I love children's books. As much as I like to write and enjoy the examination of a child's imagination I really admire illustrators. I cannot draw to save my life and I am in constant awe of those who can.

There was an article today in the Inquirer about Maurie Sendak, the children's author and writer. I love his books. I have In The Night Kitchen and Where the Wild Things Are. His books are not the ones filled with bunny rabbits and tea time (I love those too!) They are a bit scary. They are a bit dreamy. They are just like childhood.

I do agree with him that childhood has become another thing to plan these days. A time for tiny individuals to be penciled in for one activity after another: music lessons, tennis, reading contests, school, play dates (which to me are utterly ridiculous/just the whole evolution of "the play date") and mall outings, not to mention fast paced meals eaten out of the range of a home.

The competitiveness of life has trickled to the very young. Why do we do this to them? Are those that "win" better or happier? We all know the answer to that...usually not, and the outcomes take very different forms.

I've been through four children. I had an almost tensed sense of need to expose my oldest to many things cultural as well as sports. He is a very well rounded kid but I now believe he would have been that way no matter what he was scheduled to do. My second child hated organized anything and still does. So be it. He has his own mind and way of evolving. The third son is quiet in his endeavors but expands his world on his own terms. He disliked piano lessons and music lessons. He likes fun. The fourth says "no" to most teams and organized events and has been left with lots of hand-me-downs and used baseball bats but it has been to his benefit. He likes football and loves wrestling. He opts out of little league baseball and guitar. He spends more time alone than any of my other kids. He helps out at church. He has the biggest imagination. I found, to my heart's delight, small notebooks filled with made up stories that I have to admit brought me to tears. I know the feeling; the need to write things down, the necessity in clearing my mind with a made up story. It is also a way to enjoy life, to tolerate it sometimes and to be excited about the otherwise mundane and unnoticeable. I love that my young son loves art and dreams up crazy fabrications and pictures. His room is filled with drawings all fastened to the walls with tape. (I would have never let my oldest son do that to my walls) Two of my kids comment on the singing birds and the lush trees, one feels the coziness of the damp days of spring. The point is that leaving children alone, in a safe environment and not tending to their every want or need allows them to look to themselves for satiety. It's a huge self esteem builder. It is not necessary to make a child feel they are so great all the time, being loved and cared for and trusted is much more important. Today's regimented and provided for childhoods steal the soul from the years of life it needs nourishing the most. It is then that the soul forms and helps to get us through the rest of life, particularly mid-life and old age.

I have a patient who is 97. She doesn't do much and she can't do much else. She says it is the memories of her childhood that keep her days filled with JOY. I know exactly what she means.

Yesterday, I saw a middle aged black man that had a hip replacement. His living quarters were on the first floor of an apartment building. There was only two dim lights in a cramped and crowded area. There was junk everywhere. I learned he worked in construction on and off for 30 years, he carried a heavy belt around his waist which caused his hip to dislocate and become arthritic. Now he is in pain and wobbling around chewing on oxycodone too fast and too often. After an arguement, he was sent home from his mother's house with his two daughters, their own mother is "not in the picture". He really isn't taking good care of himself or his kids and the situation looks like it will probably get worse before it will get better. He doesn't understand why all these bad things happen to him. The little girls were dressed neatly in outfits of pink and purple, their shoes were pink sparkles. They have no running water. The landlord is neglectful. The tenants upstairs are crack addicts. I watched the little girls, 9 and 10 years old standing at the kitchen table (no room for chairs) coloring on plain paper with crayons. Surprisingly I did not notice a TV. The house smelled of dust and grease and mold. I asked my patient what he had to eat today..he said he had an egg and cheese sandwich for breakfast and spaghetti for lunch. The girls asked where he got the egg sandwich and was there anymore? He told them to heat up some spaghetti and put a little sugar on it. They looked disappointed. He has older sons, 32 and 35. One is running from the law and the other has his own kids he cannot seem to manage. It was hard for me not to cry, not for the patient because to me, he made his life what it is ....but for those cute, hungry little girls stuck in a filthy dark kitchen with only each other and crayons and paper. Their souls are open, their worlds look bleak. Hopefully they will take their imagination and each other and work their way out to some kind of happiness. These kids will never be given an instrument to learn or a play date to keep. They may not even be given enough food. Only through their minds can things be made better. I can only wonder.

It is time to realize that only an outsider can help kids like this. We are in no way obligated to do so but only a teacher or clergy person or neighbor or relative (or a nurse)can make an impression and change the realization of a child's world. Sometimes that person is an author. A children's book can be impressive. We can write or talk or help in a small way. All kids have the ability to imagine and grow and change. They may just need someone to give a little help. It helps if they know some people are nice and caring.

I bought a 10.00 pizza and brought it back to them. The little girl smiled a smile as wide as the ocean. She thanked me. On my way home, my patient called, he was crying, he thanked me too. It was only a pizza. I really wanted to hit him over the head but all I said was "your welcome".

Be aware of those around you. It may make a real difference to someone's life some day not just to their stomach.

I have a few children's books we have outgrown...I will bring them to these kids at my next visit. Snow White and a few red shiny apples would be nice. After I remove the staples fromthis patient's hip, I will probably never seen them again. Hopefully something good will come to those little girls,more of the same can't be good for anyone.

Life is made up of periods. I envision those periods like clouds filled with certain people, geographical areas, seasons and different ages.

My mind has compartments like an antique armoire; it's big wooden doors ornate and fine protecting what is inside. As the doors open there are hand crafted drawers that easily slide in and out to reveal well kept memories. My parents have that long top compartment with some wonderful flower engraved on the outside; it's filled with things that take a life time to sort thru, things that make you laugh with recognition and other things that make you cry with sentiment. It's big and filled to capacity and it is a place where I can go to to feel protected and loved and wonderful. On this Mother's Day weekend I can see all the days of my mother's devotion, all of her love and consideration and all of the benefits it sowed. Of course, there is lots of food and well scrubbed and comfortable living areas. My sister and brother have their spaces and I am finding now they may need more room, that we will hopefully have many more memories to store.

My husband has another large and romantic space, almost 31 years of memories. Some wonderful inscription is on his space. I think of our wedding song "It's Impossible" (meaning it's impossible to live without the other). His family and stories and accomplishments are shared with me there. Our four children overflow and are starting there own separate areas for me to keep hold of their specialness. This area has compartments that are within other compartments, there are secret places to keep letters and private moments. We grew up and evolved together and our lives are like intricately woven carpentry that lasts forever.

All the other spaces are friends and other relationships. There are some friends that have been a part of my life for most of it. There are new friends and work friends and acquaintances. Some friends had a limited part of my life but our memories go on and those feel as if we are still in touch. In those situations, after years of not seeing someone, we can say hello, begin to talk and in a few minutes feel like we did the last time together. I am thinking of a couple of friends I first worked with as a nurse 26 years ago. We recently emailed each other and as much as our lives are different we immediately were taken back to being 21 years old again. That was nice and exciting.

I live in a neighborhood where I grew up. I sometimes see someone from grade school. I recognize something familiar about them but can't remember a name or particulars. If we talk, memories come flooding back. I feel myself turn into a very small, skinny girl with big eyes and short brown hair. I can see my hands as they were and my uniform and I long for toast and tea. In a snap, life changes back to today and the memory takes a back seat once again.

Last night I had dinner with 30 nurses (and other staff) I worked with at my last job. Many of us started with the company's start in Philadelphia. I remember the first office, unfinished and being prepared. After 5 years, many corporate management changes and moving to different office space, many of us were "let go" to make room for new hires and a new way of doing things. We all have moved on, most of us for the better and I could not help but think this new company let go lots of really good employees, "it's their loss" kept creeping into my thoughts. I remembered vividly their devotion and sincerity in their work. My Manager was there as well as the Clinical Director. These women along with the others and a couple of men are the type that get things done, that do for their employers what a lot of people would not care to do, that dedicate and sacrifice and take pride in their responsibilities. We ate and talked and laughed like friends and we shared our new experiences and lives and we all realized that we have memories that share a compartment of our minds that we cherish and really enjoy and hopefully will continue for the time to come. It was interesting to see how everyone picked themselves up and started again. Nurses have a lot of opportunity and each one of us took a different route. We all seem to be doing something that matches our personalities. Francine said that she believes everything happens for a reason and I do too. We don't always know the reason but we can feel that a certain force was behind us at certain times. For whatever reasons we choose to do things, for whatever forces drive us to pursue certain roads they build on the last and create a whole world, a whole armoire that holds our life and shows it to us every now and then. Getting together with friends we do not see all the time allows us to see ourselves through other's eyes at a different levels and different points of views. We get a fresh feel for ourselves and we can look and see what we like and what we'd like to change. Maybe someone encourages us to continue with something they admire in us. It's the reflection and the possibilities as well as the enocchi that makes happy next day memories to tuck away for pondering in future days.

To the next time!!!!!

When we feel we know our purpose, we are happier. Mother's instantly think of their children, probably father's do too. Other's think of those they help or the work they do or the people they make happy. When we think of our relationships, we feel big, we feel important.

If we think about our single self in the world that will span millions of years, we'll feel like a speck, small and insignificant.

Most of us cannot live without others...as much as we would like to disagree or to be left alone, it is probably true that we need others and therefore others must need us..there, we feel big again.

I think our purpose is much, much bigger than that. Our kids and our families and friends and lovers are just a bit of our purpose. Our purpose melds together with our responsibilities..the ones we acknowledge and accomplish and the ones we forget or never recognized. Our purpose blends with our ancestry. The one we were told to uphold and the ones we are ignorant of. Our purpose becomes weird and otherworldly and spiritual. Will we live on after we die or will we be forgotten? Were we created to pass on the shape of our eyes (hopefully) or the size of our noses (let's hope not)or our big hearts or our manners and sensibility? Does anything really matter as much as our purpose?

Is my purpose to write an entire blog of questions?

For those of us who believe in God we can ask, what the heck was He thinking? Didn't He have anything else to do besides make up all these types of people and have them think these things when they should be in bed sleeping? What is it with Him? Can it be He created us all to become closer to Him, to gravitate towards holiness, therefore to make Him happy? Are we a test? A litmus paper? A hypothesis? You are alkaline and I am acidic....so what? What does it mean?

I wanted to insist on (knowing) my kid's purposes...one was to be a highly regarded lawyer, another an interested pharmacist, another a highly skilled surgeon and another...umm, well...maybe a plumber or a writer. When I think of my disappointment when my offspring does not regard their purposes as I do, I sink to deep shame and utter despicable-ness (making up my own words is a part of my purpose...I am sure of it) in myself. Isn't part of my purpose to make them understand their own? Does it matter, really, to their purpose, to their higher purpose, how much they accomplish materially? Educationally? Emotionally? It seems to matter but I suspect it does not. Ones purpose and value has nothing to do with accomplishments. It has all together to do with building their souls and love and holiness. Hopefully they will be able to feed and support themselves while building up...I have my own purpose to focus on, you know.

As we search for our purpose we become nuts and need some wine to calm us down.

I was walking my dog yesterday and we came upon a neighbor who was turning his soil and nourishing it with compost and recycled materials...my dog sniffed and sniffed until she was on her back rolling and rubbing herself in the dirt, she could not get her face in that mess fast enough. I called her name and she suddenly stopped, looked up at me and then turned back and continued to hug the dirt. We laughed and understood exactly how she felt and I wanted to roll around right with her but dared not for fear of what the neighbors would think.

Remember reading something or doing something with someone that felt like a divine intervention. Remember finding out that most of the world feels the same way when doing whatever it was you were doing when you felt that way? These bits of intuition or feelings of connection make us happy and we feel like we are in touch with the right vibes and vices. They probably mean nothing in relation to our real and true and divine purpose.

I get a weird feeling when someone says they made a decision because of something I said to them or because of a conversation we had or something I did that made an impression on someone else..either good or bad..I don't really know how I feel knowing I had a direct link to someone else's life's decisions. Someone once told me they had a second child because I said I'd never have only one child if I could help it. That person actually HAD A CHILD because I said that. WOOOOOO....Yet, I do that too. We all must. Everything around me influences me...everything gets filtered into my head and mind and then as it passes it is saved and my life is forever changed whether or not I took conscious action around those interactions and thoughts or even realize how they affected me.

Remember doing something and thinking...this is my purpose, this is what I am here to do....I felt like that when I gave birth, when I breast fed my children, when I make love to my husband, when I laugh with my friends, when I cry with my mother, when I connect with my patients, when I read something someone wrote that I know is my same exact thought, when I hear a song and sing out loud and when I run from my father's kisses...lol....

Our purpose is to be happy and to thank our nutty Lord for his little hobby.

Life and it's purpose.

We are His purpose....NOW...what is your's?

Talking about choosing our life. We simply do. The life we have is the one we chose.

I can hear the moaning from here! There are so many people who feel they've been thrown a bad deal. Maybe we don't chose the deals but we chose the life. We have a real freedom in how we decide to handle anything that comes our way...freedom because we are humans, freedom because we are Americans, freedom because we are free (spiritually), freedom because it is a choice to be free.

Remember hearing the stories of those men who were tortured or in solitary confinment for years and years. The soldiers did many things to them. They took away their time, their families, their clothes, their nourishment. They took from them privacy, dignity and strength but the ones who survived say they could not take away their thoughts, their mind, their souls. What remained intact, hidden, and sheltered and protected chanced a glimpse at the shining sun every now and then. A glimpse turned into strength and fueled endurance. They searched for the future and the hope and held the Hand of their own Creator and it nurtured them quietly until they were free from the chains and the horror and the prisons and the confinement.

Life can throw us lots of bad deals. We can allow them to take over or we can overtake them.

It's all in the mind.

I have a patient who lives in a house as a border. He has 1/2 of a bedroom and use of the bathroom. The house used to be a funeral home. It has a funny smell. We laughed about it. Mike doesn't have his own phone. When I call him, a different person answers every time. Some of them can't remember who Mike is exactly. Mike rides his bike around the neighborhood (even though he is supposed to be sick). He hangs in a corner store that is run by two ladies. They look like mother and daughter but I am not sure about that. The store is in a neighborhood that used to be tight, it used to be safe and it used to be clean. Now, it is all dwindling but there are still young women pushing baby carriages to pick up older kids from school, and the guys that hang on the corner know everybody's name and their mother's names and their grandmom's names. There are abandoned houses here and there and empty lots full of trash in between. There was a spot filled with teddy bears and candles in memory of a recently shot and killed victim.

The ladies store is called something like Marie and Jan's corner Deli. Cute. Anyway, Mike hangs in there...he helps them with a few deliveries and sweeps up and keeps watch; meanwhile he weighs about 110 lbs. and does not look like he could threaten a 6 year old.
I call over to the store and the ladies give Mike the message to meet me at his house. Today, I couldn't find him and the phone rang without being answered. I looked around for the store and saw the sign. I walked into an immaculately clean store with homemade chicken and roast pork and macaroni salad that made my stomach grumble. There were bins with soft pretzels and glistening pastries damp with sugar perspiration and cold boxes with iced tea and water and soda. The coffee was fragrant. I introduced myself and asked for Mike. They said he went home to take a nap and I remembered him telling me after lunch he rides home and sleeps for about an hour or two and then goes back to the store for the evening. He has his meals there in exchange for his help. The store was very small and I could see just by the looks on the ladies' faces their method of payment was very generous.

Marie and Jan were concerned and knowledgeable about Mike. I wasn't able to speak with them about him due to HIPPA laws but we all understood each other.

They were there to help him. I was glad that there are people like that in the world. Kind. NICE. Helpful. Decent.

When I left I realized I didn't know who was Marie and who was Jan. I realized also those details really didn't matter at all. It was all the other details that matter.