Living a small life

I read a short reflection today that made me think about several things. It said that we cannot shut ourselves away from the problems in the world, as much as we would like to. We cannot live small, safe, little lives away from it all, because we have to be a part of the world, we have to care about the world. That was the gist of it. I am not sure if I agree completely with this viewpoint; more about that shortly. I then thought about how the media want us to live our daily lives. They would like nothing better than that we lurch from one (media-created) crisis to another. There are enough real crises in the world without the media adding to them. But clickbait and ratings decide everything. 

Given the two different aspects mentioned above, I got to thinking about why I don't want to immerse myself wholeheartedly in the world's problems. Overall, some of them are more major than others, but what they have in common is that they swirl about in a cesspool, a cesspool of crime, greed, violence, brutality, corruption, hatred, cynicism, apathy--the list is long. And the media is happy to report every little aspect of it. Ad nauseam. Why would a person want to voluntarily immerse himself or herself in this cesspool each day? What does it do to one's psyche? The psychological effect cannot be good. 

Most of us live small, safe, little lives, away from the limelight. Most of us in fact shy away from the limelight, from public attention, from being scrutinized and dissected by the media. Having said that, I do admire anyone who genuinely wants to help society by becoming a politician. He or she knows from the get-go what they're in for. Politics is not for the fainthearted. But by and large, the majority of us will never experience such media scrutiny. By choice. 

So I don't agree that there is something wrong with wanting to live a small little life. One cannot make a blanket assumption that because a person's life is small, that he or she has not done something that counts here in this world. If that person has lived a good life, has been kind to others and to animals, has raised (or helped to raise) a family, has worked and contributed his or her talents, that should count toward the overall evaluation of his or her life. We who are outside that life cannot be the judge of how that life was lived. 

A small little life gives room for reflection, for peace, for quiet, for figuring out what is and what is not important. Lurching from one crisis to the next will not solve anything, will not provide the needed time for reflection. There is nothing wrong with wanting a small life. But whether life is big or small, it is never safe all the time, and it is futile to try to desperately keep it safe. Life is filled with risks that we must take in order to grow as individuals. They may not always lead down happy paths or safe ones. Life is also filled with personal crises; no one escapes. Some of those crises may force us out into the larger world; some may make us retreat even more from the world. I know people who have had debilitating neurological illnesses who preferred to retreat from the world. They felt that they had nothing to offer it anymore. In fact, they did, but their choices had to be respected. They did what they felt was best for them and their families. 

We are almost midway through an election year, a year that promises to be a chaotic one news-wise. Knowing this in advance, many of us are planning how to keep the media wolves at bay. How to keep them from invading our lives and homes. I understand that people want to do this. I want to do it too. 

Interesting viewpoint from Charles Bukowski

Charles Bukowski wrote this poem about rising early versus sleeping late.....

Throwing Away the Alarm Clock

my father always said, “early to bed and
early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy
and wise.”

it was lights out at 8 p.m. in our house
and we were up at dawn to the smell of
coffee, frying bacon and scrambled
eggs.

my father followed this general routine
for a lifetime and died young, broke,
and, I think, not too
wise.

taking note, I rejected his advice and it
became, for me, late to bed and late
to rise.

now, I’m not saying that I’ve conquered
the world but I’ve avoided
numberless early traffic jams, bypassed some
common pitfalls
and have met some strange, wonderful
people

one of whom
was
myself—someone my father
never
knew.

Dreaming of the garden

My latest poem--Dreaming of the Garden, copyright 2024 by Paula Mary De Angelis. All rights reserved.  

Last night
I dreamed of the garden
of its simple beauty 
that greets me 
when I arrive there 
early in the morning
when no one is there
except me

Crocuses and snowdrops
await me
along with honeybees
that have discovered both
buzzing from flower to flower
in the sun that warms them 
and me for a few afternoon hours

Yesterday I happened upon
a little robin 
singing his heart out
loud and clear and unafraid
to anyone who would listen
I listened 
because he had something of importance to tell me
it’s spring and he wants a mate

I dream of my garden
a sanctuary, a place of worship
one with the divine 
perhaps by design
miracles happening before 
my eyes, wondrous
watching the ground for signs of life
feeling my soul align
with the miracles before me

I sleep and then I dream
of a garden that I create
anew each year 
in line with a kind of
divine design
my hands guided by a light
that has been there for centuries 
serenity

On walking

Above all, do not lose your desire to walk. Everyday, I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness. I have walked myself into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it. But by sitting still, and the more one sits still, the closer one comes to feeling ill. Thus if one just keeps on walking, everything will be all right. 

~Søren Kierkegaard

I try to get out to walk each day, and usually manage a couple of miles a day. I have my favorite routes; one of them is to walk around Sant Hanshaugen park, which is a lovely park not far from where we live. Other routes are along the Akerselva river--both north and south. Sometimes I just walk down to my garden and back; I've taken to having my phone in my pocket as I work in the garden and walk around it. You'd be surprised how much walking I do just in the garden. 

My mother was a great walker, and was well-known in Tarrytown for that. Many people used to stop and offer her rides home from the grocery store, but she politely declined. For her, getting out each day for her walk was a lifesaver. It gave her some needed free time, time for herself. I think she must have enjoyed that--getting some free quiet time away from the hustle and bustle of family life. Sometimes she let us children tag along if we begged her long enough, but most times not. And that was ok with us, as she always returned with candy or comic books for us to enjoy. 

I haven't always been a walker. I became one in earnest about fifteen years ago, when I decided that having to sit each workday in a shared cramped office was no longer what I wanted to do. I started to end my workdays around 3:30 or 4:00 pm and left work early to walk home. A two-mile walk. I would put my headphones on and listen to music on my phone. Doing this was great training, and started me down the road of wanting to be outdoors whenever I could. It's one of the reasons I dislike winter intensely in this city, as I've written about in previous posts. It's very difficult to get out and walk when the sidewalks are sheets of ice. If they weren't, I might like winter a little more. 

Whenever I am on vacation in a new place, I get out and walk around. My husband enjoys this too, so we have explored many new cities this way. As long as I can be mobile, I'm happy. I don't need to ski, go to the gym, or any other such thing. If I can walk each day, I'm happy. I agree with Søren Kierkegaard; I begin to feel ill if I can't get out for my walk. The cure is free--walking. I've become my mother, at least in that respect. 

The daily struggle

Rather apt in these strange times, from Pearls Before Swine. The dilemma--how to remain a decent person in the midst of the idiocy that accosts us each day. Always a struggle. 

The surreal world we live in

Holy Week for Christians starts on Palm Sunday (one week before Easter Sunday) and ends on Holy Saturday; it includes Holy Thursday and Good Friday, and is certainly not considered to be a happy week. Easter Sunday, which celebrates the resurrection of Christ, is a joyful day. 

Donald Trump has come out and wished Christians a 'happy holy week'. If he knew anything about Christianity, he'd know that it is not a happy week. He used the occasion to hawk the bible he is selling. Not just any bible, mind you, but a 'God Bless the USA' bible: Donald Trump is selling a 'God Bless the USA' Bible for $60 : NPR. Sixty dollars for a bible. It must be quite a special bible. The money earned from sales will go where? Into his pockets of course. The man is in desperate need of money as it turns out. What better way to make money than to prey on the consciences and faith of his followers. 

I don't get it. I really just don't get it. What is it going to take for people to see DT for what he is? Or don't his followers care? It is impossible that some of them don't care. They do, and they vote for him anyway. I know that God has used murderers and unsavory types to do his will way back when, but they saw the error of their ways, converted first and followed him (consider the life of St. Paul, who persecuted the early Christians before he converted and joined them). I don't see DT doing this. He isn't following God, he thinks he is God. Or he thinks he's been sent from God to save the USA. It's pathetic. 

We are headed down a slippery slope toward a future that no one will find appealing. Absolutely no one, not even DT's followers eventually. When they finally have to admit that they've been hoodwinked by a huckster, a con artist, a self-serving salesman. As the old saying goes, there's a sucker born every minute. Unfortunately. 

The world we live in

 A little humor to brighten your day from one of my favorite comic strips--Non Sequitur.......

Book promotion

It's time again for some book promotion. It's a necessary part of being a writer, whether you've published via a publishing house or gone the self-publishing route. From what I understand, many writers who have published their books via large publishing houses find themselves in the same predicament as me--having to promote their books themselves. Publishing houses require it. So even though some of the downsides of self-publishing are that you have to wear all of the job hats yourself, it heartens me to know that had I published in a traditional fashion, I'd still be expected to promote my books. I've learned quite a bit by publishing my books myself, being responsible for, with some few exceptions--writing, editing, designing a book cover (I've gotten excellent help with that), publishing on a digital platform (the excellent Kindle Direct Publishing platform), book marketing and promotion. I've run ads for my books using Amazon and Facebook; I also have a Books by Paula M De Angelis Facebook page. I've also exhibited one of my books at the international annual Frankfurt Book Fair held in Germany. I have a website as well as this blog, and I use both to give updates about my books. 

The first book that I ever published has been the one that has sold the most of all of the books that I've published. The subject matter--passive aggressive leaders--clearly struck a nerve with many readers. It sold very well for a first-time author, from all of the articles I've read about what one can expect to earn from a first book. So that was and still is encouraging. 

My Amazon Author Page: Amazon.com: Paula M. De Angelis: books, biography, latest update

My blog: A New Yorker in Oslo (paulamdeangelis.blogspot.com)

My website: PM De Angelis - Updates (paulamdeangelis.com)

To my many readers who read this blog each day, thank you for your support. Please check out my books; you won't be disappointed. 

Tears For Fears - Sowing The Seeds Of Love

Another favorite that inspires me everytime I hear it. Enjoy!

Tears For Fears - Shout (Official Music Video)

I call this the primal scream song. At least that's how it was for me when I first heard it in 1984. There was so much turmoil in my life at that time. I would often just drive around the area where I grew up and if this song came on the car radio, I'd turn up the volume and just sing at the top of my lungs. 

Tears for Fears remains one of my all-time favorite bands. There are so many catchy riffs in their songs that draw you in and never let go. Even now, forty years later, I'm still hooked on their songs. Next one up (in the next post) is Sowing the Seeds of Love, another favorite. 

Trying to understand the mystery of life

Apropos my last post, where I talked about accepting some things in this life (like my faith) that I know I will never understand on this earth; Henry Miller wrote about his way of looking at the world and trying to understand the mystery of life. He came to the conclusion that he would never understand everything, but that didn't stop him from trying. That's a beautiful way of looking at the world. 

He wrote: 

I have a theory that the moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself. I have tried this experiment a thousand times and I have never been disappointed. The more I look at a thing, the more I see in it, and the more I see in it, the more I want to see. It is like peeling an onion. There is always another layer, and another, and another. And each layer is more beautiful than the last.

This is the way I look at the world. I don't see it as a collection of objects, but as a vast and mysterious organism. I see the beauty in the smallest things, and I find wonder in the most ordinary events. I am always looking for the hidden meaning, the secret message. I am always trying to understand the mystery of life.

I know that I will never understand everything, but that doesn't stop me from trying. I am content to live in the mystery, to be surrounded by the unknown. I am content to be a seeker, a pilgrim, a traveler on the road to nowhere. ~Henry Miller

(from Henry Miller's book: Black Spring)

Odds and ends, part two

As I get older, I am more willing to accept that I won't get the answers I seek, particularly where faith is concerned. Faith is a mystery that I will never truly decipher. My faith in God has wavered from time to time up through the years. Ditto for my desire to attend Sunday mass. But I've realized that I won't get firm proof that God exists; he/she is not going to suddenly appear before me (like in the story of doubting Thomas) and convince me that way. So I accept God's existence on faith. Attending mass is similar; I go, no matter how I feel. Ten to fifteen years ago, I often wondered why I should go to mass when so many things seemed to be topsy-turvy in my life and definitely in the world. Not anymore. It's become something I do without thinking about it too much. That works for me. I like being there, being part of something larger than me. Being together with (presumably) like-minded people, in the sense that they are also believers. Even if they aren't, it wouldn't change my wanting to be there. I've realized that I can just offer up who I am on any given day--happy, sad, moody, bored, angry, irritable--and hope that I am acceptable. Being human means being imperfect. That is my reality, even though I try hard each day to be the best version of myself (as Matthew Kelly says). 

I watched the film Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret from 2023 last night. It's a touching, funny and sweet story about a twelve-year old girl on the cusp of adolescence, and how she deals with life at home and in school. The film is based on the book of the same name by Judy Blume; I never read it when it was published back in 1970. Margaret is the daughter of an interfaith marriage--Jewish father and Catholic mother, but neither of her parents are religious and they have chosen to raise Margaret without any religious affiliation. She does however hope to eventually find some sort of religion to belong to. She is assigned a school project that allows her to explore different religious beliefs, which she hopes will give her some idea of what religion to eventually embrace. She does talk to God however, telling him about all the things that are happening in her life and sharing her joys as well as disappointments. Abby Ryder Fortson did a wonderful job as Margaret, as did Rachel McAdams as her mother and Kathy Bates as her grandmother.

I also watched the film Dog from 2022 with Channing Tatum the other night--also very good. He played a former Army Ranger suffering from PTSD who wants to return to military duty but whose superiors deny him that chance due to his condition. However, he agrees to bring his former partner's dog Lulu to his funeral (he has committed suicide) as part of a deal for him to return to active duty. Lulu is anxiety-ridden and aggressive (suffering from a kind of PTSD too) and destined for eventual euthanization, and the trip from Oregon to Arizona is fraught with different problems and troubles along the way. It's a beautiful story about the bond that forms between man and dog, and how they both save each other. 

I've spent the past four days without tv news of any kind to invade my life. Bliss. I don't want to know what's going on in the world because I know it's the same old, same old--wars, aggression, conflicts, shootings, murders, political divisiveness--the list is long. And the news media love reporting it all; sometimes I get the feeling that 'the worse, the better'. I know that's cynical, but hey, the news media are cynical institutions. You get back what you give. 

I haven't been on social media much either. Also bliss. I don't really miss it. As I've written about before, I'd remove myself from most of it if it wasn't for the fact that friends in the US still use it. It's a way of staying in touch with them, although these days we mostly chat via Messenger and WhatsApp. 

The scowlers

I could have entitled this post The Scowls. The furious looks. The dissatisfied men. Two angry men--Donald Trump and Tucker Carlson. Because they are angry. But why are they angry? What do they have to be angry about? They are two very wealthy men. They are privileged. They live in a rareified atmosphere that few will ever experience. They don't have to get their hands dirty. They can do what they want when they want. Tucker Carlson once worked for Fox News until he cost them more than they could reasonably defend. Ah yes, Donald Trump--well, what is there to say? He speaks for the common man, Donald Trump does. He knows what it's like to walk into a grocery store and pay through the nose for food. He knows what it's like to struggle to pay a mortgage. He knows what it's like to be a common everyday man or woman. 

I am simultaneously fascinated and repelled by their public displays of anger. Who are these men fooling? Certainly not me. When I look at these photos, I have to laugh. Can you imagine having to live with them? Wake up with them each day, looking at their sour pusses? Dealing with their feigned anger? Heaven forbid. And yet, people are drawn in by their theatrics. They believe their empty promises and lies. 

These two men come to mind whenever I need good examples of grumpy old men and scowlers. They've perfected the art of scowling. I'm not sure if Trump's scowling will net him a second term. Carlson has more to scowl about after his embarrassing interview with Putin and his debacle at Fox. But why doesn't their wealth make them smile? Since they're all about the money, I would have thought their money would have made them happy, much like Scrooge and Scrooge McDuck. 

Perpetually-angry people bring to mind the Aesop fable The Boy Who Cried Wolf. The shepherd boy kept 'crying wolf' (lying) about a wolf attacking his sheep, and the townspeople always rushed to help him.  But when he cried wolf once too often, they got tired of his false alarms. One day a wolf really did show up to attack and devour the sheep and the townspeople ignored his cries for help. Perpetually-angry people should realize that their constant yelling will make others lose interest and sympathy. Maybe some people like listening to the same manic complaining every day, but most of us don't. We learn to ignore them and their anger. As a friend of mine used to say to her husband (now ex-husband) when he yelled at her for trivial reasons--'I don't hear you any better when you yell'. I feel the same way. If you raise your voice to me, I quietly consider my options. I can tune you out while you're yelling; I'm a master at it from my schooldays. Or I can leave the room. I simply don't want to hear what you have to say. And that includes angry politicians and tv personalities and their nonsense. 

Odds and ends and updates

During Lent last year I read the New Testament and was glad I did. I am trying to read the Old Testament this time around, but it's tougher going. It's really about vengeance, an eye for an eye, the victims wanting the victimizers to suffer and wanting God to avenge them. There are prayers to God for exactly that. It's also an interesting history of the area and time that led up to the life of Christ. One thing I can state with certainty--the atmosphere of the Old Testament is just about the polar opposite of that in the New Testament. I prefer the latter. 

The world is not fair, even though deep down we expect it to be. That expectation hits the wall of disappointment time and again during our lifetimes, but we do not give up the hope that one day justice will prevail. However, I don't find myself praying for vengeance on those who have wronged me. Somehow, that in itself feels wrong. But I do find myself rather happy when 'what goes around comes around' for some people. Karma is a bitch sometimes. 

I am trying to curtail my involvement in all things digital. I am taking stock of what gives me the greatest joy, and it is hands down writing this blog. I've been writing it for almost fourteen years now and have not grown tired of it. So I'll continue writing and posting. I remain on Facebook because I live abroad and it is a way of staying in touch with my American friends from childhood, school days, and previous jobs. I post updates now and then, but nowhere near as often as I used to do. I am also on Twitter and am considering closing my account there; I use it to promote my books, but it hasn't been very helpful in that regard. Otherwise, it is a forum that purports to present all sides of an issue, but who can really tell if that is true anymore? Sadly, what is presented there just doesn't 'ring true'. Facebook and Twitter are not places to go to for objective news stories. I knew that from long ago and it's only gotten worse. Additionally, the AI algorithms on Facebook and Twitter learn what they can about you and present you with ads and information about groups and sites that may be of interest (to you specifically). They tailor the ads to your gender, age, and interests. It's boring. 

I recently stumbled upon a handy new website called Early Bird Books. It is described as follows "Early Bird Books is a popular online platform that caters to book lovers and avid readers. With its user-friendly interface and extensive collection of literary works, Early Bird Books has become a go-to destination for those seeking literary inspiration and entertainment". What it does is provide a daily email list of discounted Kindle books available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Google, Apple Books, and Kobo. Since I do purchase a fair amount of Kindle books, I checked out their selections, and I've already used it to purchase three Kindle books. Two of them are by an author called Miss Read who wrote a series of wonderful books about a middle-aged unmarried school headmistress in a small English town during the 1950s. The series follows her life in the small town of Fairacre, a town populated with men and women of all walks of life. I remember my mother reading books by Miss Read when I was a pre-teenager; she loved them and now I know why. I've only read two of her books, but can recommend them highly--Village Diary and Farewell to Fairacre (a nearly perfect book in my estimation). They would not perhaps strike a chord in everyone, but they did in me. I loved 'visiting Fairacre' each evening to meet up with her and her friends, listening to the local gossip, and admiring her patience in dealing with all those villagers who wanted to marry her off to the local bachelor. I wish there were more books written in this style. They are escapist without being isolationist; Miss Read is a part of the world around her, albeit a small part of the world--a little village and a small school. Reading her books has also been a way for me to reconnect with my mother who died in 2001. She would be happy to know that I have enjoyed these books as she did. 

I am now reading and enjoying Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. He published the book in 2000 after he was hit by a car in 1999 and nearly died. My cousin Cathy recommended it. I am learning about his approach to writing at the same time as I am learning about the man. An interesting combination. I've read some of his books (Salem's Lot, Cujo, and Doctor Sleep) and have otherwise seen the tv-series Salem's Lot and the films The Shining and The Shawshank Redemption (probably one of my all-time favorite films) based on his books. 

I need to get back to my own writing. I've been 'on a break' as they say, after having written quite prolifically before Christmas. I need to get into the swing of things again. 

Wise words from Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver is one of my favorite poets. She was fully connected to the nature around her and was from a very young age. When I read her words, they pierce my mind and heart with their clarity and wisdom. We don't have time to waste in our lives, and yet so many of us do. We waste time on social media, we waste time watching one tv show after another. There is nothing inherently wrong with either social media or tv. It's when we devote hours of our day to them when we could be doing something else, something that might bring us closer to the people around us or to the spiritual or to the natural world. She writes about getting started on belonging to the world, but for her, that world was mostly the natural world. I am also so inclined. There is so much to discover in the natural world, and I've written a lot about that since I became the caretaker of an allotment garden in 2016. I know that one cannot live life as a hermit or hide oneself away, but we have to respect the individual choices that people make about how to live their lives. We cannot force introverts to be extroverts, or extroverts to be introverts. We cannot force those who love urban living to love rural living, and vice versa. And so on. We are where we are for a reason, and we can make the most of each day that is given us in that environment, no matter how difficult. We each have to find our own way of belonging to the world and use our god-given talents to join the world. That will be a different road for each person. The important thing is that one contributes to the world in his or her own unique way. 

Mary Oliver writes: 

I know, you never intended to be in this world.

But you’re in it all the same.

So why not get started immediately.

I mean, belonging to it.

There is so much to admire, to weep over.

And to write music or poems about.

Bless the feet that take you to and fro.

Bless the eyes and the listening ears.

Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste.

Bless touching.

You could live a hundred years, it’s happened.

Or not.

I am speaking from the fortunate platform

of many years,

none of which, I think, I ever wasted.

Do you need a prod?

Do you need a little darkness to get you going?

Let me be as urgent as a knife, then,

and remind you of Keats,

so single of purpose and thinking, for a while,

he had a lifetime. 

~Mary Oliver

(from her book: Blue Horses)

(She mentions John Keats (1795-1821), who was an English Romantic poet who died of tuberculosis when he was only twenty-five years old. A reminder that we don't always know if we have a lifetime or not to achieve our dreams and visions. As I am fond of saying--If not now, when? There is no time like the present to start doing. As the Nike ad says--Just do it).