Spoonful of Sugah

I checked my mail later than usual and there was my shiny new passport.  I opened it and looked inside.  I’m not sure what I was expecting to find, but I opened it really carefully.  I imagined for a moment how cool it would be for one of my descendents to someday have a copy of it after I am long gone from this earth.  Maybe several generations from now, one of my descendants will find the record of my passport and get as excited as I do when I am researching genealogy and come across a picture or legal document that tells the tale of the life of one of my ancestors.  I find it fun and amusing to think about.  I’m sure they’d size up my picture and try to find some connection to the look on their own face.  It’s interesting how we are always searching for those links to those who came before us.  I think it’s comforting in a world that spins at such an incredibly fast pace.

I wonder what the story will tell.  I hope it speaks of a life fully lived, a life that radiated with honesty, love, and kindness.  That is my intention. 

As I held the passport in my hands tonight, I once again had a moment of awe, realizing just how blessed I am to be living in a country where I can speak my mind, write down and share my thoughts, practice my own faith, have the option to work, travel, own a home, drive to the grocery store, sing out loud…… it’s not a perfect place, but I am grateful for the freedoms which it provides.

Today I learned of a family who is homeless. 

Being in the field of education, it’s not the first time I’ve heard a similar story.  It’s one that will always make my stomach clump into a ball of knots, like snakes twisted together in a rattan basket.  I don’t know why we don’t take better care of eachother.  I don’t know how we let families with small children end up on the streets scrapping for their next meal.  I’m not pointing a finger at politicians, goverment agencies and local welfare departments either.  That’s just too easy.  EVERYBODY DOES IT.  I’m actually tired of hearing it. I’m referring to each of us as free, thriving, mostly materialistic individuals. 

How do we turn our heads and go about our days thinking about what kind of new SUV we want when there are others who are out in our very same towns thinking about how nice it would be to have a warm and comfortable place to sleep? 

How do we walk around every day with our eyes closed so tightly and yet get to our destinations on time and with snacks galore in our soccer bags? These are the questions I often ask myself. 

If each of us got involved in just one selfless endeavor…..oh, imagine the impact it could make. 

Where I live, approximately 100 other people live in my building. 

What if each of these persons set out to give of themselves for 2 full hours each week? 

What’s that like, about 16 minutes each day? 

(enough time to smoke a cigarette maybe? pick out a movie?  Put on your makeup?)

That would be 200 hours each week of making a positive impact on someone else’s life.

THIS IS JUST IN MY BUILDING!

That would end up being 10,400 hours of giving each year.

How positive could the impact be with just this short 2 hours of time, radiating out into local communities?

Better yet, HOW GOOD WOULD THAT MAKE YOU FEEL?

(imagine, a natural antidepressant, what a concept!)

We can brainstorm, and oh, I will in subsequent posts!

What would you choose to do for YOUR two hours?

It’s been a bit since I last wrote.  And although, the 2nd week of school was very draining, it’s been a good weekend to recharge and get organized for the week ahead.

While conversing with my fiance, the subject of taking his last name came up recently.  This will be a second marriage for each of us, and although we are usually able to discuss nearly anything constructively, I have to say this has been a very heated discussion and one that I’m glad has finally found some peace.  All the same, these  discussions have really gotten me thinking about this whole business of what’s in a name.

I remember signing my new married name for the first time prior to having children.  It was a strange feeling.  I was no longer who I had been for the first 23 years of my life.  I was no longer associated with the name which told the story of my childhood and running through the woods all summer playing tag and kickball.  I was no longer the same name as the girl who struggled with some family issues while trying so hard to get through high school and on to college.  My name was no longer associated with the girl who had poems published in the college literary magazine or who in 7th grade beat all the eighth graders in the annual spelling bee.  That little girl who used to dance on the coffee table and sing for all the world was no longer named like me. 

As time went on, I was able to slowly embrace my new name.  I had many new life experiences by which my new name became associated.  Upon graduation from college, I landed my first job and jointly owned my first home.  I went on to owning my 2nd home and I planted some pretty flower gardens and put alot of love into them.  A few years later I also gave birth to a new beautiful blessed human being.  I worked in the field of Higher Education where I was able to touch the lives of the students whom I counseled. Wow, there was so much of me connected to this new name.  2 1/2 years later, I then again gave birth to another wonderful blessed being.  Life would never be the same.  Being a mother was one of the best and most difficult things I ever accomplished. 

Unfortunately my first marriage did not sustain and I was told that I couldn’t keep the name (I wonder how many divorces include the disputing of a name), as if stripping me of the name would strip me of all the good I had done in my life?  My indignant response was that, “Hmmphh, the only thing that my connection to the name could do was improve it’s reputation”.  I would keep the name for my children, so that they would know they were not the ones being divorced, so that they would know that they still had the same mother who would always be right there for them, loving them each and every day.

And now, time has passed, old wounds have healed, and new dreams have been born.  I still hold the same name as my children and yet, I’ve fallen in love with my best friend in this world who has asked me to marry him.  We will be married and we will be very happy.  We will communicate and we will love our three combined children with all of our hearts.  

But here I find myself,  torn, over a name.  To leave the name that I share with my children feels like I would be abandoning them in some way.  It really is just a name, but then again, is it?  I no longer connect it in my mind with my former spouse, but it will always have a connection to my beautiful children.  Since they are girls, they will probably one day also be faced with the choice of whether to change their names.  I’m not sure that it will be easy for them either.  I just hope they are able to do what they feel is right in their hearts.

The beautiful, gentle, strong, and caring man I’m about to marry has accepted that I will keep my former name in some scenarios, as well as take his last name on documents pertaining to our new life.  This was difficult for him to do for reasons I will not disclose here.  Let’s just say he felt the way he did out of love, respect, and protection for me.

I’m so glad I live in the day and age where I have some choice in the matter.  I think about my ancestors and wonder if they too struggled with a sense of loss of themselves while leaving behind their old name.  I also think about Hawthorne and the fact that he changed his name and I know he too understood the impact of a name.  I wonder what others think about this and if anyone has had a similar struggle.

 For today, finding peace with this issue….. is my spoonful….and for this….I am grateful.