Quality, Faith, and all I don't know

My no-blogging did not last long because I realize it is my way of maintaining awareness more than just 'marketing my woundology' (I trust if I am way off on that mark, my loving friends will let me know).   Thich Nhat Hanh wrote, "A true love letter can produce a transformation in the other person, and therefore in the world.  But before it produces a transformation in the other person, it has to produce a transformation within you.  The time you take to write the letter may be your whole life."   These blogs are like love letters to my friends and any strangers who pass on through.  They transform me (and many times I see it most when I go back to read what I wrote and intensely disagree with myself).

 

These are some things I became aware of this week:

 

Quality

 

On my last visit to FL I was reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.  Quality is a concept I have not thought about lately.  The other day, my mother persuaded me to take on another project:  recovering the cushions on her dining set.  We watch a lot of HGTV and I was confident I could do it quickly.  I had some trouble with the screws on the first chair; the staple gun took some coaxing to work properly.  As I finished the first chair I grew disheartened at the project ahead.  There was little joy and growing frustration.  The second chair only increased this, though I don't know why.  I like creative, hands-on work.  I know it will make my mom really happy.  Normally I will bitch and push through just to get it done all at once enjoy.  I remembered Pirsig writing about when there was no joy in the action it was time to put everything down, step away, and come back later.  I did.  The next day I found a rhythm and pattern to everything from unscrewing the seats to centering the cushion on the fabric and finished the chairs in what seemed like no time with pleasure.  Awareness of quality, perhaps, is our guide for when we need to pause, step away, to come back later with renewed joy. 

 

 

Faith

 

Last night my mother and I watched Vanity Fair directed by Mira Nair.   Enchanting and inspiring.  Though at times her choices were poorly motivated, I was struck by Becky Sharp's ability to see and accept people with a clarity and honesty (which probably why many detested her).  She saw reality as a construction, not an absolute, and acted accordingly (some may say ruthlessly).  When she loved, she loved truly (though not perfectly) with true compassion and true forgiveness.  Despite what wrongs others committed against her, she never chose to see herself as a victim and had faith that life would provide a new opportunity each time her world seemed to crumble.  Because of this, unlike her friend, Amelia, Becky was able to see the blessings life offered her at each turn.  This might be a movie to buy.

 

 

All That I Don't Know (and Never Will) About my Father

 

Sorting my parents' pictures, I am always captivated by my father's photos from his days in the army.  He traveled to many beautiful places -- Hawaii, Japan, Korea-- and there is my father, a handsome adventurer who left his family behind at the age of 17, hamming it up with the guys and flirting with beautiful women.  I am sure there might be some colorful stories that I will sadly never get to hear my father tell.  I wondered how my father ended up in the army after escaping Hungary through Yugoslavia in 1956.  He didn't know English and had no claims to citizenship.   In my unit on immigration last year, I learned that you do NOT need to be a US citizen to join the military (yes, teachers do learn from planning).  Maybe everyone knows this and I am exposing my gross ignorance, but I was shocked.  Joining will put you on a fast tract to citizenship, if you don't die in combat, as was the case for some of the stories we read in class.  For me, this solved the mystery of my father's choice to join the army and how he earned his citizenship.  (No one is alive to confirm this, but how else would a 17-year-old Hungarian who didn't know English get in the army and end up a citizen?)   I don't think he would have told me this was unfair or unjust.   However, he did not have to fight in a Vietnam or Iraq type war.  He lived.  All this makes me wonder how many of the casualties in Iraq are non-citizens who would not be under scrutiny as possibly illegal and 'stealing' American jobs.   How different his life and fate would be had he, a dark-skinned, gypsy-looking Magyar, come to this country today.