The other day I saw a man and a lady standing near the beach with a little baby..he looked to be about 9 months old: not old enough to walk but able to move around. The man was tossing the baby in the air. The child squealed with delight each time he was heaved into the air and then regained his breath with each catch.

The whole thing was a delight to watch. This had me thinking about what brings us joy. In every culture children are cherished, babies are loved and cared for, fed, played with and educated. All throughout the world a child is cherished and taught and held and nourished.

In many cultures, the elderly are cherished just as much and honored and cared for without disrespect.

I thought about the worries my kids allow me. I wondered why we ever thought it was all worth the trouble. It seems we all (humans, animals, some insects, fish) have the innate need to be a family. There are very few people and species that can live alone, always, and be really happy. When my family feels cohesive, I feel happy. When we are all talking and either laughing or having a good discussion, I am happy. When we work as a team, I am ecstatic. When we have a good time together, I am in heaven. When I prepare a big meal and everyone eats and likes it, I am enthralled. Being together, with my family, brings me more joy than most things. It is all the other time in between that makes me nuts (you know, school, curfew, money, health, safety, outside relationships)...if we could only be left alone on some island I think we may be fine. Except for my husband (and probably the kids too) ...he'd go beserk.

It must have been an easy spell for God to ensure that babies be so adorable and precious to us that our bones ache when we think about them and care for them. Within that spell is the desire to be a small close knit group that nutures each other in many ways.

The turmoil and anxiety come later as we realize what we've done! Not unlike the time we bought that bright pink wool coat with the ruffle at the bottom that made us look exactly like a birthday cake.

Then I started to think about what "things" make "it" worth it. "It" being life: giving life, maintaining life, supporting life. I watch my sister-in-law with her mother-in-law. I see roles change; nurturer to nurturee. I see a person who has little potential or future, unlike the small baby, and wonder if that makes such of a difference. As her skin shrivels and hair thins, her teeth become too annoying to keep in her mouth, her mind is shrinking and her ability to converse or seemingly enjoy things diminish. I wonder if she would giggle if we threw her into the air and I wonder if we'd feel the delight as we would with a child. At 78 years old she stood at the foot of a CD player and listened and sang along with Andrea Boccelli as she held her chest. With all her might, she enjoyed those songs. All of us, who witnessed her joy, will never forget it.

There are times she blurts out an insightful mouthful.

I think about my own grandmother, who after about 5 years, died from Alzheimer's disease. It took her backwards like on a roller coaster that suddenly changes direction. Remember that? Remember being propelled through the air in a speeding car, your stomach dipping and jumping and then suddenly the car stops, lurches an inch or two, and then moves in the opposite direction without your consent. It was shocking but exciting in a different way, a scary way. We watched my grandmother lose her footing on the years she accumulated. She went so far back that she was clutching a baby doll and spending most of her time in bed. I wasn't there when she died but maybe, hopefully, she was dreaming of cupcakes or puppy dogs. It was very, very hard as it will be for many others in that situation but there are moments that make an impression. Things happen and we can only wonder why.

I sometimes watch these elderly individuals and think "just put a pillow over my face" and forget about it. I know a lot of people think that way too. And then I wonder

What exactly makes "it" worth it; all the effort? What do we need to be able to see the wonders of life, of God, of sheer existence? Is potential or hopes and dreams necessary for the enjoyment of life, or for the acceptance of a changed person.
Maybe it is because we did not chose to be the caregivers of the suddenly needy like we usually chose to care for a newborn. Is it all about choice and control again? OR is it about acceptance and patience?

The baby and the baby-minded, the differences are as wide as the earth and yet something about the similarites bothers me enough to wonder.

I hold onto apron strings and want things to stay exactly the same and then I realize how much it all has to change to be anything closely related to that thing we call Life. I wonder how it will change and then, of course, I wonder why.

They followed us the entire day. At 25 miles an hour, the birds flew above the boat at it's sides, with ease, their wings allowing them to hover and propel them forward. I marveled at their grace and ability to fly. They make it look so easy.

The clear deep water waked and made splashy sounds against the bottom of the boat. The big American flag flapped in the wind, and at times, wound tightly around itself as if at attention. I thought about all the states and what that flag means to all the different people in the world; Americans and foreigners, and the proud and the pouting. It felt good to see it fly without fear. A lump formed in my throat at the thought of the many that keep that strength alive, that keep us safe and free. The sun shone hot around the clouds. I wanted to jump in the water; it looked so beautiful as the light reflected on it and warmed the top layer.

We fished for four hours catching lots of ocean gems that we threw back. It felt good giving life back to such marvels as we watched every one clamor for their stride and swim away from the boat seemingly relieved and smiling: a half dozen huge starfish , a skate, a few small flounders, a tiny sea bass and another larger sea bass but still an inch too small to keep, crabs and a fish called an electric fish that stings when you touch it. My youngest son did keep a blue fish and had it filleted before his eyes. I rationalized it as a learning experience. He carried it home in a plastic bag for tomorrows lunch.

My job was to take all the pictures. The kids were all excited and big smiles made my job easy.

The clouds bunched up and together made us very cold as the sky darkened. It was almost quitting time and the red faced big bellied captain laughed at his own jokes as he told us to "reel em up". He stroked his full gray smiling mustache. I envied his ease. The clouds disappeared and the sun shone once again, warmer this time, holding onto the day like a kid does when visiting a friend, lingering, not wanting it to end.

The birds dipped and caught the leftover bait thrown in the water. They flew in a crisscross pattern in front of the boat this time with triumphant strides.

The American flag waving proudly as the captain scratched the flies away.

Can sea gules smile? I swear I saw them smile.

Running around the boardwalk the other night, the kids asked me a ton of questions. Miniature golf allowed me a respite for a few minutes. While I sat on a bench and watched the people pass, I realized everyone in Ocean City looks alike. It is a far cry from Philadelphia. I thought how much I love to watch the people in NYC from a corner table at an outdoor cafe. It is one of my favorite things to do...look and stare without being seen. lol

When the kids finished in the game room and had ice cream cones bigger than their heads we yawned our way to the parking lot. There was a sign that read "Cars will be towed if left after midnight". Butterflies flew about in my stomach as I didn't see the sign before then. It was only 11:30. My nephew said to me "What would we do if the car got towed?" "How would we get home?" "OH", I said. "We'd be fine. We'd get home by taxi or bus or by calling a friend to come and get us." He shook his head hesitantly and squinted his eyes while absorbing my answer. The little bugger was doubting me! I thought I did a good job faking absolute confidence. I am very trustworthy and responsible but I do wonder sometimes about my ability to handle all sorts of situations and realize sometimes I run out without my cell phone or directions or money. I rely a bit on my nursing education and try to pay attention to shows like: Untold ER stories, and Man vs. Wild and the World Trekker. He was already forgetting and getting on to kicking the pebbles with his cousins. I made a mental note to always be prepared when leaving the house.

When I was a kid I had the type of parents who took care of everything. I never had a hungry stomach, or went to school unprepared. I was taken to the dentist and the pediatrician regularly and when I was sick my bedroom was a rest place; toast and tea and soup and ginger ale coming up the stairs at regular intervals. I never doubted their ability to take care of me. I never thought there was a thing they couldn't do or find out or work out. I never saw them worry about money or not find the dollars at the grocery store.I felt safe and cared for all the time. I wonder if they every had to fake it?

I felt the same way about my grandparents. I never had to see adults doubt themselves or settle for scraps of any kind. My grandmothers were tough and capable women in many ways. Grandmom Jersey never worked a day in her life or learned how to use a check book or credit card but ruled her house with an iron fist. My well providing grandfather listened to her too! Grandmom B took the bus everywhere and let her phone ring when she didn't feel like talking and went back to work full time after my grandfather died. More than one time when I was a kid and she was at least 70 years old she walked with me for miles on the boardwalk or in center city to shop never complaining or showing weakness. They were strong and independent and confident.

I am sure there were plenty of times money was a worry. I am sure they did not have all the answers. I am sure they stretched many dinners to accommodate the masses and adapted their schedules and energy for our benefit. They were generous with their time and taught me the stubborn streak they later yelled at me about: "You have such a hard head". HA! I wonder where I got it from??? If they ever doubted themselves or their ability to fulfill their needs they did a good job faking it.

My husband is also the type who can figure things out very well. He is a good deductive thinker and very smart. It is one of the things that draws me to him. I feel protected and cared for and even if he isn't so confident in his abilities I know his mind is better at seeing all sides of a situation and coming to a logical conclusion. Logical is a good word for him and fair. And TOUGH (inside joke). We've talked about losing some footing with our kids lately..giving them more freedom than we feel comfortable with and letting those apron strings go a bit lose but we try to put up the front, the facade, the parent act. We fake it pretty good at times. I have a mental image of myself crossing my fingers behind my back as I demand and lecture my kids.

My very long point is, it is important to make kids feel like we do know what we are doing, that we do have the ability to do the things that need to get done and can protect ourselves and our families when we are needed. Kids need to feel safe and loved and happy. They need guidelines and rules and schedules. They will take direction better from someone who seems capable and strong. They need to adapt to situations by watching how we do it so they can take care of themselves and their families just as well.

Sometimes faking it is not just fine but necessary.

I've been thinking about motivation. How we get it, where we get it, why some are more motivated than others. I remember, in college, taking a psychology course in motivation. I do not remember much about the course except it was different than I thought it would be and those characteristics and influences involved surprised me.

As I get older I feel my enthusiasm has dwindled. I wonder if this is the same as motivation.

At 46 (almost), I wonder what will be my motivation, what will interest me?
I've always thought life was about how conscious we are of our actions, how carefully we plan, and how much responsibility we take for our lives (the message in "The Secret"/that we have all the control we need to have what we want)but lately I have succumbed to the revelation of how life presents itself to us and then we take parts of it and develop it. Some of us are better than others at realizing when good fortune is on our doorstep. Others miss opportunities and turn away from life. Those decisions can really mold the themes of our lives. I think we have too many choices, but then again, more than one choice is sometimes too many for some and for others it is not enough.. and some create more, others cannot create more to save their lives.

I think about my own four kids. I see four different levels of motivation and eagerness. I see scattered laziness intertwined with fortitude and satisfaction mixed with strife.

My oldest son isn't working. My husband and I are almost in a panic discussing his lack of care in finding a job for the summer. He loves the beach and for the first time in a very long time he spends every day on the beach and loves it. Where is his movtivation?
This morning I realized it has been 15 days since he's worked and I had to laugh to myself. He was in school until July 1 and worked in the city until school was over. I realize how lucky I am that all the kids are still coming to the shore with me for the whole summer. They are enjoying it. And so am I.

I worry about them losing their motivation. If you have it, do you lose it? Does it get harder as we get older? Is there something that can be done to instill it in others? In ourselves? Does confidence and self doubt interfer? I think about catalysts. I think about confidence. I think about life presenting itself. I think about degrees of control.

Reading Hosseini's book "A Thousand Splendid Suns", I realize, as I read his acknowledgements how even highly successful and progressive individuals have self doubt. This author is also medical doctor. Maybe self doubt is a good thing, a motivator.
I read a line toward the end of the book that struck me to the point of tears "And to my mother, whose selfless, gentle spirit permeates this tale. You are my reason, Mother jo."

You are my reason.

I know about reason. I also know how deep a mother (and grandmother, and other mother figures) can affect us. We see our mothers in lots of people. As these thoughts sunk in I had a strinking alarming feeling of panic. Does all motivation start and ferment with our start? With our upbringing? With all those motherly influences that capture us throughout our lives?

I remember my grandmother teaching me to make a bed. I got the hospital corners right away. The pillows were the hardest part because she folded them in half and with a flick of the wrist to create a boulder made a bed like one in a five star hotel. I practiced my bolder pillow making until I had to take a break to splash cold water on my face. Sometimes, now, I get very picky about certain household chores and every time I think of my grandmother. I am grateful for all the baseboard dusting she made me do. Housekeeping gives me more pleasure than I really want to admit but I am grateful for it.

Homes are where we spend most of our time. It is where we feel comfortable and safe. What happens there affects our whole life. We will all use those experiences in different ways.

From A Thousand Splendid Suns:

"One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs,
Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls".

How true.

After two weeks of feeling like a bug in a rug in Afghanistan, I have finished Khaled Hosseini's second book. It is as good, if not better, than the first. I was doing well..only shedding a few tears throughout the book, then, at the end, I was hysterical, soaking four pillow cases and using half a box of tissues.

The author writes from a deep place in his soul. The best kind of writing.

Bravo.