The lovely season of Thanksgiving is upon us. Among the myriad people, things, experiences and phenomena I am grateful for, I have chosen just ten and listed them in reverse alphabetical order.
Words – Those glorious implements of expression. “Cultivate the habit of being grateful for every good thing that comes to you, and to give thanks continuously. And because all things have contributed to your advancement, you should include all things in your gratitude.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson
Trinidadian Tolerance – My recent travel there revealed a respect for others which gives rise to tolerance, e.g., Christians join Hindus in celebrating Divali and Hindus join Christians in celebrating Christmas. “The deepest craving of human nature is to be appreciated.” ― William James
Rhythms – I delight in the rhythms of music and dance, as well as nature, especially the heavenly bodies as reflected in the seasons and landscapes. “Gratitude is a form of worship in its own right, as it implies the acceptance of a power greater than yourself.” ― Stephen Richards
Insights and Lessons – Whether they spring from contemplation or life experiences, both spur growth. “Love of God is pure when joy and suffering inspire an equal degree of gratitude.” ― Simone Weil
Home – Its beauty and protection ensconce me. “We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.” ― Thornton Wilder
Guides and Guardians – Those invisible beings who look after me from the Beyond. “Let gratitude be the pillow upon which you kneel to say your nightly prayer.” ― Maya Angelou
Friends – Those people who vivify and safekeep me. “At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.” ― Albert Schweitzer
Forgiveness – I will never know whether others have forgiven me my transgressions against them, but I know the freedom that forgiving others has brought me. “True forgiveness is when you can say, ‘Thank you for that experience.’” ― Oprah Winfrey
Flowers – Of every shape, size, color, intricacy. “If the only prayer you ever say is thank you, that would be sufficient.” ― Meister Johann Eckhardt
Family – My husband, daughter and son-in-law are my deepest gifts. “Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” ― Marcel Proust
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I’ve been musing about this quote since I first read it on Saturday.
“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” Howard Thurman (1899-1981)
One way I relate to “coming alive” is arousing the fire of passion; feeling that “fire in the belly.” I experienced this when I was a trial attorney and when I stood election for my judgeship. When I lost the passion for my judgeship after my journey with cancer, I retired.
I also relate to coming alive in the advice that Joseph Campbell, the mythology scholar, gave college students asking for career guidance: “Follow your bliss.” I experience this in my freelance legal writing for the Wisconsin Law Journal. I write a twice-monthly column analyzing Wisconsin appellate court cases. In the challenge of pondering cases and writing the column I find bliss. I come alive.
Now that I’ve established a rhythm to writing the column, I’ve become more efficient at it. That gives me more time on my hands so I’m looking at a number of volunteer activities. There are indeed so many needs, but one cannot fulfill them all.
St. Paul wrote to the Romans about each person being part of the divine body. Our task is to discern which body part we are and do the work of that part. “If you preach, just preach…, nothing else; if you help, just help, don’t take over; if you teach, stick to your teaching….” Romans 12, The Message. It is permission to do what makes us come alive.
So I’ll select volunteer activities from the angle of which ones vivify me. This, I realize, is intertwined with the universal law of attraction. We’re attracted to what we are meant to be involved in.
I also relate to “coming alive” as alive in spirit, or alive with and by Spirit. I view my meandering professional life (nurse, attorney, judge, writer) as a series of Spirit-inspired choices during different phases of my life. A different aspect of my being was enlivened and given expression by each choice; a different archetype was activated. I imagine the same will be true with volunteer activities.
As you think about it, what makes you come alive?
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Between my kitchen and family room is a three-foot-square opening. There is a shelf on the ledge of this opening and I keep a couple of plants on it. One is a peace plant rooted in an aqua pot painted with butterflies.
The other is a sky-blue glass vase in the shape of a cradle. It has a wind-up on the bottom which when turned plays a lullaby. It is planted with ivy.
My father-in-law gave it to my mother-in-law when she became a mother. She saved it for when her son’s wife became a mother. I immediately loved the gift. I plan to give it to my daughter when she becomes a mother to continue the vase’s lineage.
I’ve looked at it every day and often felt its sweetness. During these many years the sturdy ivy has thrived.
But something insidiously happened to it. It has slowly been losing its leaves. Yesterday afternoon it occurred to me that it is not coming back.
I immediately thought of my daughter and the imminent move to a new home. She is not coming back.
I of course know this and applaud the upcoming independence. But this mental knowledge did not assuage my sad ache while looking at the ivy.
The equinox makes it all the keener. The beginning of the dark months of the year; the ever closing aperture of light in the evening. Already I feel the aloneness of too much darkness.
I muse about
The immediate
intimacy between a
mother and daughter
I keep thinking of ways to help my daughter and her husband with the move. Which is followed shortly by reminding myself that this is their move and they don’t need me overseeing it. Now I realize this kind of thinking is my need to keep the apron strings tied. I am shocked at myself.
How can this be so difficult? They will be living just a mile away. But it’s a permanent shift and my feelings force me to acknowledge this despite my best efforts to suppress them with a flurry of nurturing activities.
The last time I felt the pain of separation was the second time we visited her after she moved into her dorm room at the University of Maryland. During the initial move I was excited for the adventure that awaited her.
When we returned just ten days later for her birthday, the new state of separation hit me in the solar plexus. I cried inconsolably as I realized I had birthed her again but not to my waiting arms.
Archetypal maternal pain:
birthing my daughter
to the wide world
Sept. 2004
My current sorrow is deep and heavy, and, oddly, not amenable to tears. It is at once inexplicable and understandable. As I bear it, I may need to put away the nearly empty cradle. And figuratively plant some autumn bulbs to greet me with a new perspective at the next equinox, if not sooner.
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I’ve been musing about the generations on either side of me: my aged mother-in-law who just stopped driving and my daughter and her husband who are finishing the bidding process on their first house.
My mother-in-law is among what gerontologists call the “old old.” The “young old” are ages 65-75, the “middle old” are ages 75-85, and the old old are over age 85. My mother-in-law is one month shy of her 89th birthday and still lives in her own home.
She’d been praying not to hurt anyone every time she drove in recent months, so when her car needed repairs costing nearly $1000 it was rather an easy decision to give the car away and let others do the driving. “Others” meant me since I am now retired.
Initially I felt impinged on. I haven’t yet developed my retirement rhythm before having to add chauffeuring to my days. Once a week hair appointment, once a week grocery shopping, each for one and a half hours. Then there are errands to the bank and the drug store, periodic doctors’ appointments. At first she tacked on other errands as we were running one, which irritated me. Just tell me ahead of time so I can plan accordingly, I would say. Oh, oh, okay, she responded, a bit baffled.
Meanwhile I struggled with why I felt resentful, why my love, respect for elders and gratitude for all she’s done for my family didn’t add up to feeling generous with my time.
On the other side, the kids still live with us. My son-in-law now works third shift, so my daughter and I spend our time quietly since he’s still getting the gist of daytime sleeping. We are companionable with one another, she and I, and I sometimes feel we are more like sisters than mother and daughter. I have gotten to know her so much better these past two years and have come to like and appreciate her more than ever – her quick mind, her compassionate heart, her interesting viewpoints, her clever humor.
I have felt the kids’ anxiety as they awaited counteroffers and their frustration as the bidding process has languished over 12 days. It’s been hard to keep the boundary in place and to think, it’s their life, not mine; I am merely observer, not participant.
Nonetheless as the reality of their buying their own home begins to seep in, I have been coming to terms with their moving out. On one hand, I can’t wait to have the house back. On the other hand, I will miss their vitality, a hallmark of young adults.
I used to think that when they lived on their own I would go there once a week and make dinner so it would be waiting for them when they got home from work. It was something I often wished for as a working mother. But now I realize I need to let them go completely. Time to mother less so they can grow more. Wise, of course, yet I feel a little sad. Being needed is gratifying, but I need to let that go too.
At the same time, once they move out and my time is more my own, I suspect I will feel more generous in lending it to my mother-in-law. And in spite of myself, I realize that I am appreciating becoming closer to her as we spend more time together in the car. Even the old old have vitality.
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FEATURED POEMS FROM OUR WINNING WRITERS’ SUBSCRIBERS
The Story of a Stone
by Jean DiMotto
My father was an
edgy, craggy rock who
calved off a low mountain
Like his father he was
multi-hued gray granite
stately, quiet, still
My father bounced and
rolled, skidded and slowed
splashing into a small creek
There he rested while
the clear water washed
ev’ry nook of his body
Some years before
my mother had slid gracefully
to a nearby spot
Her mother lived upstream
the wise matriarch of
a clan of smooth stones
My mother was round
with a glistened glow from years
within the creek’s flow
Though shallow the creek
my mother was deep in a
soulful, thoughtful way
There came a time when
my father grew restless and
explored his new home
As destiny unfolded
he bumped into a
round and lustrous stone
Immediately smitten
he wooed that kitten
and asked her to play
They frolicked, tumbled
jostled, jumbled and that is
how I came to be
They nestled in a
charming home warmed by the sun
and enduring love
Six other smooth stones
and seven craggy rocks were
born of my parents
They gave us
stability, solidity and
a soft light within
They taught us our place
in a universe great
our contribution of
Stillness, observance
witness, endurance and
an inner radiance
Copyright 2013 by Jean DiMotto
This poem was first published in the Spring 2013 issue of From the Depths, a quarterly journal from Haunted Waters Press.
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WOMEN IN THE LAW LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARD REMARKS
JEAN A. DiMOTTO, June 25, 2013
This award is deeply meaningful to me. I thank the Wisconsin Law Journal for conferring this honor on me and acknowledge its publisher, Ann Richmond.
When I reflect on my career, I see that I was often pushing the envelope, to use a somewhat tired cliché. For example:
° My judicial practices in Domestic Violence court
° The administrative changes I spearheaded in Small Claims Court practices
° Something as simple as my verdict form in criminal cases
° My practice of giving out a children’s alphabet book, Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, to young fathers in criminal court who had so little wherewithal. I did this to encourage the fathers to read a book to their child that the child was guaranteed to like and learn from. It was a way to help two generations.
These were all acts of creativity and of leadership. I have reason to believe that all of tonight’s honorees have demonstrated creativity, determination and leadership.
And so I want to close first by acknowledging my husband, John; my daughter, Anne; and my son-in-law, Thomas. They have enriched my life immeasurably.
And second with these wishes for leaders.
May you have the grace and wisdom to act kindly, learning to distinguish between what is personal and what is not.
May you be hospitable to criticism.
May you never put yourself at the center of things.
May you act not from arrogance but out of service.
May you work on yourself, building up and refining the ways of your mind.
May those who work for you know you see and respect them.
May you learn to cultivate the art of presence in order to engage with those who meet you.
When someone fails or disappoints you, may the graciousness with which you engage be their stairway to renewal and refinement.
May you treasure the gifts of the mind through reading and creative thinking so that you continue as a servant of the frontier….
May you know the wisdom of deep listening, the healing of wholesome words, the encouragement of the appreciative gaze, the decorum of held dignity, the springtime edge of the bleak question.
May you have a mind that loves frontiers so that you can evoke the bright fields that lie beyond the view of the regular eye.
May you have good friends to mirror your blind spots.
May leadership be for you a true adventure of growth.
From: “For a Leader” in To Bless the Space Between Us, by John O’Donohue, 2008, pages 151-52.
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In my first month of retirement I’ve concentrated on recovering from abdominal surgery that I underwent days after pulling the plug at work. Fortunately the four-hour operation was accomplished laparoscopically and my recovery has been progressing swiftly, especially compared with last year’s ordeal.
Recovering during retirement means no pressure to return to work. I luxuriate in rising more than an hour later than I used to and lingering over my mug of coffee. I have the time to check Facebook and read the paper, such as it is. I putter about the house taking care of sundry tasks, lavishly interlacing this with periods of simply looking out the window from my favorite chair. I cut flowers from my yard every few days to keep the house alive and fresh with nature. I take my turn planning and cooking dinners.
I did not expect to miss work and for the most part I don’t. But I have begun to pine for intellectual stimulation. Grist for my intellectual mill used to be handed up to me morning and afternoon. I did not have to exert any effort to get it. Now I struggle to find ways to vivify my intelligence. Mere mystery novels don’t cut it.
Given my need to recover I have not done much writing. Next month I will participate in a writing workshop taught by an award-winning author of creative nonfiction (my genre). I view that weekend as the portal to the garden of more writing.
Meanwhile, I snuggle into catnaps. I remember my napping dreams better than my nighttime dreams, and I now have uncluttered moments to ponder them. From that level of existence, things are as they should be and all is well.
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As the last two weeks of work unfolded, my stress level was so high I vibrated with tension. I worried about finishing trials and sentencings, having a farewell luncheon, moving out, and about my staff members finding new placements. All the while there was the low, incessant drum beat of the actual transition itself: finishing a vocation and entering a new phase of life.
The worries occupied my conscious mind, leaving the transition to be worked out in my unconscious mind. I frequently felt fatigued and slept an hour or more longer than usual at night. My dreams were plentiful, active and vivid, and I knew when I awoke that this was how I was processing closing a structured work life and opening to something different.
The magnitude of this transition manifested in my becoming keenly aware of the enormity of what I did as a judge. I began to agonize over decisions and perseverate about them afterwards. It felt as though I was returning to my judicial birth, a time when pronouncing someone guilty reverberated in my being. Since then I have made that pronouncement thousands and thousands of times without a personal reaction. Yet in the process of shedding my robe, I again became highly sensitive to the powers of a judge.
On the lighter side, my retirement party was vivacious and well attended. A judge rarely hears people’s reactions, so the many farewell comments were meaningful to me. My court reporter is now situated with another judge. My clerk is being interviewed soon and I feel optimistic about her horizons. My husband, an excellent mover, worked with me last weekend to accomplish this final move, leaving me with only two boxes, a plant and plant stand for my final day. On that day I silently celebrated never again having to walk into work through a noisy, dark, dank, dirty entrance. I cheered internally when I presented my work identification card for the last time. I skipped up to the administrative office to turn in my key and key cards.
Most importantly, I was able to approach my last day with equanimity and happiness, satisfied with a job well done. I’m honored to be able to look back over my career through the lens of an upcoming Lifetime Achievement Award. All is well that ends well.
My first act of retirement: a nap!
Next, a celebration dinner of trout, salad, rice and wine.
Now on to gently re-discovering my internal rhythms and living by them in concert with the rhythms of nature.
And moving forward with writing in my own rhythm and voice.
I’m filled with wonder about exploring this new chapter of my life.
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As we ache for a much delayed spring, the dreary, cold, rainy, sometimes snowy weather challenges our patience. It not only postpones planting and dampens hope, but also mirrors our discontent.
For myself, there have been days when I’ve had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. But overall I am in a period of quiet contentment and happy anticipation related to my upcoming retirement. During this time I feel much like I did when I was pregnant so many years ago, excited about what was to come and tranquil while waiting and preparing for her birth.
My contentment is due to my satisfaction with my judicial career and my sense that I’m leaving at the top of my game. My excitement is about the new development in my life, a third chapter opening with a primary thrust of writing. I’m eager to devote the best part of each day to this passion.
I have been thinking about a schedule: writing in the morning, reading in the afternoon, preparing dinner and exercising in the late afternoon and being with my family in the evening. I might not start this schedule until January, though, as I just read that new retirees often spend the first six months doing a whole lot of nothing!
I have been studying writing, first by devouring a variety of online sources about the business of writing and the revolution in publishing (e-books and other digital opportunities) and second by acquiring books in my primary genre – creative nonfiction (literary essays and true stories creatively told) – in order to learn from masterful writers. Sometimes the writing startles me with its beauty and I put the book down and close my eyes to fully absorb the phrasing. I contemplate and dream writing; at the same time I macro- and micro-edit my extant pieces.
And all the while the deep river of contentment runs.
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