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The inner conflict of taking action vs. letting life happen always fascinates me. On the one hand, setting my goals and working on them helps me feel productive. I love to immerse myself in learning, so taking some sort of action, such as working on my novel, allows me to discover more about the process and about myself.

Funny thing is, from time to time life drops something unexpected into my lap, something that raises its hand and says, “Here’s one of the reasons you are here.” One example is the conversation I had with my mother years ago, after I’d had a stillbirth. Mom was looking for a book for grandparents, and as it turned out, there wasn’t much available. In the course of that conversation, I knew that it was “my job” to write such a book…and I did.

Years later, I would feel the same way when I fell in love with a man with children. Stepmothering is challenging, but I have always felt that I was the “right person” for the job.

In these times, when we are given a direction so crystal clear, our fears don’t matter. We forget about what people might think or about what can go wrong. Instead, we put one foot in front of the other and “git ‘er done.”

Recently, as you know from previous posts, I have taken on compiling and organizing my late mother-in-law’s journals. We found the first ones even before the funeral, and from the moment I made the discovery I had that now-familiar goose-bumpy feeling that I had found my next assignment.

Most of my family is secular, even agnostic. I have, however, had too many of these “assignments” to assume that they are just strange quirks of my mind. When I knew my daughter was dying, I felt comforted by something beautiful, as though I were being held in the arms of God. That comfort carried me through the development of the book and beyond.

So when I am toiling away, day after day, on other projects–the yoga book, the novel, the various essays I submit for rejection to contests–what does that mean? I don’t know. But maybe the learning, the discipline, the commitment, and yes, the faith, lead us to those moments when we say a ha! My path is clear today. These moments, to me, are glimpses of a greater perfection.

I plod away. I study my French, and I don’t know why…but I do. I work on my novel. I do laundry and cook dinner, all the mundane tasks of daily existence. And when the still, small voice whispers, “This is your task,” I try to be alert to it. I don’t want to miss these moments. They are too special.

Jenny Feldman, my late mother-in-law, wrote in her journals that she imagined being a ghost after her death, watching her art and writings go to the dumpster.  If an artist was not successful in his or her lifetime, she reasoned, there would be no one to protect and shepherd the artist’s body of work.  She made a decision to create anyway, because the act of making art was what made her feel alive–but assumed that upon her death, she would pass into obscurity.

Jenny, you were so wrong.  So break-my-heart wrong.

If I have learned anything in these past few months since Jenny’s death, it is that our stories do not necessarily end when we leave these physical shells.  The family has been photographing her work and putting it on a website for family and friends–and the work is literally flying off the shelves.  It has caught the attention of people who never met her, whose motives wouldn’t be to garner a souvenir of a woman whose loving heart touched their lives.

I am reminded that Van Gogh sold one painting in his lifetime, and now his work is in some of the greatest galleries in the world.  Often, in cases where artists find success after death, it is because someone in the family saw its value and chose to preserve it.  Such is the case in the Feldman family.  No Feldman would dream of sending a single piece to the dumpster.  And my job, one that I accept happily, is to organize her many journals and put them into a cohesive book form for family to treasure–and as I look at her rich words, her journey from impoverished daughter of an immigrant mother and sickly father, to artist, world traveler, wife, mother, and grandmother, I can’t help but believe that her musings may go beyond the family.

It’s sad to think that Jenny died not comprehending her value, either as an artist or as a much-loved matriarch.  She said that she didn’t really believe in ghosts, but I hope that somewhere, her ghost is watching and knows that there’s not a dumpster in sight.

I work from my living room these days.  It’s a long, narrow room with wooden floors and three good-sized windows.  The next-door cat has been sitting on one of the ledges, peeking in.  Sometimes I catch them watching me do yoga, and it’s pretty funny.  They’ll sit up on their hind legs as I move from one pose to the next.

The past few days have been dreary, and this morning the sun is shining through again.  It’s February in Houston, and the temps are supposed to reach 76 degrees.  One never knows about February…it’s an unpredictable month, sometimes biting cold, sometimes exquisite as it is today.

I have been reading my mother-in-law’s journals and inputting selected entries into Word.  It’s a tedious, slow process, but I am absorbed in the stories, essays, and thoughts.  I am always tired afterward, because each time I read her reflections, I realize how much I miss her.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing, aggregating the writings for others, but whenever I feel some doubt, I run across a passage that tells me it’s okay.  I almost feel as though she is speaking to me beyond the grave, guiding me to the things she still wants shared.

It is a privilege, an honor, and yet deeply painful to do this.  She was a woman in full, strong, vulnerable, talented, uncertain, filled with joy and loss.

http://www.nadinefeldman.com/2009/02/11/299/

There is some truth to the adage that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.  But what about when the old dog wants to learn a thing or two?

I’ve been enrolled for the past few weeks in French I.  All the beginning stuff, like “bonjour” and “au revoir” and “merci.”  I’m having fun.  There are several others in the class that are around my age, and we’re stumbling through together.  My teacher is a glamorous, funny, and nurturing woman who keeps telling us that those who really learn a foreign language are those who can live with the stress of it–especially as we are older and our brains aren’t as pliable.  We plod along, reviving old study habits and laughing at ourselves when our minds go blank.

I did this because I want to learn French.  Henry and I are fortunate to be able to travel, and France has quickly become a favorite destination.  It would be nice to communicate with the natives, although I’m not sure that “allez au tableau” (go to the blackboard) will do me much good.  I may have to take a few more classes!!

In my 49th year, I spent a lot of time dreading the big 5-0.  Now that this momentous b-day has come and gone, I’m back to living life day to day.  What to learn next?  What new adventures await?  I feel good.  So far, I am healthy and strong.  Why not learn some French?  And then, maybe some Italian?  I have a pile of books on my desk that tell me “how to” a lot of things.  Curiosity doesn’t seem to end–it only increases.  Maybe this old dog CAN learn a few new tricks.

Rattled.  That’s how I would describe many of the people around me as we go through tough times.  Those who still have jobs fear losing them.  Our 401(k)s have shrunk, which is particularly vexing for those about to retire, or those who have whose nest eggs are now cracked.  Day after day, more bad news arises.  Global warming seems to be accelerating–there’s no doubt, regardless on what side of the political fence we lean, that something is happening that isn’t good.  Our food supply is filled with hormones and chemicals, even when we try to be as organic as possible.  We seem to be surrounded by greed, lies, and sleight of hand everywhere we turn.

When our political leaders defined the recession, they identified that it had been going on for months.  Thanks for the news flash–most of us had already figured this out!  There is no real definition for when a recession becomes a depression, and those who remain from the Great Depression era tell us that we’re nowhere near that yet.  Still, a lot of people are feeling downright depressed.

We must return to a simpler life.  Years ago, when I had my own personal depression and was deeply in debt, I learned that most of my needs were really wants.  We began to play games on a Saturday night for fun.  I discovered that my older car ran just fine, thank you.  We enjoyed eating dinner out on a weekend evening, but we had to cut back on where we ate.  In the worst of times, it was sometimes a burger joint.  But it was the company and conversation that mattered.

We will get through this, as we have gotten through a multitude of other challenges in our world.  I have faith in the human spirit and its ability to rise above difficulties.  Hopefully, in the process, we will discover more about who we are and what really matters.   We are not defined by the size of our homes, the brand names on our clothing, or the make and movel of vehicle we drive.  We are precious human beings, each with a soul as unique as a snowflake or a fingerprint, with something beautiful to offer ourselves and those around us.  Perhaps shaking off the pretentions of the past few decades will ultimately be the best thing that ever happened to us.

There is a kabbalistic/Buddhist concept of emptying oneself through meditation.  I’ve been noticing lately that at times I feel way too “full.”  Sometimes it’s major life events, but other times it’s just that I am feeling distracted, overloaded, or frustrated with some daily task.  When we were in the Hill Country, I was reading Jenny’s journals, and at times I would be overwhelmed with emotion.  Sometimes it was my grief for not having her with us anymore, and other times it was empathy for this woman I called a friend, who had her own strong emotions about situations in her life.  Afterward, I would need to walk, or practice yoga, or sit in the hot tub for a while.  As I would do so, I would feel the knots releasing, my breath coming more easily, and my heart soften yet again to receive more of whatever the day had to offer.

I left my “day job” last April after working for nearly 30 years with few breaks.  When one is juggling work, family, interests, and other responsibilities, it’s harder to give ourselves that time to empty.  Yet even if we can just find a minute to breathe and let go, we can be refreshed.