Doing Laundry and Folding Clothes

 Part Eight

It came to me while folding clothes: The Grass Is Always Greener on the Other Side of the Fence!  I am not certain why this age-old adage came to me this morning.  I found myself thinking about how many folks are caught up in that thought.  Someone else got the best job.  If I had the same tip so-and-so got, I could have cashed in.  Some folks get all the breaks. It seems easier to moan and groan than to just get on with life doing the best you are capable of doing.

I think it may have been one of the first sayings I remember hearing when I was just a youngster. Maybe I first heard it when I was about ten years of age.  Our family lived on two and a half acre piece of land just off Walker Road in Beaverton, Oregon. (The Nike complex is now located in that area.)  We were raising chickens, rabbits and goats, and selling the produce in the Portland Farmers Market.  Our goats kept sticking their heads through any fence to get at the grass on the other side.  It was probably my dad who first uttered the adage.

It may be because of that awareness that I have never been overly consumed with the notion that I was disadvantaged in any way.  Certainly, there have been others who excelled beyond what I might be doing, but good for them, I thought. People have made the comparison between their own lives and those of others they thought were more fortunate since the beginning of time,

• Ovid (Ancient Poet): Traced the idea in Latin as Fertilior seges est alienis semper in agris ("the harvest is always more fruitful in another man's fields").
• Robert Fulghum (Author): Famous for the counter-proverb, "The grass is greenest where it is watered," encouraging self-investment.
• Wolfgang Puck (Chef): Adapted this into "The grass is greener where you water it," emphasizing tending to your own relationships and life.
• Cecil Selig (Quote Attribution): Suggested the greener grass means others take better care of it, shifting focus to effort. 

It seems to me we each have our own options as to how we will attempt to guide our lives toward success and satisfaction.  How one person does it may offer a suggestion, but you still have to make your own way forward. Learn what you can from your experience and use it in your unique manner. I am reminded of the parable of the talents, Matthew 25:21, 23 NASB. "His master said to him, 'Well done, good and faithful slave. You were faithful with a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master'".  And then, "Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus"  1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 NIV.

A final thought, apropos of nothing, it also came to me as I was folding clothes: I do not remember the last time I lost a sock in the wash!

 

Coping with Seasonal Affective Disorder

I do not remember if I have experienced Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) before, but as we enter the darker days of the year winding through the Holidays, I certainly feel its weight this year.

This year feels different for many of us. Political and social upheavals have left us floundering economically and emotionally, casting a shadow of hopelessness. It feels like no action can restore the sense of well-being we once knew. These are difficult words for me to write. By nature, I have always been a mostly positive thinker, guided by faith, courage, and hope. I believe that taking responsibility for our lives empowers us to create success, comfort, and satisfaction. Yet, when discomfort and dissatisfaction arise, it can feel like a personal failure. This feeling of unfulfillment can open the door to a deep sadness — the kind that, when left unaddressed, becomes Seasonal Affective Disorder.

My sadness deepens with the realization that I may not have all the answers to navigate these desperate times. Yet, there is Light to be seen. I glimpse it — bright enough to keep me anchored to the bedrock of faith in a Power greater than my fear. But this view is not steady. While the Light never fails to shine, my vision of it is windswept and unsteady.

There is a part of me that knows the way will be shown. There is a part of me that clings by faith to the Light, ever shining through my clouds of fear and doubt. I will survive because there is no other choice. It is only a matter of reclaiming my natural belief in the power of Life to Live!

 Doing Laundry and Folding Clothes: Volume 7

Warm Laundry, Winding Roads

There’s something about folding warm laundry fresh from the dryer that invites the mind to wander. My hands move through the motions, but my thoughts drift elsewhere—into memories I rarely pause to explore during the rush of the day.

I think of family and friends, of moments that shaped me, and of the winding path that led me to the place I now call home.

These inner conversations are a gift. Most of the memories that drift into my mind settle with a gentle touch, like the warmth of the laundry itself—rich with the love of those who’ve shared my journey.

As with any journey, there are choices we make and forks in the road, each offering its own experiences. In the highs, and sometimes the lows, I find space to review and revise my feelings about what I’ve—hopefully—learned through the years.

Looking back, we may recall a time when someone else—or we ourselves—took a different path. That memory can stir a quiet sense of loss. I’ve faced several such junctures of major change. You probably have too.

But remembering those moments doesn’t mean we should have chosen differently. We can’t know whether our lives would have turned out better or worse. Still, reflection may offer lessons worth considering.

These are preliminary thoughts. They’re not finished.

As I contemplate where they may lead, I leave you to your own memories—of paths taken and roads less traveled.

May your journey be fruitful and richly satisfying.

 

Father’s Day 2025

                                                                                                                

                 

My father, Arthur Perin, was born March 6, 1898, in Connersville, Indiana, the eighth of twelve children.  He served as a member of the U.S. Marine Corps in World War I.  The only story I remember him telling me about his service when as a youngster came as I would ask, “What did you do in the war daddy?” He told of his ship being shot out from under them. He was able to grab a bit of floating debris.  Along came another marine, a rather stout man, who grabbed for the same debris.  Not a big enough piece for the two of them, my dad left to find something else to hang onto until rescued.  Obviously, he lived to tell the story!  The older I got, the more I wondered about the truth of the tale!  It made no difference; he was my hero in any case.

Dad was a jack of all trades and did well at most everything he tried. He made a set of chess pieces when I was about seven. They were fashioned on a lathe with the knights carved by hand.  I still have the set but am no better at playing than I ever was. He made many other hand-crafted works. The most ambitious items he crafted were four violins which were made in his 75^th year.  I arranged for those instruments to be donated to “The Last Repair Shop,” a part of the Los Angeles School District.  The students will repair them as needed and they will then be given to students who might not be able to have one otherwise.

My dad passed July 8, 1981, in West Salem, Oregon.  The older I get the more I wish I had lived closer so we might have shared more. 

 

From the Public Page of my Private Journal 

The thought simply slipped from within the shadows of my mind . . .

 I think it is time to leave.

     Death.  We try as hard as we can to not think about it as though not thinking about it keeps it from knocking at our door.

    Of course, the specter from those shadows comes to the door of each of us at some point like it or not.

    Perhaps it is natural that at my age of 83 (now 90) I should find myself considering the shape of things to come.  Change comes at the blinking of an eye—whether it is ten minutes from now or ten years.  I am ready.

    There are things left undone.  How few of us truly wrap up loose ends in our lives before we change, before we move on to whatever awaits us at the turning of the page.  I have pledged to do as my mother had done, return as many things as she could to the people who had blessed her with them as gifts.  At her passing she was truly free of the burdens of things.  My pledge is so far unfulfilled, but I pledge to keep at it.

    I long ago developed my philosophy of afterlife reality.  I am satisfied that the beliefs I have come to are completely workable for me.  Those beliefs are shaped mainly by eastern religious philosophy.  For many years I have felt that so-called Christians had so diluted and polluted the teachings of Jesus as to make what is left bare threads of what his life truly represented.  Enough said about that.

    If I have regrets, and I do, they come from decisions made that were not so well thought out as I had believed.  Some of those decisions have caused harm to others.  Some, naturally, have benefited others as well as my own life.  I will stand judged not by some far off God, but by my own conscience, which I am certain may be harsher than a loving god would pronounce upon me.

    Not a day goes by that I do not give thanks for the life I have been blessed to live.  I consider myself most fortunate to have survived despite everything I have done to distract me from a course that might have been.  I may leave little trace of my presence this time around.  I will know, and I do, what I have accomplished.  I feel satisfied that I have contributed to the world in which I live, though few may ever know what that has been.

    Finally, I thank all of you who have walked, at least for a time, with me on the path.  You have given me more than you know, probably because I have failed to tell you so.  I tell you now with love and a grateful heart: Thank you!

    Comes also from the shadows of my mind the thought . . .

 Love never fails.

(Reposted from May 20, 2018)