadira’s mother, a strongly and openly faithful woman, had invited everyone to retreat to the den, in order to say a prayer of thanks together as a family.  The children were told they could say what they had been thankful for, and what they hoped to achieve next year in their lives.  Knowing this might be stressful to Mika, she was told that she did not have to join in if it made her uncomfortable.  But Mika immediately followed them into the big room, and sat down, listening to each of the kids and adults state one after the other what they were thankful for, and what they hoped lay ahead.

Nadira’s parents are what you might call the salt of the Earth.  They came to this country with only the clothing on their bodies, living literally out of a relative’s old, empty tool shed for the Winter.  Nadira’s mother rolled newspapers and stuffed them into the many holes in the thin wooden walls to keep the winds out.  Nadira’s father hustled daily for any form of work he could get, carpentering, clearing debris, and like so many others who came before him, picking fruits and vegetables in the fields surrounding our towns.  Often, Nadira’s mother joined him in the hard work, as the children slept in the back of their ancient station wagon.

The last decade had to be one of pride for them all, as first Nadira’s parents then she and her sisters obtained their American citizenship.  The sisters all worked hard for and obtained college degrees and teaching certificates.  Nadira’s father went from manual labor in the fields to developing calluses on his large hands in a local packing house, in charge of creating the thousands of boxes used for the fruit, where he works to this day.  He has beautiful hands, telling tales of inner strength and character.

When the round of prayers came to Mika, she was again reminded that she did not have to say something if she was uncomfortable with it.  Before they could skip over her, however, she cleared her throat and began…

While I and Nadira were rushing around town, Mika told the people in the room a story of thankfulness and hope.  She thanked God for having a supportive father in her life, having seen me working so hard to help her through situations.  Everyone nodded in the room and smiled at this.  She stated that she was so thankful for all that she had been able to accomplish this year despite her limitations, and was really looking forward to her future, to what she now knew she could do with her life.  At this, Nadira’s sister, who has always been a very sensitive soul and was going through tough times, began to feel a few tears.

Many in the room were astonished, as Mika stepped out of her condition and continued, much longer than anyone had thought she would.  ”I want to say that I am thankful to God for being a part, for the first time in my life, of a real family, who all care about me so much.”  At this point, Nadira’s mother, a woman who has witnessed such hardship and pain, who has lived much of her adult life in two worlds apart from each other, began to feel the tears, too.  She saw that no matter how hard her life had been, no matter how many walls she had to climb over in dealing with life each and every day, here was a young woman working hard to overcome a mental disability, a permanent edifice working to block her whole life.  Nadira’s niece, who had just moved out of her apartment and back in with her mother to finish college while raising a one-year-old, cried as she saw that even her problems could be overcome.

One by one, Mika’s impromptu words of thankfulness at the help and acceptance she had been receiving from the people in that very room flowed outward and around them all.  Soft, carefully chosen words threaded their hearts in unison into a beautiful, soft, warm garment of family, knitted together in Mika’s own special way.  As she finished by expressing hope for her future and praying openly that God give her the strength to overcome the many challenges she knew were ahead for her, everyone had been brought to tears.  Everyone cried together in that room as one, as a united family, unashamed in that rare mixture of happy, cathartic anguish.  The one that they had expected to remain silent had spoken for all of them.

When Nadira returned, people were still wiping their eyes, and leaving the den to return to the living room.  It was first of two times Nadira cried that day, the first when she was told what Mika had said about Nadira having stepped into the role of mother so patiently and helpfully, and again when she saw me unable to hold back my emotions as her sister, mother and father told me when I returned.

I thank God for yesterday, and for Mika having said just what we all needed to hear, after a long, hard, wonderful, love and pain-filled year.  And for knitting us all together beautifully, in one single afternoon, in Mika’s own special way…