Contextual Clues

Bits and pieces of information bombard us today at a pace that was not imagined just a few years back. News commentaries flash pictures and Zoom faces and facts laced with opinions and opinions minus facts at us so quickly, we often don't know what is happening, but after viewing, we feel a bit more anxious, a bit edgier than we did at daybreak. The world seems scarier and less safe.                    

Tic Toc and Facebook dart in front of us with chopped-up pieces of our friends, family, and strangers' lives. Our response defaults to what we learned starting at infancy, and we compare our progress to theirs. We frequently come up lacking in talents, looks, or accumulated assets. 

Our anxiety and insecurity replace gratitude, and we forget just how much better our lives and well-being are compared to our grandparents. We, then, make up fairy tales of a past world without woe to prove to ourselves our angst or anger at society or democrats or republicans are validated.  Technology has thrown us into a fragmented world we unwittingly accept as reality. However, an important element is missing- context.

Context (noun) is the circumstances that form the setting for an event, statement, or idea and in terms of which it can be fully understood and assessed.

Without a complete picture, we may assume that the gingerbread boy with the frown has had a bad day or is mad or is grumpy or is not appreciative of his/her Christmas outfit. However, with more contextual clues, we may modify our opinion.

Something to think about. 😊 Peace, and Happy Holidays.

Love, Linda

A Christmas Song I Cannot Sing

 

A Christmas Song I Cannot Sing 

 There's a Christmas song I cannot sing

since words will not express.

There is a peace I cannot fight

in spite of life's duress.

There is a story not fully told.

It has no ending, 

but in that tale from history 

love transcending,

sent one dark man to this strange earth

 to make a pact with us, they say.

From dust, a human star was born,

a light to show the way. 

                              I trust this man born long ago, 

most likely in the spring.

He is why we hear the bells

at Christmas time still ring.

And he is why there is a song

I have no words to sing.

           Linda Oliverio

Have a warm and wonderful Christmas! Peace. Love, Linda

What's in that soup?

     I was sitting at my sister, Kathy's, house listening to her talk and talking to her back, no, I was talking to her face. Better.  We were eating triangle pieces of a very delicious, yes, it was verified by others, not just me, homemade raisin pie I made for her. The box of raisins came from someone who gave them to my husband, who really hates raisins, with these words, " We think you need to poop."  That is another story.  All is well on that front. Your guess. Kathy and I never really talk of things too important, unless you think politics, family, recipes, and true-life stories are important. If that is the case, then our conversations are definitely of great value. Sometimes we sit around her overflowing dining room table and talk when Jack, now fully bedridden, is sleeping, which is more often lately. Other times, we sit in the living room and talk over and around Jack. He likes to lay in bed reading his newspaper, which takes hours, and just listen. Sometimes, not so often, he chimes in with an anecdote from his past. It seems like our own private scene, but I think it is very familiar and far more prevalent across the nation than we tend to think. Back to the table and our pie. We finished our pie, which led us to talk of recipes, so Kathy pulled out the best treat of the morning. I mean that, and you, too, will see why I call it a treat.

     Kathy, I am putting this nicely, is a gatherer. That is all that needs to be said. Because of that, she has a most interesting and eclectic collection of "stuff." One of the items she has gathered is a wonderful, I am sure, one-of-a-kind, collection of cookbooks from every facet of and most eras of the north, south, east, and west. It was on the morning of the raisin pie day that she remembered to share with me the most entertaining recipe I think I have ever seen. I probably wouldn't look at it that way if I had been born in the bayou, but I was not, and so I am enthralled by this recipe and feel I must share it with you. This is where I stop. I will be back after I have stopped by her house and taken a picture of it with my phone, so I can share it with you in all of its glory. To be continued...

RIP this story. The cookbook containing the recipe was misplaced. Too bad. It was such a cool recipe. I should have copied it the first time I saw it. Oh well.

Dignity For the Dead

When we die,

we'll be gone

as far as we can go

from this only realm that I know.

But those who loved us

and some not so much

may still be living and still in touch

with our worth

both gross

and net,

not so easy to forget.

The net may still be fought about.

Hungry lawyers love that route,

but please don't toss about the gross. 

The gross should finally cease.

  Show dignity for the dead.

         They cannot speak their piece/peace.

Unyoke

For those who grew up on Bible stories, the word yoke is a familiar term. So many of the lessons of Jesus used common language and examples of daily life as a form of transmitting messages that, otherwise, may have been too deep and esoteric for the average person to understand. The "average" person was a member of the multitudes that Jesus looked upon with compassion and acceptance of the absolute plight of their humanity. The plight of being thrust onto earth that was often dark and foreboding was one he understood thoroughly. He knew the battle to keep the body from perishing on a daily basis could be burdensome and disillusioning. He felt the sorrows of the sick and infirmed, and he knew their hearts in a way that few humans will ever fathom. He is my all-time hero. For his empathy and compassion held throughout his earthly journey, and in our creative thoughts and minds, still holds to this day without bounds.

On one day, his message to the listeners that gathered around him was quite simply stated. "Come unto me all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest, for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." I did not stop to look up the verse at the time of this writing, and you can check me if you like. I may have misquoted slightly, but that is how it has stuck in my mind, so I am going with that. His audience understood the weight of the yoke used on their oxen, and how it bound them tightly alone or to another animal to be guided and used for work that only the master in charge of them could control. Once under the yoke, the oxen lost all autonomy. 

Today, I see friends and family who have "yoked" themselves to a leader that has put a tremendous burden of fear, anxiety, and hate upon their shoulders. They are caught in a trap on an endless treadmill with the burden of protecting and explaining the depths of their loyalty to a man who would shove them out of his way if they blocked him from coming into a room. Because of his propaganda and rhetoric, they view this nation as a land ruled by frauds and charlatans, but NOT their ruler; and they no longer see America as a land of promise. They view anyone whose ideas differ from theirs as an enemy to be feared and not a team member, a holder of a perspective to be debated and compromised into a solid, working solution for whatever problems they may face together. Their yoke is heavy and their burden is sad. It doesn't have to be that way. That yoke is not even real. It only exists in the mind. It is an illusion. 

I am a Democrat, but I am not the enemy. That is a lie spoken so many times too many believe it. Far more than being a Democrat, I am an American, and I love this country, and somehow, as hard as it is to understand, I know that most Trump supporters do, too. It is time to let this day be filled with hope and peace. Let's lighten the burden together. Let's "unyoke" from the old leaders, and work together to make the new leaders the best they can be and just throw out the yoke. I'm thinking if you don't own any cows, you just don't need a yoke anymore.

Peace. Love, Linda